Furthermore, identity as tied to militarization—whether through occupation of land or as a chosen identity such as Dora joining the armed forces—brought to mind the legacy of “mixed” children arising from military bases around the world, not just male soldiers with local women, but also nurses and healthcare workers forming relationships with locals, as well as refugees displaced by war migrating and putting down new roots. Hapa origins can often expose the geopolitical relations between countries. Mixed race children can be the living reminders of conflict and lost homes. In Pang Spa, Dora’s birth discloses three major pain points: Daniel’s lost dreams of being an actor, his absence from Los Angeles during the uprisings, and Dora’s yearning for family.
Hapas, it turns out, last longer than battles do.
*****
Strictly speaking, the 1992 LA uprisings were not battles, but rather one of the greatest civil disturbances in American history, awakening the public to multiethnic, racial, and class injustice. No wonder they haunt not only the Pang family’s dreams, but their waking moments as well. In their states of dementia, the elderly Avy and Tae are transported back to the chaos of 1992, so much so that at one point we slip into Avy’s mind as red lights and frenetic city sounds engulf the stage (lighting designed by Xinyuan Li, sound by Austin Quan).
The allure of LA for those of us constantly traveling through liminal spaces—hapa and artist and more—is in its promise of resources for the imagination. Find your family and your people, and hopefully, you find yourself.
Yet the apartment courtyard where the Pangs’ memories bleed into reality remains the same one where the “spa” is set up. Moments of delight, refreshment, and humor can be found here. Justin Huen’s veristic set maintains an added layer of do-it-yourself aesthetic (prop design by Dana Schwartz) in the form of kiddie pools, a picnic bench turned bodywork table, and exfoliating hand cloths, as the Pangs enjoy an outdoor neighborhood spa day in the style of Korean spas with their specialized pools and massage areas. Though I find myself wishing for real water onstage, the steam coming from the showerhead feels like the most creative use I’ve seen of a fog machine onstage, and the lack of water feels oddly appropriate given LA County’s perpetual state of drought.
The set up of the spa is another visual image of double liminality that ties into the City of Angels’ reputation as a myth maker, global cultural exporter, and dream factory. Except the Pangs aren’t creating this fantasy for profit or influence, but rather for care of the elders and community. It’s a moment that strikes a chord as something that I also recognized in Two Stop and is uniquely LA: how the hapa characters’ revelation and transformation of personal and collective identity is possible only through arriving and confronting it in Los Angeles. It resonates with the reason I came out here, even if I couldn’t quite articulate what relationship I hoped to have with the city. The allure of LA for those of us constantly traveling through liminal spaces—hapa and artist and more—is in its promise of resources for the imagination and making art. Find your family and your people, and hopefully, you find yourself.
In that imagined promise, this city becomes a chassis for change.
“I was overwhelmed—especially in Koreatown—and when I was in Hollywood for the first time,” admitted Edward as we reflected on being Asian Americans who moved to LA from the mid-Atlantic:
You have these images—the [Hollywood] Walk of Fame and all that—and then you see what it’s really like, especially when it comes to disenfranchisement and the houseless situation. And especially being a minority, trying to make it in the industry has made many interesting journeys, both good and bad. I would meet amazing people who would inspire me or open my mind. Then the bad, you find out the immense in-fighting that happens not only in your own community, but also historically underrepresented communities.
Pang Spa articulates a hapa consciousness that makes me think beyond the boundaries of race and ponder my own roles as a writer in this city of creative possibilities.
The in-fighting reminds me of the way Pang Spa took on intra-community racism, such as when Tae spouts off anti-Asian rhetoric. It’s within the context of a Korean soldier reacting to Japanese invaders, and it serves to highlight intergroup conflict that emerges under the umbrella of Asian American and Pacific Islander communities. Furthermore, just like Tae’s memory loss and insomnia, the angry language comes from a place of militarized occupation.
“I think that’s one of the best parts of Pang Spa,” Edward shared, emphasizing how its portrayal of historical invasions resonated with contemporary turmoil:
There were some audience members who had no idea about the Japanese occupation [of Korea]. Younger people were asking, what’s that about? And I was like, it sounds a lot like what’s going on right now, like in Palestine. There’s a line—and David wrote this over ten years ago, but lines can have more relevance when a certain time comes—one character says, “The story of occupation is everywhere.” I really applaud David talking about that.
*****
In the final moments of Pang Spa, Daniel lies on the picnic-now-massage table, Dora applying her hands to an acupressure point on his body. From my side of the stage, I couldn’t see their faces, only their backs. Seeing only their bodies reminded me of all the times I have been in a similar position, feeling the pressure of a healer’s hands or the pinch of the thin needle to unblock trapped qi. It’s an incredibly vulnerable moment for both the giver and the receiver, allowing pressure to give way to the flow of energy.
