He tells Ash that later, in a quiet moment over breakfast. He’s got anger issues (he does think of himself as a wolf), and his name isn’t Pete but Jeenu. Immediately, the cracks in Robin’s quick-and-easy approach to motherhood start to show. Robin found their listing on a Yahoo! chat room and leaped at the chance to circumvent bureaucracy and quickly have a child of her own. This is a secondhand adoption: Peter and his wife have decided to give up their adopted son now that she has given birth to a biological one. Things between Robin and Peter are already tense and take a turn for the worse when Ash (Esco Jouléy), who is nonbinary and referred to as Robin’s wife, storms into the scene with a deep distrust of Peter. One member of that couple, Robin (Nicole Villamil), frets before his arrival, overinflating balloons and bickering with her brother, Ryan (Brian Quijada).
When the puppet is introduced, he goes by the name Pete Jr., and he’s being dropped off by his adoptive father, Peter (Christopher Bannow), into the house of a queer couple in San Francisco.
“The truth,” as Winter says at the top, “is a wobbly thing.” Jung’s play keeps you in thrilling, unnerving suspense. The Wolf is perhaps the representation of the boy’s defensive fantasies, or maybe the boy is the body the Wolf itself is trapped in. In this fiction, he’s also a young Korean boy, or at least he operates a puppet that has a spindly body and a fragile papier-mâché head and stands in for the child. Please imagine he’s some other creature: a lone wolf, he insists, out on the prowl defending himself. He’s a human actor, yes, playing a part in the rented space of a nonprofit theater, but his character wants to explain in advance the terms of the fiction you’re watching.
“What if I said I am not what you think you see?” Mitchell Winter asks after barging onto the stage through a refrigerator door at the beginning of Hansol Jung’s Wolf Play.
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