Clowning Through Collapse: Old God Confronts a World in Freefall

In Old God, performer and writer Alec Jones-Trujillo channels a white-faced, immortal trickster to reckon with the chaos of our current moment - from tech overload and cultural disconnection to late-stage capitalism and the death of human connection. Blending satire, poetry, mime, and protest, the show invites audiences into a ritual of laughter, grief, and fleeting transcendence.

Where did the idea for Old God begin?

Under the first Trump administration comedians were just talking about Trump, quoting Trump, acting like Trump. And all it seemed to do was normalize him. You can’t really be more outrageous so he’s hard to satire. I was curious to exist in an older zone. A zone of fable and myth. And to talk about our current culture by playing far away in the past.

Why did you choose a white-faced clown - an immortal “Old God” - as the figure to guide us through modern chaos?

There was an impulse to use the white paint—something I did a little as a birthday party clown and for a few weeks in clown school years ago—partly because it is so uncommon, undesirable and semi-stigmatized. Although this is certainly changing lately. At the time, all my clown friends and mentor types were like “Really? Are you sure you want to do Clown clown? In white face?”. 

I love how the paint renders Old God otherworldly, non human, a cartoon. And I certainly disappear. There’s the way that the paint removes nuance and essentializes facial emotions. Coupled with the elaborate costume and set design it’s all very powerful to be inside of. 

The immortal god part of Old God was found out of discovery with my director, Gabe McKinney. We sort of settled on the (bouffon-esque) idea that Old God has been around for all stages of human development. He’s seen all levels of innumerable chaos and filth and greed and societal collapse. He’s also seen the best, the beauty, the senseless and illogical ability of humans to love. And since he’s seen it all for so long, nothing is good or bad. What is, is. We imagined this ancient being has perhaps been off in the mountains wandering for the past few centuries but has now re-emerged at this moment of great chaos and shift. Like—maybe that’s the only thing that can capture Old God’s interest anymore. A grand, operatic unravelling of human endeavor. 

The show blends satire, poetry, mime, and protest. How do you keep that balance?

Underneath it all is play and joy. I delight in playing the character. I revel in the connection with the audience. The pushing and pulling of tension and expectation. Shifting gears. Poking and provoking and maybe going too far. Maybe even outstripping my own ability to make sense. Of not sticking the landing. Of sticking the landing. Tossing in a dick joke or a dumb rhyme. Being petty. 

A simple and motivating factor for me is that no one deserves to be on stage. I believe firmly that rent must be paid over and over while on stage. Rent can be paid in laughs, connection, beauty, commitment, emotion. First and foremost, it is the act of giving. I give so much when performing. It’s the only thing I have to give. Nothing is taken for granted. Any audience, any size and any location is deserving of everything I have to give. I’m interested in disappearing and letting go of the handle on the roller coaster, so to speak, as we ride the descent and hit the loops. Trust in the abandon. 

Old God takes on power, greed, tech overload, and cultural disconnection. What conversations are you hoping the show sparks when people leave the theatre?

At this point I honestly feel we are all lineage holders of the lost arts of humanity. Especially those of us who grew up pre internet and pre cell phone. It is a beautiful thing (such a beautiful thing) that theatre and festivals like Fringe bring strangers together into a room for an hour to breathe, watch, connect, be moved and then return to their worlds. Ideally some people would resonate with the freedom of Old God. Old God is much freer than I am. There is joy and beauty and humanity everywhere. Even in the dark spaces. The scary spaces. 

I know whenever I see comedy (or any art) about all the change we’ve witnessed in the past 25 years I immediately gravitate towards it. There is a catharsis. All screen time and billboards and advertisements tell a different story. This show can be an open window. 

One reference in the show is The Waste Land. Why T.S. Eliot - what feels urgent about that poem in 2025?

In my 20s I used to get The Waste Land out of the San Francisco library from time to time. Mostly due to the epic title and the intangible mystery of it. A favorite line of mine in The Waste Land is “Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images”. History and image and truth continue to collapse all around us. Deep fakes, voice fakes, a river of conspiracy. It’s hard to find solid ground upon which to stand. Right now some kid is convincing another kid that the real Paul McCartney died in a car crash and the one we know is a music-studio fake and you can tell by his ears. I’ve had many people tell me this after they went down some rabbit hole online. What does it mean when something so foundational as the Beatles is transformed into just another lie?

I love how The Waste Land  is full of too much meaning to fully grasp. I’ve read a few annotated copies but am certainly not getting the full picture. The poem grapples with mortality, change, social fragmentation, depression, eras ending, WWI. A lot of images and themes that easily fit our times.

Old God is described as a kind of “cultural exorcism.” What does that mean to you - and what are you hoping gets exorcised?

For me I get to exorcise my fears and sense of powerlessness. The pre-internet world I was promised at 18 is no longer with us. That way of existing in social and public space. I left the mountains and moved to San Francisco and worked forever in coffee shops where I prided myself on playing good music. People would often ask what I was playing or say they liked it and have I heard such and such. At a certain point those conversations stopped. I realized people were just Shazaming the song and moving on. An entire moment of connection had been outsourced to the machine. 

Old God is, perhaps, my tiny and futile attempt to insist on connection. To be the biggest form of distraction in any room. To hopefully give voice to this sensation of social loss. To put a finger in the eye of Progress. To hold out a tiny shingle where we can linger together, briefly, and acknowledge “This is really extreme. We are not crazy”. 

Old God will be at Assembly Roxy at 9.55pm from 30th July - 24th August. Tickets available HERE.