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martes, julio 28, 2026

Los Vendidos ("English")

  






Los Vendidos 

《ENGLISH》


De Luis Valdez


1967 First Performance: Brown Beret meeting, Elysian Park, East Los Angeles.
Prologue: Luis Valdez and El Teatro Chicano
Luis Valdez is a pivotal figure in Chicano literature and performing arts, having forged an artistic movement that gave voice to the sociopolitical struggles of Mexican Americans during the civil rights upheavals of the 1960s. In 1965, Valdez founded El Teatro Campesino on the picket lines of the Delano grape strike, alongside César Chávez’s National Farm Workers Association. Operating from flatbed trucks, fields, and union halls, El Teatro Campesino utilized actos—short, highly stylized, and satirical one-act plays—to denounce labor exploitation, systemic racism, and the complexities of cultural identity.
Written in 1967, Los Vendidos represents a masterpiece within this satirical tradition. Set in "Honest Sancho’s Used Mexican Lot and Mexican Curio Shop," the play deconstructs the commodification and instrumentalization of Mexican Americans by a hypocritical and assimilationist political class. Through archetypal caricatures—the submissive farmworker, the rebellious pachuco, the romantic revolutionary, and the idealistic Mexican-American—Valdez unmasks the absurdity of how dominant Anglo-American society attempts to package, sanitize, and purchase minority identities for political convenience. The play brilliantly culminates in a subversion of expectations: the supposed "machines" break free from their programmed scripts, revealing that the true protagonists are conscious agents of their own liberation.
Characters
  • Honest Sancho
  • Secretary
  • Farmworker
  • Pachuco
  • Revolutionary
  • Mexican-American
Scene
Honest Sancho’s Used Mexican Lot and Mexican Curio Shop. Three models are on display in Honest Sancho’s shop. To the right, there is a Revolutionary, complete with sombrero, carrilleras, and 30-30 rifle. Center, on the floor, is the Farmworker, under a wide straw sombrero. Stage left is the Pachuco, with a filero in his hand. Honest Sancho moves among his models, dusting them off and getting ready for another day of business.

SANCHO: Bueno, bueno, mis monos, vamos a ver a quién vendemos ahora, ¿no? (To audience.) ¡Quihubo! I’m Honest Sancho and this is my shop. Antes fui contratista, pero ahora logré tener mi negocito. All I need now is a customer. (A bell rings offstage.) Ay, a customer! 

SECRETARY: (Entering.) Good morning, I’m Miss Jimenez from … 

SANCHO: Ah, una chicana! Welcome, welcome Señorita Jiménez. 

SECRETARY: (Anglo pronunciation.) JIM-enez. 

SANCHO: ¿Qué? 

SECRETARY: My name is Miss JIM-enez. Don’t you speak English? What’s wrong with you? SANCHO: Oh, nothing, Señorita JIM-enez. I’m here to help you. 

SECRETARY: That’s better. As I was starting to say, I’m a secretary from Governor Reagan’s office, and we’re looking for a Mexican type for the administration. 

SANCHO: Well, you come to the right place, lady. This is Honest Sancho’s Used Mexican Lot, and we got all types here. Any particular type you want? SECRETARY: Yes, we were looking for somebody suave … 

SANCHO: Suave. 

SECRETARY: Debonaire. 

SANCHO: De buen aire. 

SECRETARY: Dark. 

SANCHO: Prieto. 

SECRETARY: But of course, not too dark. 

SANCHO: No muy prieto. 

SECRETARY: Perhaps, beige. 

SANCHO: Beige, just the tone. Asi como cafecito con leche, ¿no? 

SECRETARY: One more thing. He must be hard-working. 

SANCHO: That could only be one model. Step right over here to the center of the shop, lady. (They cross to the FARMWORKER.) This is our standard farmworker model. As you can see, in the words of our beloved Senator George Murphy, he is “built close to the ground.” Also, take special notice of his 4-ply Goodyear huaraches, made from the rain tire. This wide-brimmed sombrero is an extra added feature; keeps off the sun, rain and dust. 

SECRETARY: Yes, it does look durable. 

SANCHO: And our farmworker model is friendly. Muy amable. Watch. (Snaps his fingers.) 

FARMWORKER: (Lifts up head.) Buenos días, señorita. (His head drops.) 

SECRETARY: My, he is friendly. 

SANCHO: Didn’t I tell you? Loves his patrones! But his most attractive feature is that he’s hardworking. Let me show you. (Snaps fingers. FARMWORKER stands.) 

FARMWORKER: ¡El jale! (He begins to work.) SANCHO: As you can see he is cutting grapes. 

SECRETARY: Oh, I wouldn’t know. 

SANCHO: He also picks cotton. (Snaps. FARMWORKER begins to pick cotton.) 

SECRETARY: Versatile, isn’t he? 

SANCHO: He also picks melons. (Snaps. FARMWORKER picks melons.) That’s his slow speed for late in the season. Here’s his fast speed. (Snap. FARMWORKER picks faster.) 

SECRETARY: Chihuahua … I mean, goodness, he sure is a hardworker. 

SANCHO: (Pulls the FARMWORKER to his feet.) And that isn’t the half of it. Do you see these little holes on his arms that appear to be pores? During those hot sluggish days in the field when the vines or the branches get so entangled, it’s almost impossible to move, these holes emit certain grease that allows our model to slip and slide right through the crop with no trouble at all. 

SECRETARY: Wonderful. But is he economical? 

SANCHO: Economical? Señorita, you are looking at the Volkswagen of Mexicans. Pennies a day is all it takes. One plate of beans and tortillas will keep him going all day. That, and chile. Plenty of chile. Chile jalapeños, chile verde, chile colorado. But, of course, if you do give him chile, (Snap. FARMWORKER turns left face. Snap. FARMWORKER bends over.) then you have to change his oil filter once a week. 

SECRETARY: What about storage? 

SANCHO: No problem. You know these new farm labor camps our Honorable Governor Reagan has built out by Parlier or Raisin City? They were designed with our model in mind. Five, six, seven, even ten in one of those shacks will give you no trouble at all. You can also put him in old barns, old cars, riverbanks. You can even leave him out in the field over night with no worry! 

SECRETARY: Remarkable. 

SANCHO: And here’s an added feature: every year at the end of the season, this model goes back to Mexico and doesn’t return, automatically, until next Spring. 

SECRETARY: How about that. But tell me, does he speak English? 

SANCHO: Another outstanding feature is that last year this model was programmed to go out on STRIKE! (Snap.) 

FARMWORKER: ¡Huelga! ¡Huelga! Hermanos, sálganse de esos files. (Snap. He stops.) 

SECRETARY: No! Oh no, we can’t strike in the State Capitol. 

SANCHO: Well, he also scabs. (Snap.) 

FARMWORKER: Me vendo barato, ¿y qué? (Snap.) 

SECRETARY: That’s much better, but you didn’t answer my question. Does he speak English? 

SANCHO: Bueno … no, pero he has other … 

SECRETARY: No. 

SANCHO: Other features. 

SECRETARY: No! He just won’t do! 

SANCHO: Okay, okay, pues. We have other models. 

SECRETARY: I hope so. What we need is something a little more sophisticated. 

SANCHO: Sophisti-qué? 

SECRETARY: An urban model. 

SANCHO: Ah, from the city! Step right back. Over here in this corner of the shop is exactly what you’re looking for. Introducing our new 1969 JOHNNY PACHUCO model! This is our fast-back model. Streamlined. Built for speed, low-riding, city life. Take a look at some of these features. Mag shoes, dual exhausts, green chartruese paint-job, dark-tint windshield, a little poof on top. Let me just turn him on. (Snap. JOHNNY walks to stage center with a PACHUCO bounce.) 

SECRETARY: What was that? 

SANCHO: That, señorita, was the Chicano shuffle. 

SECRETARY: Okay, what does he do? 

SANCHO: Anything and everything necessary for city life. For instance, survival: he knife fights. (Snaps. JOHNNY pulls out a switchblade and swings at SECRETARY. SECRETARY screams.) He dances. (Snap.) 

JOHNNY: (Singing.) “Angel Baby, my Angel Baby …” (Snap.) 

SANCHO: And here’s a feature no city model can be without. He gets arrested, but not without resisting, ofcourse. (Snap.) 

JOHNNY: En la madre, la placa. I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it! (JOHNNY turns and stands up against an imaginary wall, legs spread out, arms behind his back.) 

SECRETARY: Oh no, we can’t have arrests! We must maintain law and order. 

SANCHO: But he’s bilingual. 

SECRETARY: Bilingual? 

SANCHO: Simón que yes. He speaks English! Johnny, give us some English. (Snap.) 

JOHNNY: (Comes downstage.) Fuck-you! 

SECRETARY: (Gasps.) Oh! I’ve never been so insulted in my whole life! 

SANCHO: Well, he learned it in your school. 

SECRETARY: I don’t care where he learned it. 

SANCHO: But he’s economical. 

SECRETARY: Economical? 

SANCHO: Nickels and dimes. You can keep Johnny running on hamburgers, Taco Bell tacos, Lucky Lager beer, Thunderbird wine, yesca … 

SECRETARY: Yesca? 

SANCHO: Mota. 

SECRETARY: Mota? 

SANCHO: Leños … marijuana. (Snap. JOHNNY inhales on an imaginary joint.) 

SECRETARY: That’s against the law! 

JOHNNY: (Big smile, holding his breath.) Yeah. 

SANCHO: He also sniffs glue. (Snap. JOHNNY inhales glue, big smile.) 

JOHNNY: Tha’s too much man, ese. 

SECRETARY: No, Mr. Sancho, I dont’ think this … 

SANCHO: Wait a minute, he has other qualities I know you’ll love. For example, an inferiority complex. (Snap.) 

JOHNNY: (To SANCHO.) You think you’re better than me, huh, ese? (Swings switchblade.) 

SANCHO: He can also be beaten and he bruises. Cut him and he bleeds, kick him and he … (He beats, bruises and kicks PACHUCO.) Would you like to try it? 

SECRETARY: Oh, I couldn’t. 

SANCHO: Be my guest. He’s a great scape goat. 

SECRETARY: No really. 

SANCHO: Please. 

SECRETARY: Well, all right. Just once. (She kicks PACHUCO.) Oh, he’s so soft. SANCHO: Wasn’t that good? Try again. 

SECRETARY: (Kicks PACHUCO.) Oh, he’s so wonderful! (She kicks him again.) 

SANCHO: Okay, that’s enough, lady. You’ll ruin the merchandise. Yes, our Johnny Pachuco model can give you many hours of pleasure. Why, the LAPD just bought 20 of these to train their rookie cops on. And talk about maintenance. Señorita, you are looking at an entirely selfsupporting machine. You’re never going to find our Johnny Pachuco model on the relief rolls. 

No, sir, this model knows how to liberate. 

SECRETARY: Liberate? 

SANCHO: He steals. (Snap. JOHNNY rushes to SECRETARY and steals her purse.) 

JOHNNY: ¡Dame esa bolsa, vieja! (He grabs the purse and runs. Snap by SANCHO, he stops. 

SECRETARY runs after JOHNNY and grabs purse away from him, kicking him as she goes.) 

SECRETARY: No, no, no! We can’t have any more thieves in the State Administration. Put him back. 

SANCHO: Okay, we still got other models. Come on, Johnny, we’ll sell you to some old lady. (SANCHO takes JOHNNY back to his place.) 

SECRETARY: Mr. Sancho, I don’t think you quite understand what we need. What we need is something that will attract the women voters. Something more traditional, more romantic. 

SANCHO: Ah, a lover. (He smiles meaningfully.) Step right over here, señorita. Introducing our standard Revolucionario and/or Early California Bandit type. As you can see, he is well-built, sturdy, durable. This is the International Harvester of Mexicans. 

SECRETARY: What does he do? 

SANCHO: You name it, he does it. He rides horses, stays in the mountains, crosses deserts, plains, rivers, leads revolutions, follows revolutions, kills, can be killed, serves as a martyr, hero, movie star. Did I say movie star? Did you ever see Viva Zapata? Viva Villa, Villa Rides, Pancho Villa Returns, Pancho Villa Goes Back, Pancho Villa Meets Abbott and Costello? 

SECRETARY: I’ve never seen any of those. 

SANCHO: Well, he was in all of them. Listen to this. (Snap.) 

REVOLUCIONARIO: (Scream.) ¡Viva Villaaaaa! 

SECRETARY: That’s awfully loud. 

SANCHO: He has a volume control. (He adjusts volume. Snap.) 

REVOLUCIONARIO: (Mousey voice.) Viva Villa. 

SECRETARY: That’s better. 

SANCHO: And even if you didn’t see him in the movies, perhaps you saw him on TV. He makes commercials. (Snap.) 

REVOLUCIONARIO: Is there a Frito Bandito in your house? 

SECRETARY: Oh yes, I’ve seen that one! 

SANCHO: Another feature about this one is that he is economical. He runs on raw horsemeat and tequila! 

SECRETARY: Isn’t that rather savage? 

SANCHO: Al contrario, it makes him a lover. (Snap.) 

REVOLUCIONARIO: (To SECRETARY.) Ay, mamasota, cochota, ven pa ‘ca! (He grabs 

SECRETARY and folds her back, Latin-lover style.) 

SANCHO: (Snap. REVOLUCIONARIO goes back upright.) Now wasn’t that nice? 

SECRETARY: Well, it was rather nice. 

SANCHO: And finally, there is one outstanding feature about this model I know the ladies are going to love: he’s a genuine antique! He was made in Mexico in 1910! 

SECRETARY: Made in Mexico? 

SANCHO: That’s right. Once in Tijuana, twice in Guadalajara, three times in Cuernavaca. 

SECRETARY: Mr. Sancho, I thought he was an American product. 

SANCHO: No, but … 

SECRETARY: No, I’m sorry. We can’t buy anything but American made products. He just won’t do. 

SANCHO: But he’s an antique! 

SECRETARY: I don’t care. You still don’t understand what we need. It’s true we need Mexican models, such as these, but it’s more important that he be American. 

SANCHO: American? 

SECRETARY: That’s right, and judging from what you’ve shown me, I don’t think you have what we want. Well, my lunch hour’s almost over, I better … 

SANCHO: Wait a minute! Mexican but American? 

SECRETARY: That’s correct. 

SANCHO: Mexican but … (A sudden flash.) American! Yeah, I think we’ve got exactly what you want. He just came in today! Give me a minute. (He exits. Talks from backstage.) Here he is in the shop. Let me just get some papers off. There. Introducing our new 1970 Mexican-American! 

Ta-ra-ra-raaaa! (SANCHO brings out the MEXICAN-AMERICAN model, a clean-shaven middle class type in a business suit, with glasses.) 

SECRETARY: (Impressed.) Where have you been hiding this one? 

SANCHO: He just came in this morning. Ain’t he a beauty? Feast you eyes on him! Sturdy U.S. Steel frame, streamlined, modern. As a matter of fact, he is built exactly like our Anglo models, except that he comes in a variety of darker shades: naugahide, leather or leatherette. 

SECRETARY: Naugahide. 

SANCHO: Well, we’ll just write that down. Yes, señorita, this model represents the apex of American engineering! He is bilingual, college educated, ambitious! Say the word “acculturate” and he accelerates. He is intelligent, well-mannered, clean. Did I say clean? (Snap. MEXICANAMERICAN raises his arm.) Smell. 

SECRETARY: (Smells.) Old Sobaco, my favorite. 

SANCHO: (Snap. MEXICAN-AMERICAN turns toward SANCHO.) Eric? (To SECRETARY.) We call him Eric García. (To ERIC.) I want you to meet Miss JIM-enez, Eric. 

MEXICAN-AMERICAN: Miss JIM-enez, I am delighted to make your acquaintance. (He kisses her hand.) 

SECRETARY: Oh, my, how charming! 

SANCHO: Did you feel the suction? He has seven especially engineered suction cups right behind his lips. He’s a charmer all right! 

SECRETARY: How about boards, does he function on boards? 

SANCHO: You name them, he is on them. Parole boards, draft boards, school boards, taco quality control boards, surf boards, two by fours. 

SECRETARY: Does he function in politics? 

SANCHO: Señorita, you are looking at a political machine. Have you ever heard of the OEO, EOC, COD, WAR ON POVERTY? That’s our model! Not only that, he makes political speeches. 

SECRETARY: May I hear one? 

SANCHO: With pleasure. (Snap.) Eric, give us a speech. 

MEXICAN-AMERICAN: Mr. Congressman, Mr. Chairman, members of the board, honored guests, ladies and gentlemen. (SANCHO and SECRETARY applaud.) Please, please. I come before you as a Mexican-American to tell you about the problems of the Mexican. The problems of the Mexican stem from one thing and one thing only: he’s stupid. He’s uneducated. He needs to stay in school. He needs to be ambitious, foward-looking, harder-working. He needs to think American, American, American, American, American! God bless America! God bless America! God bless 

America! (He goes out of control. SANCHO snaps frantically and the MEXICAN-AMERICAN finally slumps forward, bending at the waist.) 

SECRETARY: Oh my, he’s patriotic too! 

SANCHO: Sí, señorita, he loves his country. Let me just make a little adjustment here. (Stands MEXICAN-AMERICAN up.) 

SECRETARY: What about upkeep? Is he economical? 

SANCHO: Well, no, I won’t lie to you. The Mexican-American costs a little bit more, but you get what you pay for. He’s worth every extra cent. You can keep him running on dry Martinis, Langendorf bread … 

SECRETARY: Apple pie? 

SANCHO: Only Mom’s. Of course, he’s also programmed to eat Mexican food at ceremonial functions, but I must warn you, an overdose of beans will plug up his exhaust. 

SECRETARY: Fine! There’s just one more question. How much do you want for him? 

SANCHO: Well, I tell you what I’m gonna do. Today and today only, because you’ve been so sweet, I’m gonna let you steal this model from me! I’m gonna let you drive him off the lot for the simple price of, let’s see, taxes and license included, $15,000. 

SECRETARY: Fifteen thousand dollars? For a Mexican!!!! 

SANCHO: Mexican? What are you talking about? This is a Mexican-American! We had to melt down two pachucos, a farmworker and three gabachos to make this model! You want quality, but you gotta pay for it! This is no cheap run-about. He’s got class! 

SECRETARY: Okay, I’ll take him. 

SANCHO: You will? 

SECRETARY: Here’s your money. 

SANCHO: You mind if I count it? 

SECRETARY: Go right ahead. 

SANCHO: Well, you’ll get your pink slip in the mail. Oh, do you want me to wrap him up for up? We have a box in the back. 

SECRETARY: No, thank you. The Governor is having a luncheon this afternoon, and we need a brown face in the crowd. How do I drive him? 

SANCHO: Just snap your fingers. He’ll do anything you want. (SECRETARY snaps. MEXICANAMERICAN steps forward.) 

MEXICAN-AMERICAN: ¡Raza querida, vamos levantando armas para liberarnos de estos desgraciados gabachos que nos explotan! Vamos … 

SECRETARY: What did he say? 

SANCHO: Something about taking up arms, killing white people, etc. 

SECRETARY: But he’s not supposed to say that! 

SANCHO: Look, lady, don’t blame me for bugs from the factory. He’s your Mexican-American, you bought him, now drive him off the lot! 

SECRETARY: But he’s broken! 

SANCHO: Try snapping another finger. (SECRETARY snaps. MEXICAN-AMERICAN comes to life again.) 

MEXICAN-AMERICAN: Esta gran humanidad ha dicho basta! ¡Y se ha puesto en marcha! ¡Basta! ¡Basta! ¡Viva la raza! ¡Viva la causa! ¡Viva la huelga! ¡Vivan los brown berets! ¡Vivan los estudiantes! ¡Chicano power!(The MEXICAN-AMERICAN turns toward the SECRETARY, who gasps and backs up. He keeps turning toward the PACHUCO, FARMWORKER and REVOLUCIONARIO, snapping his fingers and turning each of them on, one by one.) 

PACHUCO: (Snap. To SECRETARY.) I’m going to get you, baby! ¡Viva la raza! 

FARMWORKER: (Snap. to SECRETARY.) ¡Viva la huelga! ¡Viva la ¡huelga! ¡Viva la huelga! 

REVOLUCIONARIO: (Snap. To SECRETARY.) ¡Viva la revolución! (The three models join together and advance toward the SECRETARY, who backs up and runs out of the shop screaming. SANCHO is at the other end of the shop holding his money in his hand. All freeze. After a few seconds of silence, the PACHUCO moves and stretches, shaking his arms and loosening up. The 

FARMWORKER and REVOLUCIONARIO do the same. SANCHO stays where he is, frozen to his spot.) 

JOHNNY: Man, that was a long one, ese. (Others agree with him.) 

FARMWORKER: How did we do? 

JOHNYY: Pretty good, look at all that lana, man! (He goes over to SANCHO and removes the money from his hand. SANCHO stays where he is.) REVOLUCIONARIO: En la madre, look at all the money. 

JOHNNY: We keep this up, we’re going to be rich. 

FARMWORKER: They think we’re machines. 

REVOLUCIONARIO: Burros. 

JOHNNY: Puppets. 

MEXICAN-AMERICAN: The only thing I don’t like is how come I always get to play the goddamn Mexican-American? 

JOHNNY: That’s what you get for finishing high school. 

FARMWORKER: How about our wages, ese? 

JOHNNY: Aquí viene ahora mismo. 3000 dólares para ti, 3000 dólares para ti, 3000 dólares para ti y 3000 dólares para mí. El resto lo reinvertimos en el negocio. 

MEXICANO-AMERICANO: Demasiado, hombre. Je, ¿a dónde van esta noche, vatos? 

TRABAJADOR AGRÍCOLA: Voy a casa de Concha. Hay una fiesta. 

JOHNNY: Esperen un minuto, vatos. ¿Qué pasa con nuestro vendedor? Creo que necesita un trabajo en la industria petrolera. 

REVOLUCIONARIO: Déjenmelo a mí. (El PACHUCO, el TRABAJADOR AGRÍCOLA y el MEXICANOAMERICANO salen hablando en voz alta sobre sus planes para la noche. El REVOLUCIONARIO se acerca a SANCHO, se quita el sombrero bombín y el cigarro, lo levanta y se lo echa al hombro. SANCHO queda colgando, sin vida. Al público.) ¡Es el mejor modelo que tenemos! ¡Ajúa! (Salen.) 


GAVARRE BENJAMIN: AUTHOR'S BIO.

 


Professional Profile


Benjamín Gavarre Silva is a fundamental voice in contemporary Mexican dramaturgy, specializing in the architecture of the impossible and the "meaningful nonsense." His work—rooted in black humor, farce, and the Theatre of the Absurd—serves as a sharp lens for social critique and the exploration of human identity. With a career spanning over three decades, he has moved seamlessly from the stages of the International Cervantes Festival to the digital frontier. As the founder of dramavirtual.org, he leads one of the most significant digital repositories for Latin American drama, ensuring that regional voices find a global stage.

Gavarre Silva is a distinguished playwright, researcher, and professor at the National Autonomous University of Mexico (UNAM), where he has held a senior lectureship at the Faculty of Philosophy and Letters for over 26 years. A Master of Comparative Literature and an expert in New Hispanic inquisitorial archives, his intellectual production bridges the gap between historical research and creative innovation. He is the author of several textbooks and theatrical collections, including Asesino Personal and Yo, el Peor de los Dragones. Through his platform dramavirtual.org, he remains at the forefront of digital humanities and the promotion of Ibero-American theatre.

He is a Mexican playwright and academic who masters the art of the absurd to dissect reality. A professor at UNAM and a digital pioneer, he directs dramavirtual.org, a leading hub for Latin American scripts. His writing blends satirical wit with deep human reflection, establishing him as an "architect of impossible worlds" in modern drama.


Professional Profile

Benjamín Gavarre Silva is a distinguished Mexican playwright, academic, and researcher whose literary corpus explores the intersections of black humor, farce, and the Theatre of the Absurd as vehicles for socio-political critique. With over 30 years of experience in dramatic literature, his work investigates identity, cultural synthesis, and the human condition within liminal and satirical situations.

As a pioneer in digital drama dissemination, he is the founder and director of dramavirtual.org. For nearly two decades, this platform has served as a vital hub for contemporary Latin American dramaturgy, where he curates his own repertoire alongside works by emerging and established regional voices, focusing on the preservation of modern theatrical heritage.

Juan Carlos Urístegui

Teatrólogo UNAT



1. Academic Background & Languages

  • M.A. in Comparative Literature (Summa Cum Laude) | UNAM, Faculty of Philosophy and Letters.

  • B.A. in Dramatic Literature and Theatre (Honors) | UNAM, Faculty of Philosophy and Letters.

  • Languages: French (Proficiency Diploma, CELE-UNAM) and English (Reading Comprehension, CELE-UNAM).


2. Academic & Teaching Career

University Professorship (UNAM)

  • Senior Lecturer | Faculty of Philosophy and Letters (1999–Present):

    • [Actualizado] With over 26 years of academic seniority at UNAM, he currently leads specialized courses in Textual Analysis I & II, Ibero-American Theatre I & II, and History of Theatrical Art (Ancient to Renaissance).

    • Active member of the Colegio de Literatura Dramática y Teatro, serving as a thesis advisor and jury member for numerous degree examinations.

Research & Academic Contributions

  • Project Researcher | IIFL, UNAM: Expert in New Hispanic thought and Inquisitorial archives.

  • Anthologist: Compiler of French dramatic literature for the Modern Letters academic series (UNAM).


3. Selected Publications & Editorial Work

Recent Literary Releases [Actualizado 2022–2026]

  • Obras Breves de Teatro de Imaginación y Fantasía para Adultos (2022): A compilation of three plays exploring the boundaries of the fantastic.

  • Obras de Teatro Breves y Cómicas para Adolescentes (2022): A collection of scripts and monologues designed for young audiences, emphasizing dark humor and simple staging.

  • Asesino Personal (The Novel): A narrative adaptation of his acclaimed theatrical work, expanding the psychological depth of his original characters.

Collaborative Textbooks

  • Co-author | Español I & II Conexiones (Alfaguara-Nuevo México): Leading textbook series for Mexican secondary education, co-written with Alberto Chimal et al. (Continuously reprinted through 2026).


4. Artistic Portfolio & Creative Production

Playwright (Highlights)

  • Los Reyes Magos vs. El Imperio Naranja (2026): [Actualizado] A biting contemporary satire exploring the clash between tradition and modern geopolitics.

  • Yo, el Peor de los Dragones: Finalist for the "Emilio Carballido" Award; internationally performed in Miami and Monterrey.

  • Sala de Espera: FONCA-CONACULTA Fellowship project.

  • Personas Inestables: A portrait of the Mexican middle-class anti-hero.

Digital Leadership

  • Director of dramavirtual.org: A leading digital repository for Latin American drama, hosting satirical content, technical glossaries for students, and a vast collection of contemporary scripts.


5. Acting & Direction Credits (Selected)

  • Actor: Collaborations with legendary directors such as J.J. Gurrola, Hugo Hiriart, and Lydia Romero.

  • Director: Specialized in Cervantes adaptations and original farces (La Fiesta de los Disfraces, En tres Cervantes te veas).


Contact & Digital Presence





THE MAPLE LEAF GOSPEL.

 

 

THE MAPLE LEAF GOSPEL


(English version of "Oliver y Lupita: La Bici Roja" by Benjamín Gavarré)

 

THE MAPLE LEAF GOSPEL

(Based on “Oliver y Lupita: La Bici Roja” by Benjamín Gavarré)


EL EVANGELIO DE LA HOJA DE ARCE. © 2026 por BENJAMIN GAVARRE está bajo licencia CC BY-NC-ND 4.0


Genre: Urban Farce / Neighborhood Tragicomedy

Setting: A gritty, gentrifying working-class block in South London (or a bustling corner in Queens, New York—let's go with South London, Peckham for that rich collision of British sarcasm and multicultural chaos).


CHARACTERS:

  • LUPITA (LUXE / LULU): The queen of the corner. Pragmatic, dramatic, with a heart of gold and a council estate attitude.
  • OLIVER: From Vancouver (or Toronto). Innocent, eco-conscious, deeply lost in translation, wearing hiking sandals with wool socks.
  • BARRY (BETO): Local mechanic and purveyor of "pre-loved" auto parts of questionable origin. A wildly dramatic father.
  • CHARLIE (CHUCHO): Barry’s son. The only innocent victim. Owner of the red bike and a battered teddy bear named Barnaby.
  • THE SOLICITOR (EL LICENCIADO): A pompous gentrification refugee from a luxury riverside flat in Canary Wharf. A menace to public footpaths.
  • GRANDAD ARTHUR (DON CARMELO): The local scrap dealer. Cynical, wise, and seasoned by decades of council tax arrears.
  • PC CUENCA (OFFICER COPPER): Local neighborhood bobby. Incompetent, lazy, and utterly smitten with Lulu.
  • THE LADS / EXTRAS: To carry the Solicitor’s glass coffee table and pinch wing mirrors.





SCENE 1: Maple Syrup on Rye Lane

(Music: Over-dramatic romantic strings vibrating against the sticky tarmac of a south London high street. LULU stands on her corner, shielding her heavy makeup from the drizzle with a frayed lace umbrella, aggressively fanning herself with a takeaway menu. Enter OLIVER, wearing cargo shorts, hiking socks with sliders, and a compass hanging from his neck, staring frantically at his phone.)

OLIVER: (With a thick, apologetic Canadian accent) Excuse me… Miss, please? Organic coffee? Someone told me it could be around here? Sustainable… sustainably sourced?

LULU: (Fixing her cleavage, eyes lighting up) It’s destiny! It’s the Commonwealth! The maple leaf has finally dropped its gold on me! (To Oliver, in a voice smoother than clotted cream) Oh, darling... Hot coffee, boiling if you want it. The "office" is right here, or if you fancy something a bit more private, we can sort an Uber straight to a Travelodge.

OLIVER: (Shaking his head vigorously) No, no… No motors! I refuse to damage the ozone layer, that’s why I walk everywhere. But they said a few blocks "up." Do you understand? "Up" is the sky? "Down" is the tube? I’m so tired of walking. I don't see any coffee or Soho… Is this Soho?

LULU: (Confused, but riding the hustle) Look, handsome, round here "up" is the standard rate if you want a quick fix, but "down" is down by the bypass motels and it costs extra for the full hour... though you look like you’ve got a solid ISA. What’s the play? Bank transfer or cash?

OLIVER: (Pulling out colorful polymer notes) Canadian dollars… Very vibrant. But I can use Visa! Or I swapped some quid at Heathrow. Coffee shouldn't cost a fortune, but if it's for the sustainable planet, I’ll pay. I love nature!

LULU: (Snatching the cash from his hand) No bank transfer, the fraud team locks me out quicker than a council flat door. Give me the readies... I’ll charge you the "eco-rate," but you order the Uber. The hotel is just round the corner, you know the South Circular? It’s just "up" ten minutes... well, twenty with the traffic in this circus of a city.

OLIVER: (Spots Charlie’s red bicycle chained to a lamppost with a flimsy bicycle cable) Oh! Look at that! A community bike-sharing scheme! Such an inclusive country, so green, so... communal.

(Oliver walks up to the bike. With astonishing ease, he snaps the toy-store cable, unties the teddy bear from the handlebars, and hands it to Lulu with a chivalrous bow.)

OLIVER: And look, someone left a little Teddy Bear abandoned here… Is "abandoned" the right word? Poor little friend.

LULU: (Recinching her coat) Ah, the bear! Right. His name is Barnaby... How did you even guess? Look, mate, I don't normally do fetuses, plushies, or weird internet roleplay... well... if you're desperate, we can talk, but the price goes up.

OLIVER: Oh, I see… Here in the UK everything goes up or down… I don't really get it, but you keep Barnaby. I don't need a soft toy to pedal. Take this… For your help. Very nice gift. My name is Oliver… Oliveo… I’m heading North, my GPS says Redbridge is that way…

LULU: (Screaming) No, sweetcheeks! Redbridge is miles away, you’ll pedal your heart out and die on the A2! I’m telling you, the hotels are that way… Oi! Don't touch that bike! That belongs to Barry’s lad! Don’t you dare—why are you taking it?!

OLIVER: (Already mounted on the bike, pedaling with the dignified posture of a minor royal) Oh, you Brits are so accommodating! Bikes for everyone! Cheerio! Back after my coffee in Soho…

(Oliver pedals off into the drizzle, looking like a lost tourist high on fresh air, while a triumphant brass track drowns out the street noise.)

LULU: (Left alone, staring down at the teddy bear with a mix of disgust and greed) Cheeky Canadian bastard! Tried to pay me in polymer dollars they don't even take at the Post Office... What does he take me for, a mug? (Sighs, looking at the bear) Oh well, Barnaby can go to little Leo... Poor Charlie’s had his bike nicked right off the pavement while I’m here wasting time on international diplomacy. Stingy tourist... left me nothing but a furry witness. Olly, Oliver, Oliver-boo...


SCENE 2: Karma, the Deadbeat Dad, and a Brand-New Ride

(Lighting shift: Melancholic sepia tones. In the background, an acoustic guitar strums a depressing soap-opera chord progression.)

(CHARLIE is sitting on a crate of used gearbox parts, crying his eyes out. BARRY is pacing back and forth, rubbing grease-stained hands.)

BARRY: Oh, pipe down, Charlie! You’re going to burst my eardrums. Listen to your old man: material things come and go… they’re like wing mirrors on a BMW, here today, swapped for cash down the boozer tomorrow. What matters is what’s on the inside!

CHARLIE: (Sobbing harder) On the inside?! There’s nothing inside my chest because they took Barnaby! I want my mum!

BARRY: (Stops dead in his tracks, clutching his chest like he’s taken a sniper round) Your mum?! So now I’m a crap father?! That’s the final knife in the back! Is that what you’re saying, Charlie? That I’m not providing?

CHARLIE: (Unrelenting) Noooo! I want my muuuu-um!

BARRY: (Looking up at the grey London sky) Oh, go on then, strike me down! Lord above, take me now if I can't even run a scrap yard without being accused of emotional neglect! If you hate me that much, I’ll drop you off at your mum’s tomorrow... but look at me, playing the mug, I was just about to take you down to Halfords to buy you a brand-new bike—and a proper teddy bear!

CHARLIE: (Pauses for a microsecond, then wails louder) I don't want a cheap plastic bear from the pound shop! I want Barnaby! He knew my secrets!

BARRY: Charlie, wake up! This is Karma. The universe has rules!

CHARLIE: (Through hiccups) I don’t want karma, I want my bear back!

BARRY: Look, let me explain spiritual balance: if I "acquire" a set of alloy wheels for free on a Monday, the cosmos balance-checks us by nicking our bike on a Tuesday. That’s what you get for leaving it chained with a Poundland padlock in broad daylight. What do you think this is? Zurich? You think everyone’s honest for a laugh? No, son!

CHARLIE: I don’t understand any of this… take me to mum’s.

BARRY: (Kneeling down, dropping into confidential-mode) Listen to me. You’re partly to blame, but really, we’re all to blame in this family. You’re part of a dynasty, Charlie. Your grandad "found" hubcaps before they hit the ground, I "source" gearboxes that nobody claims... and the customers are just as guilty, coming down here knowing full well everything we sell fell off the back of a lorry.

CHARLIE: (Whimpering) But I don't steal anything! I just play!

BARRY: But you sell 'em, Charlie! You man the counter with that angelic face that could convince a copper! You’re the adorable front end of our circular economy! But look—to get the universe off our backs, I’m buying you a brand-new bike. A legit one! With an actual receipt, so the cosmos sees we’re purified.

LULU: (Materializing from nowhere, walking with an air of theatrical pity, hiding Barnaby behind her back) Oh, little man… sweet pea… don't cry your eyes out, you'll go blind.

CHARLIE: Lulu! They took my bike...

LULU: (With the smile of an EastEnders villain) Sometimes, my darling, one person has to suffer unexpected loss so another can find true happiness. Just think—your old bike is out there seeing the world, free from the chains of this postcode. But your new bike? Oh! That’s going to smell of fresh factory metal, it’ll shine so bright you’ll forget all about him. All of it. Every last bit.


SCENE 3: The Solicitor Shoots Himself in the Foot

(The brass track cuts out. Enter a triumphant march played on an out-of-tune recorder.)

(Enter THE SOLICITOR, standing balanced on a wooden dolly with four caster wheels, painted gloss black. The board is carried by two LADS sweating through their hi-vis vests. THE SOLICITOR maintains absurd, rigid dignity, dabbing his nose with a silk handkerchief.)

SOLICITOR: Steady, my brave, hardworking lads! Rest those bronze shoulders. Go grab yourselves a proper can of Diet Coke—properly iced—and get me one for the road... in a can, mind, and don't open it, the carbonation round here gives me toxic shock. Here’s a crisp fifty-pound note, keep the change—don’t spend it all on vapes!

(The LADS drop the board and bolt. THE SOLICITOR steps off the dolly and glares at GRANDAD ARTHUR.)

SOLICITOR: I have journeyed all the way from the privileged, gated sanctuaries of Canary Wharf... arriving in this wretched, grease-stained borough that trades in stolen scrap, solely to recover my offside wing mirror. It was stripped in the dead of night right off my smart-lock apartment door! A glass bunker, my good man!

GRANDAD ARTHUR: (Not stopping his angle grinder on an old alloy) Well, your gaff can't be that smart, mate. Must not have had AI installed, 'cause they had it off in ten seconds flat right under your nose. What, no Ring doorbell on your glass castle?

SOLICITOR: (Outraged) They sprayed shaving foam all over the lens! And scrawled a barbaric tag on the brickwork: “Need mirrors? South London Spares—ask for Barry.” So this is it… the local branch of your little criminal franchise.

GRANDAD ARTHUR: (Smirking) You do dazzle with your intellect, Counselor. Nearly qualified for the obvious Olympics, aren't you? Look what just dropped in on an "unclaimed consignment"... (Pulls out a wing mirror) Offside wing mirror, pristine nick, and look—it even has your initials engraved in posh calligraphy: V.G.B. Gorgeous! That’ll be five hundred quid, emotional recovery fee included.

SOLICITOR: (Pulling out his leather wallet with trembling fingers) This is highway robbery! Daylight extortion! I am literally paying for my own property back, and the worst part is—you know it, I know it, and even the kebab shop owner knows it. This is a conspiracy! I’ll have you know I play golf with the Borough Commander!

(While THE SOLICITOR points an index finger at the sky in an epic threat, a local kid slides past the black dolly. With ninja-like speed, he rips the remaining nearside mirror off the board and vanishes into an alley.)

GRANDAD ARTHUR: (Chuckling) Oh, don't threaten me with a good time... Did you hear that tune? But look here... seems you're missing the other one now. The driver’s side! Blimey, your sustainable transport is having a terrible week.

SOLICITOR: (Whipping his head around to look at the empty bracket) WHAT?! AGAIN?! This cannot be happening! They nicked the left one while I was paying for the right! It’s an ambush!

GRANDAD ARTHUR: Don't panic, Solicitor. We’ve got the nearside one in stock for a grand... you know, if you want a matching set. Look, don't look like that—you look more like a crook than we do, rolling up here without a VAT receipt. Come back soon! And enjoy your Diet Coke. Look at your lads, they’re halfway down the high street with that fiftyner. Careful they don't dump you in a canal before you hit the river.

SOLICITOR: (Climbing back onto his wooden dolly, face beet-red with rage) This isn't the end of this! Forward, lads! You're all going down for this. Let's take this to Trading Standards!


SCENE 4: The Cameras Don’t Lie (Mostly)

(Low-budget police procedural music. Enter PC CUENCA holding an old cracked tablet taped together with duct tape. BARRY and CHARLIE crowd around him.)

CUENCA: Right then, Barry… and you, Charlie… listen up. Given your old man's constant nagging about how the force "never does a tap of work," I pulled the CCTV from the local council hub. And look right here. Crystal clear. This is you, Charlie, leaving your bike unlocked with zero perimeter defense.

(CUENCA turns the tablet around. Faint sounds of Looney Tunes chase music play from the speaker.)

CHARLIE: (Squinting) Oi! That’s an episode of Wallace and Gromit I watched on Christmas Day! Those are penguins, that’s not me!

CUENCA: (Fumbling nervously with the screen) Ah! That’s just a minor buffering issue with the council Wi-Fi. The local CCTV cloud is high-security stuff, military grade, obviously... signal must have crossed wires with a Cartoon Network rerun. Not that I watch cartoons—it’s a fiber-optic glitch, clearly.

BARRY: (Crossing his arms) Oh, drop it, Cuenca. Your "contacts" in surveillance don't exist, mate. We all know you’re a fake copper on half-pay.

CUENCA: (Deeply offended) I am trying to provide emotional closure, Barry! At least you’re getting a new bike out of it, right, little man?

CHARLIE: Not yet… Dad says "cash flow is tight"… or "the pigs are lean," whatever that means.

BARRY: Lean times, son… council grants haven't cleared. But wait till the Christmas bonus drops; we get a cut of the local footfall revenue and then we’ll talk about Halfords.

LULU: (Strolling in with a theatrical sigh, hand pressed dramatically to her forehead) Right! I confess! I was the victim of an express kidnapping! It was a Canadian… a giant of the frozen north. He forced me, tied me to the lamppost with his big bear paws, and those blue eyes just stared right through me and… and… told me to keep quiet or he’d take me all the way back to Ontario!

CUENCA: (Licking the tip of a filthy notebook pencil) Right, that alters the charge sheet… Would you like to make a formal statement, madam?

LULU: Don't chat rubbish, Cuenca, you went to my primary school, I remember your spellings.

CUENCA: You are admitting to being the victim of a felony involving a foreign national of high Nordic-adjacent risk status—

LULU: Look, I thought he was offering a "special service." No teddy bears included... One of those things Charlie doesn't need to know about.

BARRY: Right, right… So, Lulu, this bloke had you tied up and gagged with maple syrup all over your lovely silhouette? Go on.

LULU: (Lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper) All right, I’m lying. Charlie, forgive me… but "Chunky," your old bear, is happier now with my little Leo. He’s younger than you, he wouldn't let him go anyway.

CHARLIE: (Screaming) I’m young too and I’m traumatized! I want Barnaby! Bugger Leo!

LULU: (Kneeling down to his eye level) Charlie, look at me. One day you’ll be eighteen. On that day, I’ll buy you a gelato from Italian Job—the expensive one—and we’ll forget all about this bear. For now, here’s two quid, go down the corner shop and buy a Drumstick.

BARRY: (Jumping in) Hang on! I want an ice cream too! I paid for that bear fair and square... well, technically I liberated it from an abandoned skip. (Glancing at Lulu with suspicion) So this Canadian had "big hands," did he?

LULU: You’ll get your turn, Barry… when you least expect it. The universe works in mysterious ways.

CUENCA: Miss Lulu: I insist you provide a formal witness statement. Come with me.

LULU: Oh, sod off, Cuenca. Give it a rest.

CUENCA: (Leaning in, desperation creeping into his voice) But look at my hands, Lulu… people always say I’ve got proper builder’s hands too. Come on, let me take your statement!


SCENE 5: The Return of the Canadian (And the Mambo of the Big Hands)

(SUDDEN SILENCE. Then—an explosive Latin brass orchestra drops a deafening Mambo beat. Enter OLIVER, pedaling the tiny red bicycle with his knees hitting his chin and a huge tourist grin.)

OLIVER: (Shouting over the music) Hello! Sorry I’m late! I got stuck in "Soho" because they invited me to a festival with so many feathers and colors! But I came back to return this wonderful piece of public infrastructure!

(The Mambo drops to background volume, still playful. Everyone freezes. GRANDAD ARTHUR steps out holding a shifting spanner the size of a cricket bat.)

GRANDAD ARTHUR: And what parade did this one crawl out from? Is he a backing dancer for Steps or what’s with the cheerfulness?

OLIVER: (Dismounting the bike with rhythm-free elegance) I thought it was the closest red-light district, but they explained that’s over in Soho—well, the other Soho is much more pink. I didn't find organic coffee, but some very tall women in skyscraper heels invited me in… And they had very nice beards! Very festive! But here is your Red Bike. A little small for a Canadian with hands as big as mine, but—wow! Britain really is first-world! Free public bicycles everywhere!

BARRY: (Inspecting Oliver’s hands with intense jealousy and suspicion) They're not even that big!

GRANDAD ARTHUR: That bicycle belongs to my grandson, you daft northern hemisphere pillock!

CHARLIE: And you mugged off my mate Lulu!

OLIVER: (Genuinely baffled) Lulu? Who’s Lulu?

LULU: (Stalking forward in a state of absolute melodrama, pointing a manicured finger) Don't you dare deny it, Oliver-boo! Deny it all you like! Say you never laid eyes on me, say you didn't lead me on! You’re a cold-hearted Judas of the maple leaf!

OLIVER: Lulu? Can someone please explain what is happening?

LULU: (Playing to the invisible theatre audience) It’s all in the past now, you wicked North American!

OLIVER: Ugh! Not American! I’m Canadian! Québécois! Why does everyone think we’re the same?

LULU: You nicked a kid's bike and you nicked my corner-girl heart!

OLIVER: (Wide-eyed) I did all that? Was that not a community service? Oh, I am so sorry! Lulu, I didn’t know I was your "crush"... I mean, British women see a blonde backpacker and fall hard, but we can fix this! You look stunning—like a proper drag queen on a Friday night!

GRANDAD ARTHUR: (Lowering the spanner) Let me get this straight… You nicked it, took it for a joyride, brought it back of your own free will, and you’ve been messing about with the local woman's emotions?

OLIVER: (Radiating pure, innocent cluelessness) Stealing? I was just "borrowing." And I only asked Lulu for directions—and she gave me the wrong ones, by the way!

(The Mambo screeches to a halt with a vinyl scratch sound effect. Awkward silence.)


SCENE 6: Operation Maple Syrup

CUENCA: (Grabbing Oliver by the backpack) Right, that’s enough international diplomacy! I’ve heard enough fabrications. Confess that you’re part of an international colorful spy syndicate gathering intelligence on our scrap metal reserves! You are under arrest for vehicle abstraction and dazzling Lulu with your massive mitts!

LULU: (Throwing herself dramatically between Cuenca and Oliver) Get your hands off him! He didn't nick anything! He asked me to borrow the bike because… because we were going on a romantic picnic after his organic flat white! He’s my boyfriend, can’t you see?! We were just method-acting like strangers for a laugh!

OLIVER: (Struggling against the backpack grip) No, wait! I fly back to Toronto on Tuesday, I was only here for a seasonal—

(The MAMBO kicks back in at full blast. Oliver tries to shout that he’s from Quebec, but the brass section and Lulu's howling drown him out. She winks at him while wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.)

LULU: And then you broke my soul, Oliver!

OLIVER: (Surrendering entirely to the chaos) My soul? Oh… well… we can go get a frozen yogurt! I can treat you to vegan halloumi, it’s very good for the metabolism!

LULU: (Squirting away indignantly) My metabolism doesn't need fixing! I’ve got curves and I’m proud of them, alright?!

OLIVER: Oh, yes! Curves are fantastic! Let’s go! Yogurt on me!

CUENCA: (Speaking into his toy walkie-talkie, completely ignoring the romance) Control to Base! Code Eagle 3489! Cancel the MI5 backup. Repeat: the blonde bloke is harmless. Not a spy, just a bored Canadian who wants frozen yogurt. No threat to national security. Stand down.

OLIVER: (To Lulu) Okay, let’s go. We’ll walk a bit to build an appetite before the yogurt.

LULU: Walk, my life? Down this end if you walk too much you’ll get your trainers and your contactless card lifted before you cross the dual carriageway! I’ll order an Uber! But we have to walk to the main road because Ubers won’t come down this alley.

OLIVER: Ah, I know about that… Ubers never go where you actually are, right?

LULU: (Hooking her arm through his) Come on, sweetcheeks… let me show you how things work round our ends.

SCENE 7: Epilogue (Karma vs. Council Tax)

(Charlie and Barry are sitting on the pavement outside the scrap yard, licking two cheap Mr. Whippy ice creams that are rapidly melting down their elbows. In the background, Lulu and Oliver stride off arm-in-arm into the south London drizzle.)

CHARLIE: (Licking his cone) Dad… so was that Karma? I got my bike back, but I lost Barnaby, and now my handlebars smell like an eco-friendly tourist.

BARRY: That’s just called London life, Charlie. Karma would’ve been the actual Peel Street raid happening five minutes earlier while our yard was still full of nicked wing mirrors. That’s when we’d really be in the soup.

(Suddenly, the wail of REAL POLICE SIRENS fills the air. A convoy of unmarked vans and marked panda cars screeches round the corner, blue lights strobing across the corrugated iron fences. A megaphone blares: “MET POLICE! NOBODY MOVE!”)

BARRY: (Leaping to his feet, dropping his ice cream straight into a puddle) Sling your hook, son! This isn't a drill! Run like you just nicked the King’s crown jewels! Fly, Charlie, fly!

(Barry and Charlie bolt in opposite directions. Shouts, whistles, and a pounding UK Garage bassline kick in at maximum volume as the curtain slams down.)


CURTAIN FINAL

 

EL EVANGELIO DE LA HOJA DE ARCE. © 2026 por BENJAMIN GAVARRE está bajo licencia CC BY-NC-ND 4.0

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