Impossible Maps, a dance concert choreographed by C. Asa Call and performed at Yaw Theater, explored the ever-agonizing experience of grief and how, despite its wretched terrain, it can and must be navigated. Under a mythic lens, it interwove expressions of humanity’s despair with the mourning of Earth’s seasonal cyclical deaths and its inevitable final destruction.

October 27, 2025, marked the 25th annual Gregory Awards held by Theatre Puget Sound. Performers, designers, and theatre makers and lovers all filed into Town Hall Seattle decked in their finest fashion for a night to celebrate the artistry and creation of the performing arts. After an hour to mingle, socialize, and give toast to the year’s winner of the Gregory A. Falls Sustained Achievement Award (John Bradshaw), guests gathered in the pews of the Great Hall for the start of the ceremony.

With less than one week until the much awaited Gregory Awards, there is much yet to do. Fashion choices must be decided, scenes rehearsed, and speeches prepared. While all that is happening, let’s take a look at who’s going to be there and how their stars rose. 

Tucked in the jagged seam between the end of one theatrical season and the start of another sits the Gregory Awards: a chance for the artists and theater companies of the region to be recognized and celebrated for their achievements and outstanding performances throughout the year.

What Is War, devised by Eiko Otake and Wen Hui, told a gut-wrenching story of the sufferings of women within war-torn nations, one which has been endured by generation after generation since before antiquity: that of brutality, sexualization, and objectification.

Dunya closed her eyes and banished the Old-Man-turned-god from her sight. Still, the gods remained before her. In the abyssal blackness behind her eyes, there burned a glowing light. Shadowed figures cavorted around it, symbols flitting overhead. Vishnu and Rávan circled each other in a violent dance of war, and Dunya lay in the pyre at their stamping feet. 

Witness Immersive is a New York and London based company which has spread its innovative creativity to various cities around the country. Its second show in Seattle, The Double, performed by a stellar local cast, brought an interdisciplinary performance medium to the city which has thus far gone mostly untapped—immersive dance theatre.

The Old Man began to play. 

It was like no music she’d ever heard, tainted and raw and beautiful. 

When he finished the song, he stood, opened the window all the way, and held forth the instrument. “Do you want to try?” 

Five words which dictated the rest of Dunya’s life. 

In all our lives, there comes a frightful day when catastrophe strikes. We look around the room to find support from the nearest adult or superior, as we have always done, but when we do, we realize with great suddenness: Oh no. We are the adults in the room. The Grown-Ups, written by Simon Henriquez and Skylar Fox and originally devised by Nightdrive, took its humble place as Dacha Theatre’s third mainstage show of their season. It toured parks and campfires in and around the Seattle area, bringing its nostalgic story to a widespread public. 

Three prisoners staggered out of the truck: two men and a woman. The men knew each other. Their hands grazed and their gazes met. The woman stood alone, clinging to the broken neck of a violin. They were all unchained, but fear and shock were as good a shackle as any. Until it was disrupted, at least. 

Ivy watched as the evening workers and night dwellers shuffled down the sidewalks, heads bowed against the omniscient glow of the streetlights that’d borne witness to their savage furies. 

Warning, the voice began again. 

Ivy lifted a cigarette to her lips, inhaled, let the smoke sit and coil through her lungs like a breath of life before she blew it through the crack of her propped window. Only the stub of the cigarette remained, its embers hot against her fingers. But it was good for a few more puffs at least, and god did she need it. 

While the play had a lot of workshopping to do, its commentary was important. It gave a wide representation of LGBTQ+ lives and showed the isolation felt beneath the weight of conservative cultures throughout the world. It also showed the resilience of Queer communities in the face of oppression and brought the conflicts in the Middle East centerstage, demanding viewers to remember them. 

Firelight flickered on the walls, and the crackling grew into a roar. In the amber glow, a face watched her pass, little eyes staring out from an old photograph of her daughter. 

Ivy was twelve when Leonna last saw her. The girl was Leonna’s greatest pride. The one creation of hers whose heart seemed truly pure. She hoped Ivy had remained that way, indelible and defiant against the cruelties of the world, never letting them break her. 

When Leonna was six, wildfires turned the sky a wrathful shade of red. 

The sun seemed to be the glowing eye of a giant beast veiled within the smoky horizon. She feared it would consume the world. That morning, her mother had soothed her despondent cries and promised it would be all right, but Leonna never quite forgot the dreadful memory of that burning sky. 

Now, for the first time in forty years, the fury of those flames returned.

The barkeep opened a side door and waved them in. There, in the gilded haze of flame-lit lamps, artists gathered. Poets, painters, sculptors, musicians, dancers. Artists of all sorts came to the garden to talk, create, and workshop. It was a safe place for unfettered expression. One of the last of its kind.

So naturally, when Dacha Theatre, who so often defies the status quo of theatre, took on Kate Hamill’s Emma, they began the show by having audience members pluck up the women’s etiquette guide pages—which had been left on every seat—and shred them, stating they were throwing etiquette out the door.

Audience members held onto these shreds and threw them when cued. The pieces fluttered down as white confetti upon the jubilant opening wedding scene of Mrs. Weston (Kayla Walker), and Mr. Weston (Van Lang Pham).

It began slowly—the plague, the greed, the riots. Revolutionaries rose up behind symbols, murals, and songs, while the masses were fed machinery and religion. In the wake of the destruction, politicians deemed art a dangerous thing—a worthless thing—and the masses agreed. They took away the paint, the books, and the instruments. But they could not wholly silence the artists. These are the stories they left behind.

Digital matchmaking algorithms grow exhausting and disheartening, so it’s no wonder many hopeless romantics flock to tales of the ‘Ton with their lavish balls, promenades through the parks, and swoon-worthy, witty banter. 

The matriarch of such tales, Jane Austen, turns 250 years old this year. In celebration, Dacha Theatre is hosting a theatrical bash with a presentation of Emma, a contemporary, feminist take on Austen’s novel, written by Kate Hamill. 

The setting sun outside steeped the city in gold, and a pleasant breeze carried the scent of budding flowers. He remembered the open fields of Anna’s family home, breaths of summer wind rustling the curtains as Anna painted by the window. 

He never should have brought her to the city.

It began slowly—the plague, the greed, the riots. Revolutionaries rose up behind symbols, murals, and songs, while the masses were fed machinery and religion. In the wake of the destruction, politicians deemed art a dangerous thing—a worthless thing—and the masses agreed. They took away the paint, the books, and the instruments. But they could not wholly silence the artists. These are the stories they left behind.