The Off-Broadway Theatre Review: 2ST’s Toros

By Ross

Drawn uptown (although I came down from Harlem where I’m dog-sitting for a few weeks) by the likes of two actors that I love to watch work; Juan Castano (Public’s Oedipus El Rey; 2ST’s Parallelogram) and Frank Wood (Broadway’s The Iceman Cometh; LCT’s The Babylon Line). They both, albeit in different ways, bring a certain delicious energy to whatever they are in, expanding and contracting the work vivaciously. So on a hot NYC summer night, I found myself entering into Castano’s “my house, my music” energy at Second Stage‘s sweet McGinn/Cazale Theatre uptown at 76th and Broadway. Yet downtown for me. Location, it seems, plays a bigger role than I would have imagined.

The DJ sound beats us in almost relentlessly as we take in the garage surroundings and its uncomfortable energy. Castano, as the absorbed Juan, is holding court as he stares intensely at his compute screen pounding out a rhythm that his friend, Toro, played fascinatingly by Abubakr Ali (Netflix’s “Grendel“; Yale Rep’s Kiss), responds to, hesitantly, with phrases such as “Yeah“, “Sick“, and “So into it.” But it feels like a performative response from the young friend and possible admirer; a conflict-avoidant tact to stay clear and safe from the tension that is Juan. We can sense the combustible anger that lives somewhere underneath, inside his soul, and Juan lets it flare out stingingly with his sharp dismissals. These are not well-attached buddies getting into the sound of the night ahead, but two tense animals sizing up the situation.

One is just trying to keep the peace; light and friendly, but Castano’s Juan, almost instantly, is elsewhere, seemingly unconcerned with the fragility of the situation. He’s being somewhat of a DJ jerk to his guest and supposed friend, Toro, a nickname slapped onto this young man by a coach who was also, most likely, a prick and a wee bit racist. The fact that Toro, (real name Alex), lets it stand to this day says a lot about this young man. “Being aggressive hasn’t always been my strong suit,” Alex states, but it’s the uncomfortable energy in the room that hangs above our collective heads, and we can’t help but wonder when these two bull-boys will charge at one another. Eventually, they must, right? But the question that remains is, who will be scarred and bloodied the most after the confrontation?

They play like restless boys, one angry at the world, but masking himself in it like macho bravado armor, while the other stands more passively by, not too close, doing a nervous “sad sack routine”, lost and defeated by the confusing world that surrounds him. Both are compelling characterizations and interpersonal dynamics. We wonder why they are there together. What is their history? And why are they performing a friendship routine when the energy doesn’t feel all that friendly? Then, to stir the awkward pot a wee bit more, playwright Danny Tejera (Scary Faces Happy Faces) brings forth the balanced and confident Andrea, played most authentically by b (NYTW’s american (tele)visions) striding into the room casually yet solidly more comfortable than either of these two young men. A kindergarten teacher in ripped black jeans, she strolls into the hormonally charged garage space with a clear air of acceptance that is fully missing in the other two. b is the real deal in this awkwardly assembled piece of storytelling, giving us a direction and roadmap to what Andrea is really working through in a manner that elevates and informs, unlike the other two. She hangs in between them like the central core of a teeter-totter, watching these two engage in some serious jabbing and dodging, until she finally speaks the words to Juan we have all been thinking and waiting to hear, “Why are you such a dick?“

The whole formula feels a bit off-balance, especially in terms of culture and locale. We are told we are in Madrid, yet I didn’t quite believe we were in Spain until I was flat-out told we were. I kept expecting a playful shifting on the city name, like Roundabout Theatre’s Scotland, PA, but as directed with a decidedly vague foundation and clarity by Gaye Taylor Upchurch (RTC’s The Last Match), Toros never finds its solid footing on any site-specific landscape, both in the ‘here and now’, and in the journey. This could be any garage in any generic city named Madrid, whether it be Madrid, Maine or Madrid, Colorado. Maybe that’s the point, to make it universal, a wash of all cultural signposts, but the formulation is never unmasked within the structure, leaving us constantly wondering, where are we? And why are we here?

That question can be asked about most things outside of the well-scripted dialogue that feels energized, although ultimately unfocused. The room is solidly realistic, as designed by Arnulfo Maldonado (Broadway’s A Strange Loop), with strong costuming by Enver Chakartash (Broadway’s A Doll’s House), exacting lighting by Barbara Samuels (MCC’s Wolf Play), and a strong sound design by Darron L. West (Signature’s Paradise Blue), and it feels true to form until the abstractions are unveiled. It makes sense, ultimately, that Wood, underused but overdone, plays Tica, the aging dog of Castano’s Juan (before he steps into the shoes of Juan’s father), but the amount of time and focus his old-dog performance receives doesn’t hold us as strongly as it somehow should. The play stops itself in its tracks to watch an aging dog have a doggie dream, yet never really reveals why this is so relevant, beyond Toro’s pointed observation around Juan’s dog-talking voice, and his use of doggie pronouns.

There’s also an oddly inserted abstractionism around a sexual encounter that points more to director Upchurch’s dance background than it does to its misguided use here. So real, this space we are given, that this detour, although lovingly created, doesn’t really belong in this Spanish garage. A simple blackout moment, as used numerously throughout this 90min one-act play, would have kept us all equally invested and informed.

The interactions are fascinating, and the human dynamics draw us in. We want to know why those three are all there, hanging out together. And why is Juan fighting such a battle within himself, against his parents, and inside of his friendships? We lean into the existential crisis conversation that unfolds in a moment of connection, but the investigative nature doesn’t really last or reveal much, similar to when we realize what is underneath the tarp. It’s just a haphazard piling of odds and ends, stacked and hidden to make us think it’s something of importance. I hope a rewrite is in the works, as there is something super compelling in the interpersonal dynamics, but when the curtain is drawn back, it’s just a jumble of sophomoric idealizations and histrionics, topped with a punch and a shitty reaction. I wanted more; from Cantano’s Juan, Ali’s Toro, and more importantly, from Tejera’s Toros. Who is “the real Toro, bitch?” I’m still waiting to figure that out.