Istvan Dugalin ➤

Jaime Lujan in Reina | Photo by Eden Graham

Genrefuck. is a wildly tantalizing double bill. Presented Buddies In Bad Times Theatre and collaborating partners, it is grounded by two sexy, deeply charismatic solo performances. While they diverge in tone, atmosphere and aesthetic trappings, some common threads unit them—both are episodic explorations of femininity featuring sensual movement, some strip-tease action an array of heady themes. 

Created by Augusto Bitter and co-presented by Pencil Kit Productions, Reina invites us to imagine the many possible lives of the woman whose head appears at the top of a bag of Harina P.A.N. corn flour. She bursts out from her graphic captivity in the form of performer Jaime Lujan, harnessing his abundant feminine wiles. Sporting that red and white polka-dotted headscarf, he owns the space as Reina, across many lifetimes. 

Co-directors Bitter and Claren Grosz have devised a space that is both mythical and tangibly domestic. A wide oval of everyday objects—such as pans, lamps, jugs of water, bags of flour, banana cases, a waffle iron—surround Lujan’s Reina, many of which he utilizes throughout the show. At the top, he has some front row audience members work dough into patties which are baked into arepas during the performance in which he utterly mesmerizes. 

Dancing to sultry compositions by Y Josephine, Lujan recites poetry that stretches Reina across time, bumping up against political, social and existential realities of life as a variety of Venezuelan women. A few particularly compelling sequences that captured my imagination were her reaching for a suspended banana, grasping desperately onto the underside of a kitchen table, and gently bathing in water while playfully asserting herself as a morsel of food. The taste, texture, smell and familiar spectacle of food is a key thematic concern here—echoing our carnal appetite for the human body.

Julie Phan in Never Walk Alone | Photo by Jeremy Mimnagh

While there is a lovely poetic pay-off in its finale, Julie Phan’s Never Walk Alone, a co-production from Buddies, fu-GEN Theatre and PNSNV, is a naturalistic counterpoint to Reina. Pulling from her own experience, Phan confronts us as “Honey,” a stripper working Christmas Eve and weirded out by an unexpected call from her estranged mother. This triggers a series of memories of an ex-boyfriend, strip-club patrons and random strangers. 

Honey is intensely alluring, though her own appeal continues to surprise her. Her cadence is brisk, her tone unsentimental. She has no time for comforting lies. She doesn’t sell fantasies. She lays her cards on the table and calls everyone else’s hand too. I’m a little obsessed with Honey and Phan’s dead pan, unvarnished vibe. It comforts me, keeps me on the edge of my seat, catches me off guard. She lets you know exactly where you stand and with such clever, electric efficiency. 

Of the many vivid, intriguing episodes, we are treated to a mimed lap-dance where she adopts the persona of a cartoonishly doting and dutiful housewife who finally drops the facade and scolds her “big manager” husband for being so self-absorbed. Her customer? He’s into it. And I get it too. Being called on your bullshit can be exhilarating. And Honey aims to please.

Director Tawiah M’Carthy and his designers craft a rich and immersive atmosphere that feels both festival and sensual—evoking that slightly melancholic, scintillating aura of late-night urban sleaze. The festive red, green and white string lights are a subtly effective flourish of Jawon Kang’s set. The wide space is divided up into three raised areas—a pair of dance poles and dressing room, lap-dance booth, and a central bar. Outlines of naked women are a striking motif. 

Phan punctuates her monologue with some dextrous, enchanting pole dances choreographed by Nate Gerber. As athletically proficient as these segments are, they feel astonishingly organic—that effect is intensified by some full nudity. There are jarring clunks and bangs as her thick boot heels hit the hollow metal base of the freestanding poles. In the front row, the squeak of the PVC pants is similarly grating, though I imagine this might be an intended feature.

Phan serves as her own costume stylist here and the chic looks are all serving cool, provocative diva. Overall, the pacing is brisk or meditative to best suit any given moment. There is a protracted sequence where Phan takes her time to slip on and fasten her thigh-high boots, in full silence, that strained my patience. I sense that Phan and M’Carthy intended to draw us into the procedural quality of this moment, to have some quiet, contemplative time with her, but we already watched as she methodically undid these boots just moments before—with engaging text! I think leading with the silence might have been more theatrically effective.   

VideoCompany’s (George Allister & Patrick Boivin) video projections of gently falling snow help to establish the somber-festive mood. The Fenghuang—a Chinese folkloric answer to the Phoenix, but without all the burning and ashes—figures into the narrative as a symbol of endurance and its set-up is effectively paid off with some incongruous yet surprisingly elegant, resonant magic realism and a poignant button for her anecdotal tale.

With an entire hour of intermission between each piece to facilitate an extensive scenic transformation, drag performances in Tallulah’s Cabaret help sustain the genre-gender fuckery and aesthetic immersion in the vibes of the evening.

Genrefuck.
running May 21 to 31, 2025
Buddies In Bad Times Theatre (12 Alexander Street)
running time: 3 hours (including hour-long intermission with drag performances)

Jaime Lujan in “Reina” | Photo by Eden Graham & Julie Phan in “Never Walk Alone” | Photo by Jeremy Mimnagh