David L. Yen © All rights reserved.
A dark and thrilling tale of
ambition and consequence,
Shakespeare’s Macbeth comes to life through the powerful performances of Cinnabar’s Young Rep (ages 12–18). When Macbeth receives a prophecy from mysterious forces, he sets out on a ruthless path to claim the throne of Scotland. But each act of violence only leads to more bloodshed—and the ghosts of his crimes refuse to stay buried. Murder, madness, and magic collide in this gripping tragedy.
We're off to see the wizard!
This beloved tale, in which a Kansas farm girl travels over the rainbow to discover the magical power of home, has entertained audiences for generations.
In my last post, I wrote of my loss, and subsequent return of joy to my theater life. That trend has continued--I have now been granted the chance to not only do a joyful role in a show that was right in my wheelhouse, but also check off one of the few remaining roles on my bucket list. And the opportunities continue to leap at me:
+ Fight choreography with an extraordinary group of teenagers in a play that was one of my most meaningful roles to date. (I played the lead in the Scottish Play almost two decades ago, and it was one of the best experiences in a long career.)
+ A return to one of the most professional organizations I've ever worked with (Mountain Play) in the show I first did with them nearly twenty years ago. My first adventure on the Mountain was as the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz; this summer I get to play the titular character.
+ A chance to work at the place that was nearly my last theater experience. I still hold we shared responsibility for that mess of emotional trauma--this is an opportunity for me to heal, doing one of the most meaningful stories I've ever gotten to help tell.
In The Artists' Way, author Julia Cameron likens our trip through life and creativity as a journey around a mountain. Sometimes we return to the same view as we circle upward--but the vantage point is different. We've grown, we've learned, we've changed. Many tiny elements of my last six months back have reminded me of the joy I had when I started doing theater here in Northern California, more than twenty years ago. I feel fortunate that I'm in the state of mind now that I can recognize them, instead of being focused on the obstacles. The latter, of course, only makes me ungrateful, grumpy, and makes the privilege of performing seem like a burden. The former gives childlike glee. I feel grateful and-if I'm being honest-a little intimidated at the responsibility to stay focused and support my fellow artists in these endeavors. It's good to be home.
David (February 2026)
Set in the not-so-distant future,
85-year-old Marjorie's mind is
gradually succumbing to dementia. To combat her fading recollections, her family introduces her to a “Prime”—a lifelike holographic projection of her late husband, Walter, programmed to retell the stories of their shared past. As Marjorie interacts with Walter, the lines between authentic memories and reconstructed narratives blur, prompting profound questions about identity, the reliability of our recollections, and the extent to which technology can replicate the essence of human connection.