An actor and writer, José Amador’s solo show El Hijo Prodigo, about his return to his native Puerto Rico after more than two decades, opens May 4 at Annex Theatre; tickets are $10. Here is his pragmatic explanation of why the solo show is his best way of getting cast.

I imagine that the struggle of the ethnic theatre artist is the same no matter where you may be located, though I also imagine that the strictures are less noticeable in the bigger markets in the U.S. Sure, you may end up performing in underwhelming role after underwhelming role, but the odds of getting cast in something new, interesting, and meaty greatly improve the bigger the city you’re in.

José Amador. Photo by Ian Johnston.

However, if you’re not one of the handful of constantly working ethnic actors residing in NYC, Chicago, or Los Angeles, chances are that you will find yourself feeling restless and sitting fallow more often than the alternative.

Perhaps I should explain that I’m speaking subjectively here. I am a Latino actor who has not gone professional for fear of not being able to work regularly, yet find that 95 percent of the time I’ve been cast in a fringe production, it has been the result of, “Hey, we need some kind of vaguely black or ethnic character actor who doesn’t mind working for free. Who can we get?” I guess I’ve been blessed with the bizarre circumstance where I somehow pass for black in this town. Not a problem with me, I like and will take the work, but often wonder how other black actors look at this and worry that I could be seen as a poacher. Then I remember that I wouldn’t be doing anything otherwise and I swallow that ambiguity bitterly.

The situation in Seattle is complex, and fully exploring it is simply not possible within the allotted space I’ve been granted here, so I’ll see if I can hit the bullet points instead.

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1) Since The Group, Seattle’s only multi-ethnic professional theatre (comparable to mid-sized companies like The Empty Space) died in the mid-90s, the big houses have been maintaining an appeasement pattern: One show a year, like the stellar remount of August Wilson’s Fences at the Rep, or Intiman’s Black Nativity. After a while, you’ll notice the lack of new material (how many productions of A Raisin In The Sun does one person need to see, anyway?), and you’ll also note that the bulk of the work goes to out-of-town actors anyway.

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2) The fringe*, where a kind of experimentation is expected, isn’t exactly a fertile ground for ethnic actors or productions, either. The last time a fringe company took a chance on a new play written and performed by minorities was The Book of Nathan at Theater Schmeater. In 2006. [Editor’s note: It’s been brought to Jose Amador’s and our attention that just earlier this year, Theater Schmeater produced Yussef El Guindi’s Jihad Jones and the Kalashnikov Babes, a play by and about Arab Americans.]

Why is this the case? The answer is a catch-22.

Let’s use The Book of Nathan as an example. Word has it that there were rumblings within the company surrounding the decision to produce the show; in substance they amounted to two different points: an inability to market the show, and not wanting to be seen as using tokenism to advance their artistic pursuits. I mention these not to alienate or shame Theater Schmeater, who in the end did produce that work (albeit four years ago); truth is, these arguments have been made by every fringe company in Seattle at one point or another.

There is a legitimate point in the former argument, and fringe companies aren’t the only culpable party. There is a chasm between the ethnic communities (artistic and otherwise) and theatre in general, but particularly fringe theatres, two entities that could potentially benefit mutually from cooperation. The problem is neither entity is reaching out to the other. The belief is that the one does not care about the other, and so little energy is spent on trying to change it.

The latter argument is specious at best. Let’s go back to The Book of Nathan again. Had anyone taken the time to ask the crossover audience who attended that show if they felt exploited, they would’ve found that tokenism was the furthest thing from their mind. “I’m just glad to see someone trying something,” was the general consensus. Not exactly the reaction feared by those suffering from white liberal guilt. My advice for the future: Find a minority—even better, find a minority director—and ask them what they think. Then, to completely eliminate any potential guilt you may have, hire that minority director.

(The question of casting in general won’t be touched upon here.)

Where does that leave the ethnic theatre artist, however? Either leaving town for what one would hope are friendlier waters, or waiting for some soul to create a company that caters to their niche. I hope I’m not the only one who finds it odd that a potential answer to the lack of diversity on the various stages would be a further segregation of the communities; sadly, it seems to be both the quickest and most feasible answer here.

I’ve found a third option: the solo show. This solution answers my need to show the world that I can be more than the aggressive cop or the humble black townsperson, I can portray characters that aren’t so easy to categorize. It also fulfills my desire to write and tell stories that are different from the norm.

El Hijo Prodigo marks my third foray into the medium. The first was Eric Bogosian’s Drinking in America, self-produced in Colorado Springs—a town I left for Seattle in order to get more opportunities as an actor; you may laugh, but that goal was actually reached. The second, A Walk in the Dark, has been produced in and around Seattle a handful of times.

Once you get past the major artistic and personal reasons for writing A Walk in the Dark, you would find that among the practical reasons, “being able to play an octogenarian white woman who fell in love with a black musician AND a drunken homeless man picking fights with Muhammad Ali WHILE discussing the racial identity crisis I underwent” ranks right up there.

El Hijo Prodigo is a bit different; the primary, secondary, or tertiary focus isn’t on showcasing my abilities nor on discussing the touchy subject of race in America. Rather, it is more about the story of one guy being engulfed by a culture he had left behind; a more writerly pursuit. Yet another rare opportunity for the ethnic theatre arstist.

I am grateful to Annex, The Paradise and the various other organizations who have given me the chance to develop and perform this material.

*I am not including productions by SiS Productions or eSe Teatro, because there’s a niche actor base and audience they are catering to. The fringe has no such distinction.