Between the droning bellows of St. George’s Church and a woman in Winnie the Pooh Crocs, hurriedly Fred Flinstoning herself across 14th Street in a wheelchair, it is a misty Sunday night in Lower Manhattan. And we’re going to the theater. 

In a cacophonous cove just off the beehive of Union Square, The Vineyard Theatre cuts an understated figure amidst the scaffolding and delivery drivers taking refuge from the late spring showers. Tonight, however, I find it quite easily- marked by morsels of YSL trench coats and nonchalant cigarettes hovering in the glow of the awning. Presumed guests check their phones, then check them again: “Are we in the right place?”

This would be a bad sign for an older generation, but for the Zillenial, it’s a badge of honor. In the Tik Tok<>TimeOut era, organically discovering a hidden gem has become harder and harder. Here, perhaps, rediscover is the right term.

In 1997, the New York Times wrote a feature on the Vineyard entitled “Out of Obscurity and Unpredictability; A Steady Diet of Hits.” Somewhere between condescending and complementary, the article strikes at the difficulty of success in the nascent “Off Broadway” world. The late '90s and early ‘00s were certainly the heyday. Shows like Rent, In the Heights, and Avenue Q got their start with buzzworthy off-Broadway runs that launched lucrative Broadway runs, international publishing deals, and Hollywood adaptations. Avenue Q, notably, started at The Vineyard Theatre in 2006. Nostalgia of this sits proudly displayed in the halls of the theater’s humble lobby, alongside photos of some of today’s most successful actors in their early days. Many of the greats cracked the board at the Vineyard.

Tonight, the lobby feels a bit like a high school or college with its waxy blue painted handrails and gray nylon wall to wall carpeting- exacerbated by the youthful audience suffusing the space. The social buzz is palpable. Attractive downtowners and Brooklynites look over each other's shoulders to see who else got invited to the dress preview. Masters students. Creative industry rivals. Valued press outlets. Any soul above fifty MUST be somebody’s dad. Excited conversation permeates through the production team. Perched on tables near the theater door are free mini bottles of mezcal, jello shots, and crisply designed red and black merchandise emblazoned with: INVASIVE SPECIES.

The semi-autobiographical play, written and starring Maia Novi centers around her fraught immigration journey as a Latina actor, and her psyche as she confronts the false truths of acting, lying for a living, and living to lie. The surreal dark comedy reveals the true costs of honesty and how immigrating to the US was maybe the role of a lifetime all along. The bare stage and stripped back production design allows us to live within Maia’s head, where most of the play takes place. We are catapulted between her daydreams, nightmares, and parallel realities, never truly sure: where is home? And that’s the point.

In March 2021, in real life, Maia was sectioned at a youth psychiatric ward. This is where the play is set and where she encounters the characters that make up the world of Invasive Species. The characters, or the supporting cast, are wonderful. 

From Alexandra Maurice’s emotionally complex kingpin “Akila”, to Raffi Donatich filling the room with an extraordinarily triggering cameo as Maia’s imaginary agent, Tina. Raffi explains to me, “Tina, Tina. Tina. No last name. Just Tina. Everybody knows a Tina.” The whole cast cackles at our pre-show interview, later that week, in agreement. “I don’t know if I have a Tina, but it’s been haunting to have so many actors come up tome and say, ‘[Tina] IS my agent.’” This and Sam Gonzalez's unexpected and perfectly executed freestyle, entitled “Nutz,” that prompted show stopping, roaring applause are reason enough to genuinely want to know and hang out with the cast. They're cool. How did they get here?

While every actor enveloped themselves in multiple characters, none quite excelled at the dynamics and richness of individuality like Julian Sanchez. From the voracious personified Acting Bug to the mute Eduardo, Julian’s performances were the glue of the evening. The grand testament to Maia’s writing and ability to be chaotically hilarious and heartbreaking in the same scene, Eduardo’s triumph shone like no other moment in the play. When asked about flipping the switch between characters, Julian notes, “Maia has written a play where there is truly no time to think. We are so inside of Maia’s internal propulsive rhythm that you are working ahead of your inner critic.”

And make no mistake... this IS Maia’s world. When she enters the room for the interview, all the heads turn. She’s calm. A blue cardigan rests over her plain white performance costume. She is at complete odds with the Maia we see on stage: innards exposed, gushing at 150 beats per minute. No holds barred, exhausted, and sweating, on-stage-Maia pounds the floor, punches the air, and screams “wasabi.” On-stage-Maia exposes her demons. It’s hard to watch this play and not fall in some sort of love with a “Maia.” Which iteration, it is hard to tell. In a play about truth and honesty, the audience is given so much yet so little. Is this all real? Where does it begin? Where does it really end?

Maia’s explanation? “The play jumps from very surreal scenarios into very realistic scenarios. And it moves like thunder, which is how the real world moves, but also how my brain moves. So, having said that, when people come to me and are like, ‘How much of this is true or no?’ I'm like, ‘It's up to you!’”

Maia credits the symbiosis of the cast and crew for the seamless performance at a breakneck tempo, preaching that, “It works because we’re all very close. And that helps break a lot of the barriers. I mean Julian was flipping me over. Spitting on my face. There’s this certain level of closeness you can’t just break through with certain people in such little time.” Or, they’ve broken through a level of closeness that few ever do.

Alex agrees: “I think with a piece like this, [we know] that we are one organism. We are working as one amoeba. We're all extensions of Maya and her consciousness.”

The opening premise of “Invasive Species” asks a question that every creative, or everybody with a dream for that matter, asks themselves at one point in their life: “What if I fail?” It seems to be this feedback loop that breaks Maia. The internal battle: self worth, social acceptance, and chasing your dreams. The external battle: immigration, college, and a cutthroat industry built on impossible standards. By the end of the show, after facing her convoluted psychological journey, the question for Maia becomes: “What if I succeed?”

“On day one of rehearsal, Michael [Breslin], our director, commented on how the first day of any theatrical process feels miraculous because it's so hard to make happen,” Raffi explains, “It’s so sad how many places are closing, how many festivals are closing, you know, and so be able to put up independent theater is such a gift.”

The most obvious success here is for independent theater: a packed house of young people, tickets flying, and viral marketing stretching its red latex across the world’s biggest theater town.

The play ends with a cacophony of nightmarish flashes between the real and surreal, culminating in an exultant peace which settles across the crowd like Xanax. And as the stunned crowd applauds and wanders outside excitedly toward either the Sunday scaries or one last drink - the majority end up at a bar down the street. The crowd, once demure and stand offish, was glowing with a glimmer of something I can only call hope. For the show, for independent theater, and for themselves. I think this is why we love theater. The collective experience of being in the same room, breathing the same air, and feeling the same story. It’s very fitting for “Invasive Species” that being shut off from the outside world without our phones allows us to connect with one another on a level we often forget we crave. Maia’s story, with Michael Breslin’s austere direction and turbulent choreography, taps into the outsider in all of us and reminds us that the voices in our heads are, at the end of the day, ours.

BUY YOUR TICKETS TO SEE THE SHOW, RUNNING THROUGH JUNE 30TH, HERE.