Spellbinding. Jamerson slowly bends time and space before weaving them both and more back into and onto themselves in a mythic and disorienting exploration of identity, human interaction, and climate change. Our world demands we “define” ourselves, and finding those words is difficult enough, but add on top of that our self-induced apocalypse? The pacing mimics our confusion and paralysis. There is so much potential for visually and audibly arresting stagecraft in this script, I can barely imagine what it would be like to experience live. I hope to one day do so. Absolutely tremendous.

An astonishing play. In rhythmic cadences evocative of heartbeats, dripping water, tides, three characters endure a slow-motion apocalypse and the human need—and fear—of being known.

FF is about gender, and also transcends it. Tay, Jamerson’s nonbinary protagonist, speaks the play’s themes most directly: about their desire to exist outside of their body, and feeling most themself when not being perceived. Yet all three characters buck against the outside world’s attempts to define them, and posses a universally relatable desire to be embraced in all their contradictions, pleading “stop telling me I don’t exist”.

The most intriguing aspect, and an apt description, of Fly Jamerson’s Frozen Fluid is the play’s subtitle: An Antarctic Gender Non-Conforming Creation Myth. It’s accurate, telling, and sets the proper expectations for an evening of theatre. And, like all great myths, Frozen Fluid is simultaneously personal and epic, drawing in its audience to the personal details that reveals an epic truth.