Universal healthcare in Mexico is in crisis. According to Luke Lorentzen’s documentary Midnight Family, there are only 45 government ambulances serving Mexico City’s population of 9 million. Fortunately, in one respect, private ambulances, like the one driven by the Ochoa family, race to the scenes of accidents and crimes in just a few minutes once an emergency call goes out, while one of the few government ambulances might take more than half an hour, if one arrives at all. One substantial downside, of course, is that, while government transportation is free to patients, private ambulances must charge in order to remain solvent, to continue to do the good work of getting people the emergency care they need. The price for this is generally less than $200.

The Ochoas, the affable and indomitable subjects of Lorentzen’s film, take their work very seriously. Not just because it pays the bills (often it doesn’t), but because they seem to have a genuine sense of responsibility to their fellow citizens. One wonders what they’d do, if they weren’t in this business—or what the youngest of them, 17-year-old Juan, his sister, and their little brother Josué, could do if they had the opportunity, and inclination, to commit themselves to school. So far as we can tell from the numerous tense and intimate sessions recorded in the film, a sincere sense of caring drives the family, a desire to provide injured people immediate relief—whether through an IV or a hug—and to help them make the best choices about where to get more extensive care. Their efforts become even more complicated when they have to guide a victim of a car crash through a quick decision about which hospital will provide the best pediatric care for her injured son, and whether they should go to a public hospital (which might be too busy to admit new patients) or a private one (which may be expensive).

Throughout, the Ochoas stay mostly calm, presenting options as coolly as the situation allows, even when it comes time to request payment, which frequently surprises the injured or their family. If they have to pack up empty-handed, the Ochoas remain humble, understanding that in most cases, their patients simply have nothing or too little to give. The job is the important thing. It must be done. But it is, nevertheless, a job, and the ambulance requires gas, or maintenance, or special license plates, and more, just to stay on the road. Like many of their patients, the Ochoas struggle to pay for food and the basic necessities of life, such as water and heat in their home, and school fees for their sister and Josué, who—taking little interest in studying—often accompanies the crew throughout the night, bouncing around in the back of the ambulance on their wild, gladiatorial rides through Mexico’s City’s legendary gridlock.

Midnight Family is a deeply engaging, often exciting, documentary, mostly due to the close relationship Lorentzen developed with the Ochoa family over three years of filming. They are completely unguarded around him, and the viewer must appreciate the balletic quality of Lorentzen’s camerawork (and editing) as he, in tandem with the family, navigates tight spaces and difficult interactions with police and patients. But Midnight Family is also quite bleak, a troubling observation of a system overwhelmed by a lack of resources, and a portrait of millions of lives, including those of the most civic-minded caregivers, perched just over the edge of a steep decline into economic disaster and life-altering physical peril. And yet, the commitment to service documented here, the dedication to community, a renegade caring, might still provide a glimmer of hope.

See all of our Sundance coverage here.

Wicked became in instant classic when it debuted on Broadway with a cast brimming with musical powerhouses 15 years ago. But this show isn’t going out of style anytime soon: the cast touring at the Eccles this month have a new treat and a fresh set of chills with every set change.

LOTTERY: You can enter to win two $25 orchestra seats to any day-of performance! The lottery begins 2.5 hours before each performance, just head to the Black Box Theater office to get your name on the list. If you’re selected, you have to be there in person, with your ID and $25 cash. Opening night tickets start at $130. So it’s a wicked deal. Sorry. Had to do it.

Kara Lindsay was an even more ditsy and loveable Galinda (with a “Gaaaa”) than I expected, and was bubbly in every sense of the word. Her giggly airhead demeanor and obnoxious flouncing around the stage had the whole crowd cracking up, instantly smitten with that first pop-u-lar note. The opera styling quintessential to the role is a bit of a departure from Lindsay’s usual belt numbers, but she nails it right on every time.

Jackie Burns was a true force as Elphaba. She holds the title of the longest-running wicked witch, and it definitely shows. Her experience with Elphie lets her make the role all her own despite having the massive shoes of Idina Menzel to fill. (Side rant: A lady in front of me was telling her friend the history of the show, and struggled through Idina’s name before giving up and just calling her “the Frozen girl.” You’d think after John Travolta’s botch job at the Oscars in 2015 cemented the pronunciation in everyone’s brains forever, but I guess not. Whatever.)

Back to the important topic: Jackie Burns’ set of incredible pipes.In the iconic act-one finale Defying Gravity, Burns’ performance was almost ethereal. I grew up a musical theater geek, and that song is one of the most over-performed in the high-school theater world, believe me. So it takes a lot for me to not roll my eyes at it and skip to the next song in my Broadway playlist. But Jackie Burns made it a whole new experience, and it blew me away.

Wicked Jackie Burns and Kara Lindsay

One of my favorite parts of this show are the well-rounded harmonies that send shivers down your spine, and this tour’s ensemble blew them out of the water. Despite being a relatively small cast, they still pack a knock-your-socks-off wall of sound. When combined with their emotion and dynamics, their performance makes the show amazing. They say a team is only as strong as its weakest member, and this show set the threshold up in the rafters! Every ensemble number had us dancing in our seats, probably to the dismay of everyone around us. Whoops!

But why on earth should we all see this at the Eccles, you ask? Because the space opens up all sorts of new possibilities for showing off the set and the show. We heard murmurs all through intermission about how much the new facility improved the show: countless “I saw this when it toured at Capitol and…” statements gushed about the acoustics, the high ceilings and how everyone gets a view of dynamic costumes and choreography. That steampunk set that everyone knows, whether by attending or seeing gloating posts on Instagram, is always a showstopper but the tall stage of the Eccles lets those mechanical layers shine. Given its full range, the set can be anything. Menacing, inviting, whimsical, you name it!

Original Broadway Company set for Wicked.

There really is no better time than now to see this show, for a parade of reasons that don’t include the treat of a theater. The cherished lesson of seeing the other side of “different,” rather than letting differences divide us, is needed in our climate now more than ever. Every line about silencing others, plus the entirety of “Wonderful” had my politics-buff husband reeling at the cultural relevance for today’s world. Seeing all sides of the story feels even more critical today than it did over a decade ago when the Wicked story began.

So whether you’re in it for the hype, the local orchestra members, brilliant schoolbook-filled choreography or just because you’re curious about the background of that iconic Wicked Witch hat, RUN down to Eccles tonight to get your name on that ticket lottery list.

Wicked runs through March 3, 2019 at theGeorge S. and Dolores Doré Eccles Theater, 131 Main St., SLC. Tickets and info here.

See all of our theater coverage here.

Luce Edgar (Kelvin Harrison, Jr.) is a model student, a leader on his high school’s debate and track teams, and a persuasive mediator in conflicts between friends. You would never know that he’d spent his first seven years growing up in war-torn Eritrea, that, as he says, he learned how to use a gun before he could walk, and that the terror of that experience drove him to sleep under his bed, even after he’d been adopted by an affluent, white couple, Amy and Peter (Naomi Watts and Tim Roth), and moved to a comfortable American suburb.

Now he seems like a perfectly well-adjusted high achiever. Except, maybe for his senior history paper on the uses of political violence. That “maybe” is the crux of Julius Onah’s Luce, a powerfully acted and thoughtful drama about race, expectation, and stereotype.

In the process of complaining about his history teacher, Luce tells his parents that he doesn’t like what he perceives as her “tokenism.” Ms. Wilson (Octavia Spencer) is also black. And Luce is not the only black kid in the class. But his former teammate Deshaun’s mannerisms and language suggest a very different upbringing than Luce’s, one with fewer advantages, and, in the eyes of some, including Ms. Wilson, more to gain and more to lose than Luce, further to climb to reach Luce’s level of success—even despite where Luce started. Deshaun, in this view, is probably not expected ever to reach Luce’s domain in terms of personal or professional success. The most he can hope for is the aspiration such a model might inspire, and perhaps to be led by someone with Luce’s level of intellect and charisma.

To his credit, Luce rejects this kind of thinking, particularly as it’s embodied in what he perceives as Ms. Wilson’s targeting of Deshaun and other non-white kids (even Luce himself), forcing, in Luce’s mind, her expectations of their character on them, based mainly on their appearance, perhaps their academic performance, and her own experience. But how much can Ms. Wilson really know about what Deshaun, Luce, or any of their classmates are capable of, good or bad? This is the issue around which Ms. Wilson’s reception of and speculations about Luce’s paper on political violence hinges.

On the other hand, what Luce, with his egalitarian ideals, doesn’t seem to understand, is that, despite having started life in a worse social position than Deshaun, he may have both natural and now cultural advantages over his classmate that have consequently amplified the expectations (his as well as others) of his success. In a sense, this isn’t a matter of performance or merit, it’s about America. Others may frame their faith in Luce as the fruit of his excellence as a student, an athlete, or a son. But what almost no one wants to say is that their sense of Luce’s potential, of his being bound for great things, is based on his performance as an African refugee, as a young, black man. They can’t see the advantages of the whiteness of his American home because, in this world, this neighborhood, those advantages are virtually transparent. Except to Deshaun. And Ms. Wilson.

Even the viewer wouldn’t dispute that Luce is all he seems to be. There’s just something about him: a manner, a polish, a look that evokes confidence—that’s also, perhaps, dangerously irresistible. How much of his performance is just that? What might he really be capable of when his sense of justice and self—values shaped by his particular American upbringing—are challenged?

Onah creates a wonderfully Hitchcockian atmosphere around these questions, hinting at answers we want to believe and not believe at once. The truth is, we probably want Luce to succeed too, to confirm something for us about what America makes possible. But we’re here in this theater knowing that’s not the whole story. That’s why we came. We want something to bump, jolt, shock us out of the easy embrace of phony truisms about opportunity and bootstraps. Luce, the film, like the character, may not be perfect, but it does fine work with a dense and thorny script and particularly strong performances from Harrison, Jr., Spencer, and Watts.

See all of our Sundance coverage here.