10 August 28 - september 3, 2025 dallasobserver.com DALLAS OBSERVER Classified | MusiC | dish | Culture | unfair Park | Contents Latino comics are creating their own space in Dallas’ comedy scene. BY SIMON PRUITT H ector Sifuentes doesn’t know it yet, but in a few hours, he’ll have one of the best nights of his life. He’s calling from Austin, where he has a stand-up comedy gig at Ani’s Day and Night, a coffee shop and outdoor event space in the city’s East Riverside neighborhood. The show is called Standupatodos, and it will be performed entirely in Spanish alongside fellow comics Luis Silva and Angelica Laguna. It’s still hours away, but Sifuentes says the event has already sold 100 tickets. Sifuentes was born and raised in Dallas to a father from Durango, Mexico, and a mother from Chihuahua, with an older brother and two younger sisters. As a teenager at Dun- canville High School, Sifuentes was an outcast who took up skating. His memories of his aunt and uncle’s house are for- tified by the huddles he and his friends would form to watch the comedians who spoke to their kind of humor, like George Lopez and the Jackass crew, while his older cousin worked the night shift at McDonald’s. He first tried stand-up at 18. It was an open mic, where he says he was by far the youngest in the room. His material drew from all-too-real material, like a story about getting into an altercation with a classmate. “I printed out a map on MapQuest, and I drove my bike to his house,” he recalls. “We pretended to be friends when his dad answered the door, so he hopped on my pegs, and I took him to the park. Then we got in a fight, and then after we got done fighting, he hopped on my pegs and I took him home.” Sifuentes, who hosts the monthly Spirited Foo comedy show in Oak Cliff, can laugh about it now, through the filter of nearly 10 years of stand-up comedy experience. “People like that story because it’s so dumb, but it’s a real story,” Sifuentes says. “Sometimes true stories are just the funniest thing.” The morning after we caught up with Sifuentes, he excit- edly texted to let us know the show at Ani’s had sold out. It ended up being packed with a crowd of Spanish speakers ready to hear comedy for them and by them. Lately, the true story of Dallas comedy doesn’t have as happy an ending. Latino comics across the city find themselves at the cen- ter of two converging trends. First, there’s a palpable enthu- siasm and demand for Spanish-only comedy events. But conversely, the institutional comedy clubs in Dallas just won’t book them. The solution? Latino comics in Dallas are going full punk rock, throwing parties in the city’s most unexpected fringes, like record stores, backyards, basements and side rooms at restaurants. Sifuentes feels a parallel to his outcast upbring- ing. “Growing up, I’ve noticed that the people who frequent comedy clubs are just older people,” Sifuentes says. “They might not even know who’s performing, but they’re just there to enjoy a comedy show. Nothing too crazy, nothing too political or too dirty. I don’t blame the clubs, because that’s how they survive… they don’t want to hear our shit.” It was most curious how Sifuentes put it so matter-of- factly. Was the sentiment that clubs didn’t want to give La- tino comedians a chance shared across the board? It appears so, at least to Luis Juarez, a 12-year stand-up veteran in the Dallas comedy scene. “There was a time when getting work at the clubs was a little tough,” Juarez says. “I feel like it’s just like any other in- dustry; if you don’t have some sort of representation fighting for you to get on stage, it does force you into doing your own thing.” But where is the true necessity found? Is it in sustaining yourself financially and forging a career in stand-up com- edy? Or is it in honing your craft in the best possible way, no matter the audience? “Comedy and capitalism is tough,” Juarez says. “There are so many factors that go into whether you’re getting booked or not. We talk about pop-up shows or just alterna- tive shows, because they keep it more about just straight comedy, not necessarily always trying to make a profit. Mak- ing money is important to pay bills, but you know it’s tough when the whole system is set up just to make money.” It’s a quandary that Juarez won’t face at his next show. On Sept. 19, he’s headlining a benefit event at the Latino Cul- tural Center, where all proceeds will be donated to foreign Dallas College students who lost financial support as part of Trump’s new “Big Beautiful Bill.” After that, he’s taking some time away from the stand-up world to work on a feature script with the intention of “see- ing more Latinos on-screen,” as well as more Latino writers in the film industry. “Ten years ago, there was almost no representation,” says Dante Martinez. “Like, La Bamba was the only thing we had to point to, and that was a Filipino who starred in it. [Lou Di- amond Phillips]. You know, John Leguizamo was, like, the guy.” Martinez is another familiar face in the Dallas comedy scene. Last month, he hosted the High Waters, Lone Stars music benefit event for the Kerr County Relief Fund, and made an appearance on Juarez’s podcast, The Reckless Wiz. “When Ralph popped off, everybody was ready for it,” Martinez says. He’s referring to Ralph Barbosa, the 28-year-old Oak Cliff comedian whose career has skyrocketed in the post-COVID comedy scene, complete with his own Netflix ▼ Culture Kathy Tran >> p12 Crossing the Laugh Line Comedian Jepherson Guevera (left) is a regular on “Monky and Panda Zoo Comedy Show,” a comedy show upstairs from Mariscos La Reyna, a seafood restaurant in Grand Prairie. Roberto “Monky” Silva (right) created the show.
