Here's something you might be interested in.
In his recent, Coming Apart: The State of White America, 1960-2010, Charles Murray argues that a new upper class - well-educated and affluent - has a "we're better than the rabble mentality." The group now resembles a gated community, and has "segregated" itself so much it's lost touch with the rest of the country.
As if to support Murray's thesis years in advance, T.C. Boyle wrote Tortilla Curtain in 1995. The novel's a tale of side-by-side worlds. The Mossbachers have a tastefully appointed home up in Topanga Canyon. Kyra's in real estate; Delaney's a nature-writer. He espouses green causes and doesn't want the residents of Arroyo Blanco - the "white" arroyo - to build a 10-foot wall around their subdivision.
Undocumented migrants from Mexico, Candido Rincon and common-law wife, America, camp by a creek in the canyon. She's pregnant. When an accident prevents him from working (even going to a hospital), America must join the cue of migrants outside the Post Office eager to find work.
In the novel and in Matthew Spangler's world premiere adaptation at the San Diego Rep, Topanga Canyon's as unstable as the characters. The steep, parched walls are subject to sudden fires, flash floods, and landslides.
Spangler's tightly-crafted, 90-minute dash has a pell-mell quality; scenes topple forward, inexorably. But the script has been overly faithful to the novel. Boyle stuffs his serious themes with spoof and satire. From the outset he doesn't like the Mossbachers one whit. Nor does the Rep. And the production often casts too bright a comedic light on America and Candido.
Fresh from a winning performance in Cygnet's A Behanding in Spokane, Mike Sears wants us to take Delaney seriously. And Delaney's caught in a conundrum worthy of Kafka. But the script and the staging contradict him. He starts as a stereotype - a fair-weather liberal - and morphs into a vein-bulging reactionary with a .38 Special in his pocket and xenophobia in his heart.
Although she shows her versatility in minor roles, Lisel Gorell-Getz makes Kyra just a puddle-deep me-firster.
In the book, Boyle builds the Mossbachers with generic associations from Yuppiedom. When he describes the plight of America and Candido, the writing rises. They struggle. They're abused. They go hungry (and when they do, you do). And they dream - all within sight, to them, of the American Dream.
Kinan Valdez has always enjoyed a natural rapport with audiences. But as Candido - the Latino Candide? - he pushes comic opportunities and self-deprecates to a fault. It's as if Candido must be likeable above all else, and real a distant second.
Vivia Font's long-suffering America hoards our sympathy by default. David Meyers, Jeremy Kahn (though he could temper young Jack's, slack-mouthed, "duuuuuude!" reactions), and especially Miles Gaston Villanueva offer support in various roles.
Valerie Henderson's costumes are fine for the up-canyon characters, but need more distressing for those down below.
Best of show: starting with a snaky ride up Topanga Canyon, ending with torrents of rain and mud, Ian Wallace's sculpted set and projections make what looked impossible - how do you stage the novel's contrasting worlds? - a piece of cake.
San Diego Repertory Theatre, 79 Horton Plaza, downtown, playing through April 8.
In his recent, Coming Apart: The State of White America, 1960-2010, Charles Murray argues that a new upper class - well-educated and affluent - has a "we're better than the rabble mentality." The group now resembles a gated community, and has "segregated" itself so much it's lost touch with the rest of the country.
As if to support Murray's thesis years in advance, T.C. Boyle wrote Tortilla Curtain in 1995. The novel's a tale of side-by-side worlds. The Mossbachers have a tastefully appointed home up in Topanga Canyon. Kyra's in real estate; Delaney's a nature-writer. He espouses green causes and doesn't want the residents of Arroyo Blanco - the "white" arroyo - to build a 10-foot wall around their subdivision.
Undocumented migrants from Mexico, Candido Rincon and common-law wife, America, camp by a creek in the canyon. She's pregnant. When an accident prevents him from working (even going to a hospital), America must join the cue of migrants outside the Post Office eager to find work.
In the novel and in Matthew Spangler's world premiere adaptation at the San Diego Rep, Topanga Canyon's as unstable as the characters. The steep, parched walls are subject to sudden fires, flash floods, and landslides.
Spangler's tightly-crafted, 90-minute dash has a pell-mell quality; scenes topple forward, inexorably. But the script has been overly faithful to the novel. Boyle stuffs his serious themes with spoof and satire. From the outset he doesn't like the Mossbachers one whit. Nor does the Rep. And the production often casts too bright a comedic light on America and Candido.
Fresh from a winning performance in Cygnet's A Behanding in Spokane, Mike Sears wants us to take Delaney seriously. And Delaney's caught in a conundrum worthy of Kafka. But the script and the staging contradict him. He starts as a stereotype - a fair-weather liberal - and morphs into a vein-bulging reactionary with a .38 Special in his pocket and xenophobia in his heart.
Although she shows her versatility in minor roles, Lisel Gorell-Getz makes Kyra just a puddle-deep me-firster.
In the book, Boyle builds the Mossbachers with generic associations from Yuppiedom. When he describes the plight of America and Candido, the writing rises. They struggle. They're abused. They go hungry (and when they do, you do). And they dream - all within sight, to them, of the American Dream.
Kinan Valdez has always enjoyed a natural rapport with audiences. But as Candido - the Latino Candide? - he pushes comic opportunities and self-deprecates to a fault. It's as if Candido must be likeable above all else, and real a distant second.
Vivia Font's long-suffering America hoards our sympathy by default. David Meyers, Jeremy Kahn (though he could temper young Jack's, slack-mouthed, "duuuuuude!" reactions), and especially Miles Gaston Villanueva offer support in various roles.
Valerie Henderson's costumes are fine for the up-canyon characters, but need more distressing for those down below.
Best of show: starting with a snaky ride up Topanga Canyon, ending with torrents of rain and mud, Ian Wallace's sculpted set and projections make what looked impossible - how do you stage the novel's contrasting worlds? - a piece of cake.
San Diego Repertory Theatre, 79 Horton Plaza, downtown, playing through April 8.