‘littleboy/littleman’ review: An immigrant story as freestyle jazz

Rudy Goblen's little boy/little man immigrant drama about two brothers born in Nicaragua, now making its world premiere at the Geffen Playhouse, is at its heart an American story.

Lest we forget our past, America is a great democratic experiment precisely because it is a country of immigrants. Of many, one – like our national motto, Another from oneThere is. How have we lost sight of this core principle of high school social studies?

Our tendency to ghettoize drama—whether along racial or immigrant lines—reflects a failure to understand our collective history.

Goblen, who (like Ak Payne, author “Vacation paradise”) was a drama student of Geffen Playhouse artistic director Tarell Alvin McCraney at Yale University, creating not a traditionally designed two-hander, but an intuitively structured play. Filled with live music and hip-hop poetry, “little boy/little man” breaks through the fourth wall to make direct contact with the theatergoers who sit on three sides of the playground, always within high-five distance.

Marlon Alexander Vargas, a dynamic, pleasant-faced performer who plays Fito Palomino, the more creative and agile of the two brothers, is on stage interacting with the audience before the performance begins. As the musicians—musical director Dee Simone on drums and Tonya Sweets on bass—warm up the crowd from their platform at the back of the playing area, Vargas, constantly on the move, greets theatergoers and counts down to the start of the show.

There are rules spelled out at the top that make it clear that this is not the kind of docile theatrical experience where the audience must remain silent while the actors do all the work. Viewers are encouraged to make some noise—to show love when they want to show love, and to show it even when they don't.

These friendly instructions are mischievously given by Vargas, whose behavior outside the play influences our perception of his character within the play. Fito's fate is the emotional core of the drama, and what happens to him is all the more meaningful to us because of our theatrical connection to Vargas, our de facto host and impromptu sidekick.

Goblen creates a drama of brotherly contrasts. Bastian Monteiro (Alex Hernandez), the older and more reserved of the two brothers, has a tough, no-nonsense demeanor rooted in discipline and submission. He is a bit of a recluse, but plays by the rules and demands the same from Fito.

Street artist Fito dreams of opening a vegan restaurant that will offer his community access to affordable, healthy food. This idea seems far-fetched to Bastian and he tells Fito that if he wants to continue living with him, he will have to find a real job.

Bastian introduces Fito to a friend who works at a cleaning company. But cleaning public toilets is not Phyto's alternative solution. Bastian wants his brother off the streets. In Sweetwater, Florida, there are dangers far greater than an unpleasant paid job.

The city's law enforcement officer, a sadist who demands complete obedience, is angry with Fito, who describes this menacing figure as a “gangster with a badge.” He also calls him “brown on the outside, white on the inside” and bemoans his brother's infighting among Latinos (“the worst thing they ever did was give us all flags”) that only divides people who have a political reason to be in solidarity.

Bastian, who comes across as the white voice of the Midwest when soliciting donations in his telemarketing job, can't help but take that last comment personally. He makes no secret of the fact that he wants to change his name so that his resume will not be ignored when applying for a management position.

The two brothers have different fathers, and Fito has no option to leave. If anything, he is more aware of his identity as a person of color than Bastian. What they both have in common is that they survived both their harrowing childhood in Nicaragua and their relentlessly challenging journeys across America, raised by a single mother whose death still haunts them.

Bastian and Fito love each other, but they don't always like each other. Hernandez's Bastian is a formidable character, angry, strict and domineering – qualities he needs to navigate a bureaucratic system that cares little for the feelings of outside immigrants. Vargas' fitto, on the other hand, has his head in the clouds and his heart on his sleeve. Goblen never loses sight of their affection, even as their conflict grows louder and more painful.

“Boy/Little Man” is complex in its theatrical rhythms. It's like a piece of music that constantly changes harmonic structures, not wanting to get stuck in the same rhythm. Goblen's style of writing is closer to free jazz or freestyle hip-hop than to traditional drama.

Directed by Nancy Medina, the production takes the viewer out of the passivity of the proscenium into something almost immersive and decidedly interactive. Tanya Orellana's stage design and Scott Bolman's moody lighting create a performance space that lends itself well to a piece that consists of a series of riffs. McCraney's influence “Brothers Size” is palpable not only in the thematic architecture of the play, but also in the way the play moves on stage.

The staccato script is greatly aided by the charming performances of Vargas, who flies through various theatrical realms as if he had wings, and Hernandez, who fits the character realistically. It is to the credit of the play and the performers that by the end of Little Boy/Little Man the differences between the two brothers seem less important than what they have in common.

Not all of the dramatic elements are seamlessly integrated, but the production ultimately finds coherence less in the music (composed by Goblen himself) and more in the emotional truth of the brothers' pressure-cooker lives. Vulnerability unites not only Bastian and Fito, but all of us, witnesses to their story, who hope against hope that compassion will somehow prevail.