A queer rent boy and a Filipina immigrant keep their California dreams alive in ‘Califas Trilogy’

Dreams erode. Whether challenging the American Dream of stability, the Californian vision of expanse or the glittery illusions of L.A., Roger Q. Mason’s “Califas Trilogy” dives into the meltdown of myth and the possibility of repair among ruins.

“L.A. is the type of city that builds one generation of progress on top of the other, forgetting about the last generation while reaching for the next,” observes Mason, whose trio of new plays bear the Chicano nickname for the state. “It’s a place of grasping. And anytime you reach, as you climb, you always leave something behind.”

Sometimes what’s left behind are the dredges of history and time, which Mason resurrects onstage. “California Story,” directed by longtime collaborator Michael Alvarez, kicks off the trilogy by vacillating between the mid-1800s, the present and the year 2051, exploring the world of Pío Pico (Peter Mendoza). The last Mexican governor of the state, he reckons with land-grabbers in the final era of Mexican governance before the United States annexes the territory.

“I wanted to write a piece about the cost of ambition, and I happened upon the story of Pico,” says Mason, musing over the historical figure’s life in a region undergoing fleeting political eras between Spain, Mexico and the States. “His grasp for power, meaning, acceptance, stability and affirmation are very much California’s story. It’s why everyone moved to California.”

“California Story,” the first play in the trilogy centers on Pío Pico, the last Mexican governor of the state, and the cost of ambition.

(Michael Rowe / For The Times)

The second part of the trilogy, and the longest-running of the three performances, “Hide and Hide” zooms forward to 1980 into a coarse and degrading City of Angels. Directed by Jessica Hanna, another longtime collaborator, the title is a translation of the Tagalog “TNT” (tago ng tago), a term among Filipino expatriates for fellow migrants without their paperwork or with expired visas. In this neo-noir two-hander, Constanza, a Filipina immigrant, and Billy, a queer Texan youth, find themselves thrown together as they attempt to dodge law enforcement — both immigration officers and criminal investigators — and free themselves of sins from their homelands.

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Their sins are ugly — and also defensible, committed out of a need to survive. In line with the playwright’s other works, Mason expresses taboos through shimmering poetry and creative multipart casting that gives actors a chance to showcase their flexibility and range. The villainous Ricky, a predatory Filipino immigrant who has risen to the status of American lawyer and green-card marriage matchmaker, is voiced through Constanza (Amielynn Abellera) and Billy (Ben Larson), as well as audio recordings. The effect is not just haunting. It’s as if system corruption is infecting victims, akin to demonic possession.

“Ricky becomes a part of them,” notes the dramatist, who purposefully creates roles that showcase the athleticism of acting. The victims “embody that surreptitious, sometimes unscrupulous navigation of America, its legal system and avenues for slick navigation of the law. He is the embodiment of the Western model minority but also a disillusioned rebel against it.” It’s an artistic choice that also blurs boundaries between oppressed and oppressors, revealing the complicity of the American Dream.

“At the core of this piece is a cautionary tale about what it means to submit wholeheartedly to anybody’s dream, including your own,” Mason explains. “Constanza is so determined to become an American citizen that she sacrifices many things, including her principles, in order to attain that dream.”

Roger Q. Mason stands behind Michael Alvarez, director of two plays in their “Califas Trilogy.”

(Michael Rowe / For The Times)

The finale of this Golden State triptych comes in a limited-run presentation of “Juana Maria,” the most recently written play of the three. Also directed by Alvarez, it portrays the final months of an Indigenous woman brought to the Santa Barbara Mission from the remote island of San Nicolas by an American sailor. Mason consulted Chumash and Tongva artists and conducted fieldwork in the Channel Islands, Santa Barbara, and museums across L.A. and Ojai while writing and researching the play. With these methods and engagement, Mason says, “I think of ‘Juana Maria’ less as a showcase and more a community sharing. This is what we’ve come up with thus far, here’s what we’ve learned and what we’re committed to.”

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While “Califas” has been decades in the making, it arrives at a precipitous moment for Los Angeles. Recognizing the devastation of the wildfires and recent federal budgetary cuts to the arts, Mason still expresses courage, gratitude and a call to action. Social and national dreams may crumble, but they are not the sole dreams and realities.

“If you can imagine a future here, in the theater,” assures Mason, “then you have the proof you need to manifest the future in the world.”