Photo Source: Koury Angelo
As our Nosferatu narrator, Fidel Gomez introduces us to the grand operations of “Dream Bank America” and its denizens: undead versions of the kind of workers you’d find in any office. But buckle up when the latest prey, I mean patron, walks in. It’s teacher Harry Reynolds (Sam Golzari), who’s seeking a modest loan for a small condo. His tour of the facilities brings him face-to-face with the dark and mysterious secrets of commerce—there really is no money, folks—and after some smooth talk about expanding his dreams, hypnotic video images of dough and pussy (that’s bread and cats), and only the teensiest drink of Federal Reserve Kool-Aid, he’s on his way to living large. Well, as we all know, a mortgage can be the most deadly of gateway drugs. Economic meltdown, here we come.
Gomez directs with Aaron Garcia (who takes a back seat onstage), and the pair pull off some inventive staging. They also do a terrific job working with this rock-’em-sock-’em group of young performers, each (except Gomez and the sweet and solid Golzari) stepping into multiple roles. The wiry Stephen Buchanan has adorable burrito moments and then some, and Theodore Lange IV’s awkward karate moves are lethal fun. The women are all standouts; no bland blondes allowed. Vicki Syal is a fiery imp, love the powerful wind Brenda Banda blew in on, and Esperanza America Ibarra bats around an impressive range of characters.
Credit too to Hazel Kuang’s scenic design, Jasmine Orpilla’s original music and video appearances, and Patsy McCormack’s lighting. Their scrappy yet stylish efforts do a nice job framing this evening of smart and silly satire.
Presented by Latino Theater Company at the Los Angeles Theatre Center, 514 S. Spring St., L.A. March 29–April 21. Thu.–Sat., 9 p.m. (866) 811-4111 or www.thelatc.org.
