Annie Luján & Veronica Hortigüela in MONKS | Photo by Audrianna Martin Del Campo

Back in the winter of 2019, I was at the Revue Cinema for Dumpster Racoon’s CATS singalong. As the movie began, surrounded by about two-hundred cosplay cat-people, I found myself immersed in a unified field of theatre-kid energy as we all began meowing in unison. Our individual minds had snapped. We surrendered our dignity. Amid the throng, I belted “Magical Mr. Mistoffelees” and “Memory” flat and off-key. It was glorious.

Veronica Hortigüela and Annie Luján, my Brothers, may have transcended the magic of the CATS singalong. Experiencing MONKS, my brain snapped again. The delirium was so great that when a microphone was dramatically thrust into my face, I didn’t even realize I was being asked my name. (In all fairness, Luján’s interrogation was in the form of Gregorian chant.) So I, uh, found myself singing again—a weird, sustained note, right into her astonished face while the crowd stared on in baffled silence. She absorbed my cryptic awkwardness and channelled it. One of the many divine aspects of this show is that you can’t be labelled a fool here. Or rather, we are all fools here! Continue Reading