'WET: A DACAmented Journey' Is a Heart-wrenching Trip

Alex Alpharaoh in "WET: A DACAmented Journey." By Courtesy of Youthana Yuos

In “WET: A DACAmented Journey,” directed by Kevin Comartin and produced by Liz Ross, Anner Cividanis (Alex Alpharoah) is “an American in every sense of the word” — except on paper. The play’s title alludes to his journey from home in Los Angeles to Guatemala to see a terminally ill grandfather of whom he has no memory, but also to have an underlying emotional and psychological journey. As Cividanis explains, being undocumented means planning life in two-year increments: always being in a period of transition and never quite attaining a sense of assuredness or stability. An amalgam of performance elements like spoken word poetry, acting, narration, and rapping culminates in an arresting anecdote that also functions as a documentary.

The play has an uncontrived setting and conversational tone, one in which theater was not trying to reproduce a series of events, but to retell it. It lends itself to being evaluated in terms of its storytelling, rather than in terms of the many elements that typically construe theater. In the Emerson Paramount Center Jackie Liebergott Black Box Theater, the play’s sparse set includes a bench with a rod to hang a hat and jacket and three stools, in front of a backdrop of outlined silhouettes standing before abstract skylines of Guatemala and Los Angeles. At most, Cividanis moves from one stool to another, making no more motion than hand gestures or quick strides, his eye contact and positioning putting him in conversation with the audience. On stage, he bashes a review of the very same play that misidentified him as a “black man” (he is Central American), expressing rage at the phenomenon of the “caravan that is a national emergency,” and saying “bless you” when an audience member sneezes. Interwoven in Anner’s story are the recent dates of passed immigration legislation and trips he has made. Like politics and the state of immigration from hour to hour under the Trump administration, the play evolves and aims to root itself in the present.

Alpharoah begins with spoken word, wearing the baseball cap that would come to signify, throughout the play, his performance of poetry. He discusses a heritage of which he is proud, citing the Mayan pyramids of Guatemala before continuing the story, imploring the audience to see him in the fullness of his humanity. He pulses his arms, looks to the heavens, and chants rhythmically as though to signify the heavy beating of his heart in moments of distress. He unexpectedly morphs from his own monologue into the dialogue of the school children who mocked him for not having immigration papers growing up, calling him a “dirty mojado.” Although Alpharoah cannot effectively play the part of a child, his presence as the only actor on stage — which by no means comes at the expense of the play — contributes to the anecdotal aspect, and it is clear when he slides left on the bench and changes the pitch of his voice that he’s playing another character.

Alpharoah’s writing and acting additionally brings authenticity to the work, whether in the form of the endearing “mijo” he adds as he plays his grandfather, the imitated accents of people he encounters in prison, or the anxious trembling of his hands while passing through Customs and Border Control as he re-enters the country using advanced parole. He elicits attention not only through the typical showiness of theater, but through a voice and a story that comes from any effective orator. The only moment that seems out of place is when he mimics a disabled elderly man from the nursing home — this is somewhat problematic, a scene in which “telling” rather than “showing” would have sufficed.

The show includes few theatrical elements. The lights and sound hinted at the play’s greater, but missed, potential. Sound bites of Obama’s speech announcing DACA comes on over the speaker while an expectant, enthusiastic Anner listens, and later coverage of Trump’s Muslim ban follows, hitting Anner with vertigo. There were moments when bright white lights shone, representing a lighter spirit as Anner emerges from a stressful ordeal or receives DACA. Pink lights flash to emphasize Alpharoah’s transition to depicting his daughter Aileen, and flashing red and blue lights signify the headlights of a police car. These elements were so effective that they underlined the lack of similar elements that, done right, could have enhanced the play.

At the end of the play, Alpharoah cited statistics to reinforce the performance’s relevance with an emotional appeal that was already convincing: The prison-industrial complex makes billions annually, and among over 14 million undocumented migrants, only 800,000 have been granted DACA. Once again, a spoken word poet wearing a cap and artful white bomber jacket, makes a sociopolitical appeal — “What I am not, is your enemy.” “WET: A DACAmented Journey” portrays a common immigrant experience from which many Americans are too far removed to develop a well-informed opinion, showing that sometimes, the facts need to be paired with story. When Alpharoah becomes his daughter, crying about not knowing whether her father will travel safely to Guatemala and back, or Anner’s mother screaming “Ayúdame!” when her starving baby has a seizure as she tries to cross the border to America, his inspired acting makes an emotional argument beyond the scope of any political debate.