At Playwrights Horizons: Fabulation, Inked Baby. Other New York credits include the recent Her Requiem at LCT3, The Miracle Worker on Broadway, Dear Elizabeth at The Women’s Project, Tales from Red Vienna and Ruined at Manhattan Theatre Club (Drama Desk, Lucille Lortel nominations), How I Learned to Drive at Second Stage Theatre, The Piano Teacher at the Vineyard Theatre, Oroonoko at TFANA and Massacre at the Labyrinth Theatre Company (of which she is a member). Recent Regional credits include Lynn Nottage’s Sweat at Oregon Shakespeare Festival and Arena Stage.
(as of 08/23/2016)
A rich stew imbued with gentle humor and quiet simplicity, served with a tender side dish of unspoken love spiced with subtle comic seasoning.
—Jennifer Farrar, Associated Press
A sensitive, cleareyed drama with excellent acting.
Julia Cho: I reached a point where I felt, “This is ridiculous that I haven’t written a play in so long.” And what I did on just the most practical level was, I wrote out a contract that said, “I promise I will write every single day until I have a play.” And then I signed it and I dated it. And I kept the promise.
There are two dishes, above all, that I associate with my father. The first is ramen. And by “ramen” I mean instant ramen, not the artisanal, simmered-for-40-hours kind of Japanese ramen so popular right now. The latter is undoubtedly more delicious but was entirely unavailable to me in my youth.
When Sah-Jin, the widowed immigrant mother in Julia Cho’s stirring, melancholic ‘99 Histories,’ describes a traumatic parting with the sister she last saw as a teenager in Korea, her story forms around the memory of food.
The connection between taste and memory is a well-documented mystery. We’ve all had the experience, whether at some truck-stop diner or otherwise dull dinner party, in which the taste, smell, and texture of food unexpectedly fuse mid-bite to trigger some long-forgotten, surprisingly detailed memory of another time and place in our lives: the quality of the light, the song on the radio, the stain on the carpet, and the sense of well-being (or lack thereof) these created in us.