The Tolentino family is not what is usually defined by that term. Doctor Mom died of cancer after divorcing Doctor Dad, who now lives with his girl friend, periodically depositing money in a bank account to cover the household expenses of 16-year-old son Kenny and 12-year-old Edith—the latter of whom considers herself guardian of the homestead, and will show you her BB gun to prove it. So successfully have the siblings adapted to this arrangement that they now regard adult interference as an unwelcome nuisance. When Kenny's boyfriend Benji is banished by his homophobic mother, his peers promptly offer to shelter the homeless refugee, and when strangers attempt an invasion, Edith opens fire on them.
In a different kind of play than Edith Can Shoot Things and Hit Them, social workers would pack the delinquent children off to foster homes, or Kenny could apply for Emancipated Minor status, or the story would be narrated in wistfully fuzzy flashback. Like his personae, however, author A. Rey Pamatmat rejects conventions to instead, forge ahead toward resolution. His under-aged heroes may be limited in their legal autonomy, but independence is not quickly relinquished—especially when those who would usurp it are, themselves, crippled by confusion and insecurity.
Slowly, the youngsters' anger at their irresponsible progenitors gives way to compassion for grownups suddenly bereft of their entitlement. When your father is an orphan, alone in the world—stepmommy candidates being understandably wary of sharpshooting tweens—do you abandon him, as he abandoned you, or do you welcome him back into the fold?
Pamatmat emphasizes the alienation of would-be authority figures by keeping them invisible. We hear about them and listen in on one-sided telephone conversations, but the sole glimpse of an over-twenty is a shadowy silhouette resembling, significantly, a pistol-range target. Physically, this renders it easier to accept the necessity of actors portraying much younger characters, but more important, it intensifies our psychological bond with these preternaturally mature adolescents forced to exercise a firm hand in bringing up their parents.
Kevin Matthew Reyes and Luke Michael Grimes capture the romantic exuberance of innocents learning about sex from dictionaries and comic books (leading to some serious onstage necking, but no nudity), while Aurora Adachi-Winter's scowl nails perfectly the Artemesian bravado of virgin-warriors from Mulan to Malala Yousafzai. Whether this is youth-market material is up to the individual, but playgoers of all ages can certainly appreciate Pamatmat's refreshingly smart approach to his subject.
