Seven years after losing his 17-year-old son Joaquin “Guac” Oliver in the Parkland school shooting, Manuel Oliver refuses to let grief silence him. Instead, he’s channeled his anguish into an unconventional weapon: theater.
Opening this week at Culver City’s Kirk Douglas Theatre, Guac is Oliver’s one-man show—part memoir, part activism, part art installation—that has been captivating audiences from New York’s Public Theater to Washington, D.C.’s Woolly Mammoth Theatre Company.
The 100-minute performance weaves together pepperoni pizza stories, air guitar tributes to Guns N’ Roses, and the harrowing sounds of hammer strikes symbolizing bullets; all while painting a portrait of a vibrant teenager whose life was stolen on Valentine’s Day 2018.
But Oliver, a painter by trade, isn’t interested in your pity. He wants your action. Through his nonprofit Change the Ref, founded with his wife Patricia, he’s pioneered “nonviolent creative confrontation.” That takes the form of everything from “thoughts and prayers” toilet paper to a controversial AI avatar of Joaquin that sparked fierce debate when it aired on CNN.
This is clearly way more than an acting job for Oliver. “I have nothing else to do with my life,” he says. Since Joaquin’s death, more than 350,000 Americans have been killed by guns. For the Olivers, who still live in Parkland, the fight is never-ending.
We spoke by phone this week on the eve of Guac’s first performance in Los Angeles.
David Hochman: You’ve said the show isn’t political and it’s not sad, but it’s obviously dealing with a very political issue and a deeply sad one. How do you think about those distinctions?
Manuel Oliver: There are layers of politics and, of course, layers of sadness during the show. But that’s not the takeaway. The show is a very emotional way of showing the legacy of my son and how others will relate to that. Others will feel motivated after the show, knowing there are things to do to make the situation better. To me, it’s a story that covers different aspects of life, and that’s the important part. It shows how diverse the lives of these kids are that have been stolen from us.
Hochman: When you’re performing the show night after night, what’s that like emotionally for you?
Oliver: I feel neutral, I would say. That’s how I usually am. But at the end of the day, it’s not about how I feel, honestly. When you go through what Joaquin went through, it really doesn’t matter how I feel. How I feel is totally irrelevant. So I try to just stay strong, be effective on communicating the ideas, and people say that I’m getting better at it.
You have people listening to you 100% for 90 minutes. And that’s something that any activist in my position would love to have. So I just see it as a communication job that needs to be done, and my emotional state is not that relevant.
Hochman: The hammer strikes in the show, representing the bullets that hit Joaquin. What do you want people to feel in that moment?
Oliver: That’s a powerful moment that comes from a street art statement I made almost eight years ago now. I happened to have a hammer. I was mad, I was frustrated, I was crying, and I decided to hit the wall. And I saw how people were afraid and concerned because they thought that probably this was another act of public violence. I decided to use that sound in the show because I saw how sound can affect emotions. At the same time, it’s a lighter and more symbolic way to refer to the shootings and to the bullets. It’s a sound analogy to what actually really happened, and I think that opens up the range of feelings people have about it.
Hochman: After people see the show, what’s the one concrete action you want them to take?
Oliver: We set up an exhibition in our lobby that gives people ideas on what they can do. There are ten different ways of helping and supporting different groups that are fighting against gun violence. We give people the information, we share the story, but we also give you the call to action. We make it very easy for you to get involved. Once you walk out of that room—and I assure you that you will be very motivated because of those final lines and scenes of the show—you’re not going to be wondering, “What do we do now?”
Hochman: The AI version of Joaquin generated a lot of controversy. What made you decide that was the right move?
Oliver: I love AI. I think it’s incredible. Every time someone says, “Oh, you’re trying to bring your son back,” I think, well, I wish I could but that’s now why I’m doing it. I am trying to get people’s attention, and AI is a great tool for that. AI allows me to make our message more effective in terms of it directly coming from Joaquin.
At the end of every day, we all know that he’s not Joaquin. We all know that. But anybody that fights that, that just makes the point: if you are bothered by technology, that it’s crossing your ethical behaviors or your beliefs, then you’re not concerned about what you should be concerned, which is that our kids are dying because of guns in our country. So AI is a resource to that wake-up call.
And let me finish this question with this: if an AI of Joaquin offends you, you have no idea what’s coming next. Because we’re planning to use AI in new ways, to get advantage from this amazing technology.
Hochman: You and your wife still live in Parkland?
Oliver: I travel the country, but headquarters is in Parkland, Florida. We decided to stay here. It’s Joaquin’s house, and he loved his home. It was his safe spot. We spend as much time as we can, even if it’s for a few days, because it connects us to Joaquin. And we have a granddaughter, too. So that is also another good reason not to leave. Life continues.
Guac runs October 14 – November 2, 2025 at the Kirk Douglas Theatre, 9820 Washington Blvd., Culver City.
Tickets start at $40 at CenterTheatreGroup.org.
The interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
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