Last month I attended two plays: Where the Mountain Meets the Sea at Ancram Center for the Arts in Ancram, New York, and The Book of the Twelve in a barn in Millbrook, New York. Each play includes a central connection between an older man and a younger man—a distant and troubled father-son relationship in Where the Mountain Meets the Sea and in The Book of the Twelve a dedication from a loving godson, Charlie Mayhew to his godfather, Chris Mann, who is enrolled in a divinity degree at Harvard. This personal bond is not portrayed onstage though it is pivotal to the play.
Where the Mountain Meets the Sea, written by the experienced playwright Jeff Augustin, centers on a Haitian immigrant father and his gay Black American son, exploring themes of identity, family love, and cultural tension. Augustin’s Haitian family, one of storytellers, based their tales on supernatural folk tales and vodou figures. Says Augustin, “In a world where spirits and God guide life, these characters were bound to their destinies.” The play weaves spoken text and indie-folk music by the Bengsons to evoke the emotional landscape of its characters.
By contrast, The Book of the Twelve, co-written by young playwrights Mayhew and Leo Egger, is a theatrical adaptation of the twelve minor prophets from the Old Testament. Mayhew describes the minor Biblical prophets as compelled by a divine voice, living out a vision of God that is both violent and redemptive—forces that shape their lives beyond their control. The play uses a fictional theater troupe who spin a “wheel of genres” to present each prophet, moving from Elizabethan parody to teen drama to Western, making difficult texts vivid and surprising.
I interviewed Christopher Windom, the director of Where the Mountain Meets the Sea, and Mayhew, the co-writer of The Book of the Twelve, to better understand how these works came together.
Windom began his career as a dancer—he performed in Fosse on Broadway—and his understanding of movement and rhythm shapes his directing. “When I danced, I was always drawn to the emotion beneath the steps—the way movement could carry feeling. In theater, language has rhythm, pace, and phrasing, almost like music, and I think about that when guiding actors.” His production underscores what he calls “the Black immigrant experience in the U.S., specifically that of a Haitian father and the way his Haitian background affects his gay, Black American son.” The play explores “the love the two have for one another but are unable to express.”
Mayhew, meanwhile, spoke about his fascination with the prophets. “Someone who feels called to deliver a harsh message, who claims to speak for God—how would we see them today? Would we take them seriously, or dismiss them as ridiculous?” He pointed to Amos, whose fierce calls for justice feel urgent now, but also come from a world alien to us. “These texts are dangerous,” he said. “They’ve been used to justify violence, but they also contain searing critiques of power. We wanted to create a space in theater where religion isn’t treated glibly or evangelically, but seriously, as something that still shapes the world.”
Both plays engage with human relationships framed by larger forces—cultural, historical, or spiritual. Windom’s fluid direction, shaped by music and movement, gives Augustin’s intimate father-son story a quiet lyricism. Mayhew and Egger’s playful use of genre reframes daunting scripture in unexpected ways, allowing audiences to encounter the prophets’ anger and beauty without feeling overwhelmed.
Together, these works illuminate how personal histories and larger cultural narratives intersect, inviting audiences to engage more thoughtfully with the stories that shape our understanding of ourselves and the world around us.
Catherine Tharin danced with the Erick Hawkins Dance Company touring nationally and internationally. She teaches dance studies and technique, is an independent dance and performance curator, choreographs, writes about dance for Side of Culture and Interlocutor, and is a reviewer for The Dance Enthusiast. She also writes for The Boston Globe. Catherine lives in Pine Plains, New York and New York City.
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