Eat, Laugh, Betray: The Wild World of Blame of Thrones
Inside Jonathan Heras’ Wild, Chicano-Fueled
Dinner-Theater Parody
Tucson artist and performer Jonathan Heras laughs when he describes the moment the spark hit him. Before he and his wife became new parents—before their lives became “all Bluey, all the time”—the pair used to unwind with TV. Among their favorites: Game of Thrones. And years before that, they worked together in dinner theater.
“One night we were watching the show and I just thought… Tucson is exactly like this,” Heras says. “All these little hoods, all these neighborhoods with their own alliances and grudges. But with way more Chicanos.”
What began as a joke—Juan Snow, Dragona La Chingona, and Caliche “idea salads” of punny reimagined characters—grew into an original interactive murder-mystery parody dinner theater production: Blame of Thrones.
It’s part medieval fantasy, part Tucson neighborhood roast, part telenovela fever dream—and fully committed to turning Tucson into its own mythical realm: South Westeros.
From Straight Parody to Chicano Fantasy World
The earliest draft wasn’t Chicano at all.
“When I first wrote it, it was just a straight parody,” Heras explains. “But when I pitched it to Borderlands Theater as a revenue stream for their youth scholarship fund, they said, ‘Could this become something Borderlands would do? Something more niche, but… us?’”
That challenge set everything into motion.
“Sprinkling the Chicano-isms into it ended up being easier than I expected,” Heras says. “Once you embrace the bold characters, the big hoop earrings, the outrageous accents, the hyper-dramatic telenovela energy—it just works. Even though they are caricatures, they’re also people we know. And when you meet them, you know they are real.”
The show leans into the exaggerated melodramatic flavors of telenovelas—theatrical monologues, wild accusations, improbable plot twists—and celebrates the way those stories shape cultural humor.
“There’s a lot of Soraya energy in this show,” Heras says, referencing the iconic villain from María la del Barrio. “She plots out loud. She’s unhinged. She’s my favorite character to write.”
A Smart Parody That Doesn’t Get Lost in the Fan Service
Parodying a cultural juggernaut like Game of Thrones comes with unique challenges.
“When you parody something huge, fans expect certain things,” he says. “But we had to accept: this universe is different. Things won’t line up with episode 27 of season 4. That’s not the point.”
Instead, the framework of Game of Thrones becomes a launching pad for something far stranger—and much more local.
“You’re not getting medieval Europe,” he says. “You’re getting Menlo Park, Winterhaven, Three Points, and Oro Valley battling it out for the Throne.”
And people from Tucson will absolutely get it.
Winterhaven becomes the land of Juan Snow—the Tucson equivalent of Winterfell. Oro Valley becomes the gilded land of snobby royalty. Menlo Park becomes the old guard, the rightful heirs. Three Points becomes the wild desertlands of unpredictable warriors.
“These references help people feel like they’re part of the story,” Heras says. “Comedy works best when the audience feels in on the joke.”
The Music: ‘90s Oldies, Weird Al Energy, and Full Telenovela Madness
Music isn’t just an add-on in Blame of Thrones — it’s one of its secret weapons. As a musician himself, Heras says he couldn’t resist weaving musical numbers into the chaos. In fact, the songs became a core part of how the story unfolds.
“These songs drive the story forward,” he explains. “They’re all parodies — think Weird Al meets a telenovela. Big emotions, dramatic standoffs, and the kind of lyrics that make you laugh even as you’re gasping.”
Heras leans unapologetically into ‘90s nostalgia, which, as he gleefully notes, now counts as “oldies.”
One of the first numbers audiences will hear is a reimagining of Brandy and Monica’s iconic duet “The Boy Is Mine.” In Blame of Thrones, it becomes a musical showdown after one character discovers his brother’s secret relationship… with his twin sister.
“It’s wild,” Heras says, laughing. “We’re bringing back the classics, but in the most ridiculous way possible.”
A Fully Immersive, Audience-Driven Experience
No two nights of Blame of Thrones will be the same.
The audience serves as distinct houses—House Menlo Park, House Three Points, House Oro Valley—and will shout phrases, respond to prompts, and even be accused of murder.
“We’re locking audience members in medieval stocks,” Heras says. “Not really medieval, but you know—the big wooden thing with the holes for your head and arms. We have one.”
He emphasizes the spirit of the evening: fun, chaos, improv.
“This isn’t Broadway,” Heras says. “This is: arrive, have dinner, laugh, solve a mystery, get accused of murder, maybe win a prize, take a picture on a giant throne, and leave alive.”
Actors skilled in improv are encouraged to push the boundaries and adapt to whatever the audience throws at them.
And yes, costumes are welcomed and strongly encouraged.
“If you have a cape you haven’t worn in 20 years, bring it,” Heras says. “If everyone shows up fully decked out except for one guy in skateboard shorts—we’re definitely accusing him of murder.”
Characters: From Unhinged Royalty to Wild Desert Wanderers
Of all the characters, Kersi Canister de Oro Valley—Heras’s version of Cersei Lannister—is the most delicious to write.
“She’s unhinged in the best telenovela way,” he says. “Plotting out loud, scheming, full of drama.”
Another standout is El Tiny, the initial suspect whose storyline anchors the mystery.
And then there’s the wildcard addition Heras is still debating: Christopher White-Walken, part of the “White Walk-ins.”
“It’s either genius or the stupidest idea ever,” he admits. “We’ll find out on opening night. If it crashes, it’s getting cut immediately.”
A Love Letter to Tucson—and to Community Theater
At its core, Blame of Thrones is a celebration of local humor, cultural storytelling, community imagination, and Latino theatrical traditions.
And Heras stresses: it wouldn’t exist without Borderlands Theater.
“Borderlands made this possible,” he says. “They asked the right questions, pushed it into a Chicano direction, and trusted it as a fundraiser for youth scholarships. This whole world—South Westeros, Juan Snow, Kersi Canister—none of it happens without them.”
For Heras, the show is everything he loves about theater in one place: silliness, satire, music, improvisation, community participation, cultural specificity, and a deep desire to bring people together for a joyful night out.
It’s like Renaissance Faire meets Halloween in January, but with Mexican auntie energy.