Bang! Peeling off the face from a standing portrait of his son, now a mask, a man onstage placed it over his face. Bang! Flashing lights went off as an alarm blared and the crowd remained still.
Bang! Frantically running around the stage, he cycled through all the options his son might have taken—to run, hide or escape. Bang! Picking up a hammer he raised his hand and struck blow after blow into the portrait.
With four shots, 17-year-old Joaquin or Guac, Manuel Oliver’s son, was shot and murdered at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida in 2018.
Presented by Woolly Mammoth Theatre in collaboration with Change the Ref and The Public Theater, “GUAC” is a 100-minute, no intermission, one-man show written and performed by Manuel Oliver. The intimate performance interweaves tragedy and activism as Oliver shares the heartbreaking story of losing his son, Joaquin “Guac” Oliver, while also drawing a connection to gun violence in the U.S.
“GUAC” will run at Woolly Mammoth Theatre from Jan. 25 to Feb. 16.
Joaquin, much like his father, was a relentless activist who passionately advocated for gun reform—only to become a victim of the very issue he fought against.
With a strong social media presence, he advocated for pro-minority issues like Black Lives Matter and actively spoke on gun reform.
Continuing Joaquin’s activism, Manuel and his wife, Patricia, jumpstarted their nonprofit organization, Change The Ref in 2018. It aims to shift America’s social response to gun violence by uniting creativity, activism, disruption and education.
Audience member Adriane Turnipseed described the emotional weight of the performance as “sadness, exasperation and desperation.”
“To hear that Joaquin spoke out, trying, pushing for change, it makes you feel like we have to do something,” Turnipseed said. “But at the same time, it’s frustrating because the status quo remains the same.”
Oliver’s ability to transform his grief into art on stage left viewers in awe.
“I was impressed by how he can take something like tragedy and make it into beautiful art,” said entertainment photojournalist Mike James. “This was such a unique experience because he was funny, he brought heart, and he used his own pain to create something powerful.”
Throughout the show, Oliver doesn’t just tell Joaquin’s story, he builds it. As he speaks, he paints, adding color to Joaquin’s standing portrait in a raw and intimate act that brings his son to life before the audience’s eyes. The connection between father and son is woven through art and music, making the experience visually and sonically striking.
“Moon River” by Frank Ocean, an artist who was once a part of their morning drop-off routine, filled the theatre. Moments of joy emerge amid the grief—Oliver strums an air guitar, recreating playful solos he and Joaquin once shared.
For some, like Ellen Waugh, who was invited to the show by a close friend, the weight of his message was undeniable.
“Not a soul was moving. When we were supposed to laugh or cry, nobody did anything. I think we were in shock,” Waugh said.
Beyond the stage, the theater itself becomes part of the experience. The lobby installation, featuring a blend of sculptures and audio recordings, immerses attendees in the world of “GUAC” before they even take their seats.
By the end, Oliver had given an urgent call to action to audience members, encouraging them to have conversations about gun violence within their communities.
“Whenever we hear about school shootings, I’ve realized I’ve become desensitized to it,” Turnipseed said. “But after tonight, I feel like I definitely want to have these conversations and even try to get involved more to make a change. I can’t be upset about something and not doing anything.”
Oliver said he doesn’t separate his vulnerable and personal story from the broader societal impact of “GUAC.”
“People for an hour and 20 minutes realize that they could be that guy on stage. It’s great because then they pay a little more attention,” Oliver said. “I’m not an actor, I’m just a father. So I don’t find a line that divides one thing from the other. This is a true story that I’m able to share and I use theater as a perfect tool to reach more people that otherwise I wouldn’t be able to reach.”
The performance also is an extension of his grief and a way to keep Joaquin’s memory alive.
In the show, he paused and encouraged the audience to pick up their phones and call their loved ones to say “I love you”—for he will never get to share those words with Joaquin again.
“I carry this pain. I don’t want anybody to take that pain away from me,” Oliver said. “None of this is gonna make me feel better. At the end of the day, I go back home and I still don’t have Joaquin.”
Copy edited by Anijah Franklin
