The term “punk,” according to Ramones frontman, Joey Ramone, is more than an adjective describing a particular brand of rock music but about an individual going against the grain, standing up, and saying, “This is who I am.”
The punk ethos is what drives “I AM: A Trans Punk Dance Play,” created, choreographed, and produced by Chicago artist, Reign Drop, which premiered on Sept. 25 at Chicago Danztheatre Ensemble. Directed by Ray VanDerPost, the “dance play” combines a classic underdog story acted out by a delightfully colorful cast of characters that melts into jazz, modern, and club-style dance scenes that range from intimate and poignant to unbridled eroticism, accompanied by prerecorded poetry and a wide variety of musical genres.
We are introduced to Jean Wildest as Billy, a slim-framed immigration attorney, as they help Esperanza (Amy Delgado-Swanson), a Latina woman, navigate the winding pathways of immigration law. Billy is a paragon of their community but the pariah of their family; in a private conversation, Billy’s sister, Rose (Audrey Hartnett), hits the former with an ultimatum, that “if you can’t be a sister for me on my wedding day, you might as well not show up.” To cope with this disparaging news, Billy leans on their “chosen family”: platonic brother, Quinn (Cris Moreno), wearing a long skirt composed of different flannel prints stitched together; the self-proclaimed best drag queen in town and meticulously dressed Jean Schwartz (Daegen Michelle); and recent transplant, August (Amara Rose), a trans woman longing to be around people like herself. Outcast from society and their own biological families, this band of rebels and exiles find hope in their camaraderie.
Wildest is a delight as Billy but receives only limited stage time. After a therapeutic night on the town with Quinn, Billy dances their way home to Sinatra’s “I Got the World on a String,” slipping into glides, fingertips bursting with energy, body charged and bouncing. The abrupt change in mood pleasantly contrasts with the work’s overall grungy punk style and deftly communicates Billy’s sense of elation and relief. This pas d’un is cut short as a hooded bigot howling “F****T!” comes out of nowhere to fatally wound Billy just as the dancing was starting to take off. Wildest is sidelined for almost the rest of the performance. The real tragedy is that they did not get a chance to let loose, and no other scene matches the smart and surprising change of tone and flow as in Billy’s last (and only) solo dance.
The play takes its first deep breath during a support group meeting, where Quinn, encircled by people seated on chairs and nodding in solidarity, speaks about their struggle with addiction. Quinn’s voice grows soft and cruel. The crowd becomes hypnotized, nodding faster and harder until an emphasis from Quinn sends them bubbling over the tops of the chairs like a brim-filled cauldron boiling. Here, the transition from acting to dancing is smooth and sneaky, and common feelings, like addiction, insecurity, struggle, and pain, are abstracted capably into physical art.
Three additional solo dance vignettes, featuring Virginia VanDerPost, A’Keisha Lee, and René, embody the characteristics associated with prayer, hope, and remorse. All three share a similar movement vocabulary: cupped hands, low crouches, and searching eyes. Like Billy’s solo, these too are cut short and feel incomplete, lacking a sense of continuity and resolution.
The drag show is a showstopping celebration of queer liberation. Introduced by Jean in her umpteenth ostentatious outfit, a pair of drag kings descend into a churning crowd. The assembly dressed in BDSM wear bumps and grinds, then swarms like a school of fish, neon under the lighting, and settles into a line where they proceed to simulate a myriad of sex acts on one another. The mood is not lustful but playful, suggesting that sex need not be as taboo as its been conditioned to be.
The play’s final moments feature everyone stripped down to their undergarments and confronting the audience with a diverse range of semi-nude body types. There are no sexual undertones here, nothing hidden, just hair, flesh, and curves, the physical manifestation of God’s answer to Moses when questioned about His identity— “God said to Moses, ‘I am who I am.’”
“I AM” is a good draft to build from. One appreciates the unapologetic freedom of Reign Drop’s choreography and storytelling and the no-fucks-given attitudes of the performers. The narrative is serviceable and well-paced, and for the most part does an adequate job of organically incorporating dance into the story—when these scenes are allowed to bloom, they are highly entertaining, engaging, and informative. With an expansion of the less-developed elements, “I AM” can yet become the powerhouse dance play that it is at heart.
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