Seattle Blog Reviews

From the moment you step through the doors at the Seattle Public Theater (SPT), you feel welcomed. It feels much less like entering a formal venue and much more like stepping into warm family hospitality. Patrons share laughs and gather as if entering a comforting home.

Pratidhwani Artistic Director, Drama Wing Agastya Kohli greets patrons right at the entrance with genuine warmth, folding his hands into the traditional namaste. In the lobby, traditional marigold garlands drape gracefully alongside silver platters piled high with colorful mithai (sweets). Nostalgic ‘90s Hindi pop tunes play in the background, creating a festive atmosphere. Inside the performance space, rich, threaded earth-toned traditional fabrics adorn the front of the stage, falling as curtains. 

If you were fleeing Nazi Germany’s occupation, what would you reach for first: your beloved family and friends or your precious, authentic Picasso? 

In Jeffrey Hatcher’s A Picasso, censorship, manipulation, and the fundamental question of what truly makes a Picasso so special are tackled in a high-tension, high-stakes, comedic and emotional journey. Amidst Nazi Germany’s occupation of Paris in 1941, a hunt for modern art labeled by the Nazi regime as ‘degenerate’ ensued—and Pablo Picasso was next. The play pits Pablo Picasso against a culturally refined Nazi officer, Miss Fischer, tasked with choosing which of his works will be destroyed in the next anti-art bonfire. Through the tense negotiation, Hatcher explores how artistic identity can become both a target of totalitarian control and an act of defiance, transforming a comedic interrogation into a meditation on fame, legacy, and propaganda. Christophe Peyras as Pablo Picasso in A Picasso at Theatre33.

You never really expect a book touted as the epitome of transgender body horror to open with the platonic ideal of a tradwife waffling on about her Japanese minimalist bathroom. Then she starts cutting beef liver, and the horror kicks in full swing on the very next page.

Carrying by Samantha Josephs perfectly slots the horror genre in conversation with the lived realities of transgender women, skillfully inviting the reader to consider not only the way they perceive transgender individuals, but also how they perform gender. It’s Samantha Joseph’s debut novel, though one could never have guessed. The prose is delightfully conversational, personal, and doesn’t shy away from queer and ballroom vernacular. This is a novel clearly written by a queer author, for queer readers. 

A curious collection of hats and handbags framed in tiny black squares lined the floors of the Museum of Flight like a trail of breadcrumbs. The tiles offer a subtle but intriguing invitation, asking visitors to stray off the main hallway’s path and follow them through an unassuming barn door. There, the full picture is revealed in a welcoming floor decal bearing those very same accessories: “R\\R | Runway to Runway.” The exhibit, I came to find, was a fascinating crossover between the evolution of flight attendant fashion and the hidden social justice symbol that each uniform stood for. 

When I entered the room tucked away at the end of the Red barn, the exhibit seemed rather small at first glance. It consisted of only two rooms, and everything seemed to be visible from the doorway. As I made my way around the glass displays and wound through the carefully constructed layout, I began to realize there was more to discover than meets the eye.A flight attendant uniform worn during Alaska Airline’s Golden Nugget Service. The hat was a part of a special promotion, not a typical element of the uniform. Credit: The Museum of Flight/Sean Mobley

Mighty or Mild?: Missed Marks in Freak the Mightyby Alice Chen

Are you really an outcast if there’s two of you? When 15-year-old Maxwell Kane, meets Freak, a young boy with Morquio Syndrome—a disorder which causes abnormal bone growth—he finds comfort in their shared uniqueness, ultimately finding confidence as their friendship evolves.

Warning: This review contains heavy spoilers.

You look outside your window at night to see a pair of eyes. Almost-human eyes that shouldn’t be there. It shrieks, guaranteeing a sleepless night, and disappears. Night runners are supernatural beings from the folklore of Eastern Africa that are known to terrify their victims but ultimately do no damage. I found this book to be similar to its subject matter: it grabs you, but leaves no marks. A complex and intriguing plot and premise, with both fully explored and brushed over themes, and shallow characters makes We Run the Night an interesting read, but not an impactful one.

When you put an astrophysicist and an improv troupe-in-training in a room, what do you get? Stories about the Oregon Trail, talking pigeons, rocks that look like Dippin' Dots, and more incredible skits, all created on the spot from a high-quality presentation on the Icelandic genome and killer asteroids. Effortlessly highlighting the intersections between science and the performing arts, Bandit Theater welcomes individuals of all disciplines and tastes to come see a hilarious show performed by improv-ers both new and old.

The intimacy of the venue, Seattle Open Arts Place, transformed the performance space into a lecture hall; a projector hanging from the ceiling and approximately 80 filled seats felt like a preview of college life for me as an incoming STEM major. My giddiness walking into a room that felt both like a black-box theater and a laboratory was, I must say with full confidence, completely unmatched.

Jim Crow is often seen as a distant evil completely removed from modern society. Many Americans know that the Civil Rights Act was passed in 1964. Fewer realize how close 1964 is to the present day – just over 60 years. The generations who lived through segregation are still alive today: baby boomers were born just before the era of segregation came to a close. And beyond Jim Crow, other forms of systemic racism, such as redlining and its lasting effects, persisted long after segregation ended. Donald Byrd’s dance performance, the Insidious Trilogy at the Spectrum Dance Theatre, confronts our nation’s legacy of racism by tracing its progression through history.  

The dance performance was broken into three acts: Strange Fruit, Targeted, and Grief. The acts differed in theme and style, but all shared a sorrowful mood, fitting the tragic events depicted. Insidious Trilogy at Spectrum Dance Theatre. Photo by Alabastro Photography.

As you draw your knife towards the ham, you’ll not only find the oozing and fatty juice, but the intricate flavors that are a new take on politics, and breaking free from cycles.

The comedy packed play by James Ijames takes a spin on Shakespeare's tragic story, Hamlet. With chatter in the air and smell of grilled meat, we’re introduced to a modern day Black American family. We follow the family around as a spectator as the main character navigates through the death of his late Father. Fat Ham plays with the different stances of breaking stereotypes from intergenerational trauma and Black heritage.

Fat Ham stands out from the traditional adaptations of one of Shakespeare’s most famous plays: Hamlet; its typical dark setting turned into a comedic play full of identity, acceptance, and finding yourself. This modern take on Hamlet is a breath of fresh air among adaptations that feel repetitive. 

Written by James Ijames and put on by Wilma Theater, Fat Ham retells the tragedy of Hamlet in the festive and sunlit backyard of a house in the rural South. The story follows Juicy, a queer Black man, who struggles with the death of his father, Pap, and the recent marriage between his mother, Tedra, and his uncle, Rev. When Juicy is outside setting up the barbecue that will celebrate their marriage, he is confronted by the ghost of his dead father. Pap reveals that Juicy’s uncle, Rev, was the one who killed him and tells Juicy to get revenge. From there, Juicy and other members of the family are not only forced to face the chaos at the barbecue, but also their own personal problems. Ijames’ Fat Ham masterfully portrays social issues within the modern age and resistance against cycles of trauma. 

If William Shakespeare woke up today and saw Hamlet turned into a chaotic family barbecue, he would probably throw himself right back into his grave. And that is exactly what Fat Ham, a bold modern adaptation of the Shakespearean tragedy does. With an all Black cast, the story focuses on Juicy, a young, queer, Black man dealing with identity issues inside a highly problematic family. But right from the start, the production avoids the tension of the situation. By forcing constant humor instead of actual feeling, the script downplays the family’s pain, treating a severe crisis like an unserious joke rather than a meaningful tragedy.

The main issue with Fat Ham is that it refuses to take itself seriously, trading deep tragedy for cheap comedy. The adaptation ruins any sense of dramatic weight right from the opening scene. Instead of the creepy, tense, ghost encounter in the original play, we get a crude scene where Tio (the character based on Horatio) is watching porn on his phone right when Juicy finds out his mom and uncle are getting married. Honestly, starting a tragedy with a scene like that just feels completely low effort. By throwing in casual vulgarity and constant jokes during moments that should be emotionally heavy, the play strips away the real grief of the story. It doesn't let the characters actually mourn, treating a serious family blood feud into a casual indifference that makes it hard to care about what happens next.

To ham or not to ham? That is today's question for those interested in seeing the recent play adaptation of Shakespeare's Hamlet, Fat Ham’ Fat Ham transforms the original Shakespearean tragedy into a modern drama full of innovative uses of music, humor, and questioning on self identity. Set in the American South, we follow a family that struggles in choosing between tradition and a great change. The elders run a BBQ restaurant and the question is if the new generation will choose to continue or break the family business. This creative but imperfect story has some really good key aspects of it, like its music use or its humor, but their LGBT representation feels overcrowded and less impactful.

Fat Ham is a hilarious play by James Ijames in which Juicy, a queer Black man, gets visited by the ghost of his recently deceased father, Pap, who orders him to kill his brother, Rev. As the play progresses, Juicy navigates family expectations, grief, and questions his identity. Throughout the whole play he will discover new things, such as love, heartbreak and music?

A sunset looms over a Black household located in the middle of nowhere, constant bickering back and forth between elderly and the young runs on. All shot in long, impressive one takes, Fat Ham is a love letter to Shakespeare that provides plenty of representation for Black and queer communities that doesn’t take itself too seriously. It’s a really great and unique adaptation of Hamlet that I feel is worth checking out. So let’s dive into its strong points and weaknesses, shall we?

So what even is a Fat Ham!? Fat Ham is a critically acclaimed award winning stage play written by James Ijames that takes place at a modern southern barbecue. From the moment the film starts, I could tell that this wasn’t a typical reimagining of Shakespeare. Juicy (this play’s version of Hamlet), a young gay Black man is confronted by his recently deceased Pap (this play’s version of King Hamlet) in the backyard and he demands that Juicy should avenge his murder. The synopsis retains that Hamlet-iness for sure, but the scene is absolutely different. Juicy and Tio (Horatio) are dressed in very modern clothing. Sweatpants, camouflage hoodies, caps, sneakers, and long sleeve tees. Now, the reason the play is named Fat Ham? Because Juicy is “thicc.” Yeah, pretty interesting to say the least. The rest of the play isn’t worth describing, as it would take up too much text, so I’ll just skip to where the play succeeded and where it fell flat.

To view contemporary dance is to be exposed to a medium of utmost earnestness. Black Moon, one of three pieces in Whim W’him’s Spring ‘26 season, is described as follows: “Time moves like phases overhead—each connection ripening, dimming, and disappearing—while the body carries the fatigue of what remains unspoken.” Whim W’him has opened for their last show of the season. There are three dances choreographed by three individual artists, yet they flatten and morph together. None are particularly memorable for what they wanted to showcase: an unpretentious social commentary that defies and transcends the “rules” of art. Choreography: James Gregg - Photography: Jim Coleman - Whim W’Him dancers

Despite the verbose diction of their program descriptions, the dances offered a fraught and dystopian mood. The dancers were set to a worn concrete wall, their bodies adorned with cold neutrals. The first dance, James Gregg’s Static Bloom, opened with the performers standing center stage, arranged in a three-by-three grid. They were wearing cheetah print jorts and heavy trench coats (which dancer Stella Jacobs described as “badass”). Hyperpop music was playing and the dancers seemed to enter a tortured vogue. Around two-thirds through the performance, the dancers emerged still in their trenchcoats but with nearly nothing underneath. The story—supposed to be a form of divine perseverance—was now being maintained on the basis of sensuality. At the end, the dancers’ movements became more and more discouraged. Instead of ending with the same triumph they opened with, the confidence they possessed at the beginning of the show seemed to dwindle. They ended the performance sobbing.  

Stumbling into Terra Solarium at the METHOD Gallery feels less like entering an exhibit and more like stepping into a room inhaled in a single breath. As you round the corners into the space, crimson light spills across the wall and floor, immediately pulling you inward. The exhibit folds around you like a body cavity, and there is an immediate sense that you are no longer observing the work, but standing inside it.

A site-specific installation by the Bicoastal Collaborative Ocean + Lauren Ruiz, Terra Solarium is intended to reimagine the space for collective mourning and biological rebirth. Work like this feels especially relevant at a time when environmental uncertainty—from melting ice caps to heating oceans—continues to shape how we imagine the future. Originally on view from March 5th to the 25th, the installation briefly transformed the METHOD Gallery beyond the conventions of a traditional white-cube gallery space. 

As a queen at her finest, Fauxnique represents everyone’s desire to be seen for who they wish to be. Performing at On the Boards, Monique Jenkinson’s alter ego in How Do I Look? simply wants to know how the world sees her as she explores different parts of herself. From beginning to end, she wears elaborate outfits that showcase aspects of her identity, including dresses, capes, heels, and more. Her talent is unmistakable as she draws from a very real human experience that everyone will have at least once in their lives. How Do I Look? is a drag show built on acceptance and humanity through Monique’s audience interaction, comedy, set, and talent. 

At the beginning of the show, Fauxnique sat frozen in place, frequently changing positions as more people found their seats. She presented herself to the world, as everyone does every day. It felt like a nod for how people frequently want to know how others see them, putting on different faces or constantly changing positions. For me, it was validating to see it manifest on a stage alongside my fellow community. Fauxnique in How Do I Look? at On the Boards. Photo by Allina Yang.

How do we take care of our world if we know its future is sealed? ArtsWest’s timely and poignant production of Walden by Amy Berryman asks nuanced questions such as this within a relatable and smartly-crafted family dynamic.

In an ecologically desperate future, Walden follows ex-scientist Stella (Porscha Shaw) and her crunchy fiancé, Bryan (Josh Kenji Langager), at their forested cabin, when Stella’s astronaut twin sister Cassie (Marena Kleinpeter) returns from a prominent space habitation mission. Old tensions flare up and spark between sisters, and both must decide how to reconcile the past and deal with the future. Relatable questions are asked within the story: can we love people with different political views? What is our duty to society? The play puts it forth to the audience to answer those questions. Walden achieves what most great plays do; it leaves you thinking and wanting more.Marena Kleinpeter and Porscha Shaw in Walden at ArtsWest. Photo by John McLellan.

As a self-proclaimed newbie at jazz music, I have had little experience with seeing live jazz. But when I caught wind that the Seattle Repertory Jazz Orchestra (SRJO) was hosting a concert at the Illsley Ball Nordstrom Recital Hall in mid-April, I jumped at the chance to finally see live jazz for the first time—a change from my usual jazz Spotify playlists or classical music concerts. This concert, The Music of Sun Ra, featured both the music of Sun Ra and songs by other musicians like Orrin Evans and Trudy Pitts. 

Raised in Birmingham, Sun Ra was a one-of-a-kind jazz composer. Famous for his distinctive and elaborate wardrobe, Sun Ra meticulously designed his costumes to reflect the interstellar theme of his music while simultaneously incorporating African and Egyptian motifs in his draping robes and space helmets. His music reflects both interspacial themes and “free jazz”—a jazz style that encourages improvisation instead of strictly playing written notes. 

I couldn’t help but notice the signs in Seattle’s Chinatown-International District, which included Chinese translations beside the English street names. The purpose of my visit was to see the Wing Luke Museum—which focuses on the art of the pan-Asian diaspora—and its exhibit “Lost & Found: Searching For Home.” To be completely honest, I was skeptical of the purpose of the museum going in. Why does pan-Asian diaspora art need its own museum? By the time I left, my opinion had completely changed.

The Wing Luke Museum was less conspicuous than I expected. I even walked past it a few times. It was hard to believe such a small place could contain three floors of art and history. I found “Lost & Found” on the first floor, near a sign explaining that the exhibit focuses on the idea of home among the AANHPI (Asian American, Native Hawaiian, and Pacific Islander) community. Entering the exhibit, I immediately noticed a digital screen that displayed the story of Asian immigrants’ lives. This was my first hint that the mediums shown in the exhibit would be unusual. I couldn’t help but notice the Asian diversity on display. The screen not only showed ethnic diversity, but also diversity of experience and background. There were refugees and adoptees, men and women, recent immigrants, and those who had lived in America nearly all their lives. The depth of the museum’s pan-Asian focus began to hit me. 

A hidden gem lies at the heart of Centerstage Theatre. Disguised as a patron (wearing a wig if you wish), come with your ticket in hand and bring your best poker face!

The 39 Steps is a slapstick comedy take on Hitchcock’s classic spy thriller. Filled with thick accents, a sprinkle of murder, and well-timed suspense, even the most hardened stoics will be forced to break. Played by a cast of four, the 150 characters will make you laugh, cry (from the hysterics), and then laugh once more for good measure. This rendition by Centerstage embraces a bare-bones set to cultivate plenty of hilarious moments, underscored by a sense of hospitality that makes every event-goer feel seen.