Even if you live in a city as queer-friendly as Portland, being a trans person is a political act. In many ways, trans people in the Rose City exist in rarefied air, insulated from the cruelties and hardships of the US’ rampant, systemic hatred of trans people, to the point where even the clockiest of trans folks can forget what it’s like to be harassed, misgendered, and openly reviled (which is said from a surprising amount of experience).
Riot Queens, a small, trans-driven play that recently opened at the Back Door Theater in Southeast Portland serves as a dire reminder that the relative comfort we experience now is hard-won—and still under attack.
Playwright Mikki Gillette—described once as “the Joan of Arc of the trans community in Portland theatre” by actor and critic Bobby Burmea—sets the work in the lead-up to and immediate aftermath of the 1966 Compton’s Cafeteria Riot. We’re dropped into the lives of four trans people practically begging the world to care about their pain, but with very different ways of approaching a brighter future.
Our window into the world is Nina, played with a charmingly effortless, doe-eyed optimism by Bryn Bollimpalli. New to San Francisco’s Tenderloin neighborhood, Nina is beset on all sides by trans people who wish to imbue her with their own outlook on trans liberation.
First comes Haley (Ethan Fieder), a blonde proto-doomer whose guiding principle is “keep your head down and just live the life you’re given,” which, as we learn, is a defense mechanism. On the opposite end are Dixie (Nineveh Herrera) and Jerry (Cosmo Reynolds), leaders of an organization that seeks to make trans lives less dangerous. Their motivations and traumas feel all-too real, and the production’s majority-trans cast means you know much of their pain is more real than we know.
Many things about Riot Queens work well: The actors sank into their roles, feeling more and more naturalistic and confident as the performance went on. You can expect the occasional odd line delivery that sometimes accompanies community theater—especially shows accessible through the back door of a coffee shop. We saw the show on opening night, so glitches felt almost inevitable. However, the intimate 40-seat theater and queer-heavy audience lent a surprisingly uplifting energy to moments in the play where audience members shouted trans liberation slogans alongside the characters.
Riot Queens spends a good amount of its two-hour runtime explaining the factors that led to the titular riot, but once the event arrives, everything feels like it’s over in the blink of an eye. The riot is a backdrop, rather than a focal point, to the lives of these people, and the audience must self-educate—before or after—to fully understand a historical context that the work itself sometimes forgets to provide.
In spite of that, Riot Queens is a must-see for old and young queer Portlanders alike, especially younger trans people of our city, who can easily lose sight of the fact that even places as similarly queer-friendly as San Francisco were once battlegrounds, with non-cis people constantly facing the threat of police violence for simply existing at a diner or walking down the street. Thankfully, though, it’s also a reminder that though things can feel dark, the future we’re fighting for is right around the corner.
Fuse Theatre Ensemble presents Riot Queens at Back Door Theater, 4319 SE Hawthorne, through March 29, $25 or pay as you’re able, more info, mature audiences
