Juliana Frey-Méndez, assistant professor of Theater, is an Iowa-born, Cuban American director who collaborates with new playwrights — particularly rising Latine playwrights — to tell contemporary stories in a variety of performance spaces. She holds a B.A. in Theater for Social Change from Cornell University and an M.F.A. in Theater Directing from the University of California San Diego and has worked with a variety of companies and festivals. She joined the Oberlin Theater department this fall and is currently teaching Advanced Acting: Comedy in the Time of Crisis (THEA 323) and a Practicum and Capstone in New Works (THEA 382).
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
What brought you to Oberlin and what has your experience been like so far?
Throughout my career, I’ve been a freelance director, producer, and what I like to call a story doula. When I was starting out, I made it my mission to find new Latine playwrights, raise money to workshop their scripts, and produce their shows. That was exhausting. After I left graduate school, I was freelancing and trying to find a permanent position. When I had my interview at Oberlin, I thought, “Wow. There’s something really special happening here.” I haven’t had a moment when I’ve regretted coming here. That’s a testament to this institution and its incredible history as well as to current initiatives. The students are so involved, invested, and curious.
What first got you interested in working with newer playwrights?
I loved my undergraduate experience in the Robert S. Harrison College Scholar Program at Cornell, which allowed me to build my own major. I studied theater for social change with an emphasis on Latine performance and solo performance artists. Once I got to New York, I didn’t see many places where those stories were being told. I wasn’t yet connecting with the smaller, Latine-focused theaters that had been running since the ’60s and ’70s. So, I started reaching out to my friends and meeting folks through different projects. The Cuban Cultural Center asked me to direct a play, and I told them I didn’t want to do something that had been previously published. I was really interested in working with filmmaker Gabriel Rodríguez, who had never written a play before. Through the show that he wrote, I met a whole bunch of other actor-writers who were interested in workshopping and making theater.
Did you always know that you wanted to focus on directing as opposed to acting?
Like many directors, I started as an actor, and like many directors, I can pinpoint the show, during my sophomore year at Cornell, where I wasn’t cast and thought, “Well, it’s just not meant to be.” I decided instead to assistant direct for the musical theater organization on campus. The next year, in the middle of working on Bernstein’s Candide, I remember walking to the dining hall and feeling so stressed about rehearsal, then I realized, “Oh, wait. This is what I want to do.” I loved the spectacle and figuring out how to realize it with designers and actors. I also realized that an idea doesn’t mean anything if folks aren’t interested in coming along for the ride. Training or personalities don’t always mesh, and I was asking everyone to buy into an artistic risk. As a director, you’re only as strong as your ability to inspire folks to want to work with you.
What is it like working with students who are currently in a developmental stage as directors that mirrors your experience earlier in your life?
I’m trying to offer wisdom that I wish I’d had. As a director, it’s challenging both to identify what you have to say and figure out how to realize that vision alongside others. Student playwrights in the New Works capstone are in a delicious moment of discovery. They’re constantly asking, “Do the words need to change? Does the acting need to change? Or does the directing or the story we’re telling need to shift?” To find answers, I first reflect on what I’m seeing. Then, I figure out if that matches up with what the playwright intended. I also have to balance my own point of view with the task of making a writer’s work more their own. If we have different sets of identities, I may not see their intention, but those who more closely share their experience might. I once told a good friend of mine who I was working with, “I will go to the bottom of your soul to find this play.” Unfortunately, the only way I can tell whether we’re hitting that mark or not is through my own perspective.
Much of your research surrounds Cuban American playwright and director María Irene Fornés, who has only produced her own plays. What about Fornés’ story inspires you?
Fornés was making revolutionary work. She had this philosophy about being open to experience and using stories to make sense of the world. When she visited the theater where her most famous show, Fefu and Her Friends, would premiere, she was inspired by the rooms she walked through and refashioned the play to take place across different locations. Fornés allowed her creativity to bloom within the constraints of the space. I try to cultivate her spirit of possibility while working with students. I tell playwrights and designers that I don’t have all the answers — sometimes a wild idea from someone else breaks the whole show open. I try to create a space where folks feel confident and inspired enough to bring in ideas that contradict how we previously thought about the work.
When interviewed while working on a Riverside Theater’s production of Fornés’ Fefu and Her Friends, you talked about the importance of being surrounded by women who uplift one another despite disagreements. How do the values of community and authenticity guide your directing process?
We lead kaleidoscopic lives. When I enter into a community, I try not just to think about what I can get out of it, but instead how I can make other people’s lives easier. One of my good friends, director Emily Moler, calls theater “the empathy gym.” That skill of empathizing with characters and colleagues can extend to confrontations with people whose values might be different from your own. In my own DIY theater process, I want not only to create understanding but also remind audiences that the imagination is a tool for revolution and change. If they can imagine that they’re in Verona, New York City, on Mars, or in a backyard in Ohio, they can begin to imagine different futures for our society. I’ve tended to choose work written by Latine playwrights because when you put a different worldview on stage, you’re asking others to make space for their values.
