Memoria, a play by Tramaluna Teatro
The stage was different than the night before, but not much: the one at Sala Seki Sano instead of the one at Teatro La Candelaria, its next-door neighbor; and the people on stage were also very familiar: the two actresses of Si el río hablara (If the river talked), Nohra González and Alexandra Escobar, formed the entire cast of the play Memoria, by Teatro Tramaluna, which I saw Thursday night.
I haven’t seen the organization chart of Tramaluna Teatro, but it seems to be a vehicle for the projects of Patricia Ariza that don’t fit in the the repertory of Teatro La Candelaria, the famous experimental theatre group of which Ariza, González and Escobar all part. In any case, Patricia Ariza is a very busy woman and this week even more so: according to the newspapers she seems to be the director of Corporación Colombiana del Teatro, of the Festival de Teatro Alternativo, of the Teatro La Candelaria and, above all, of four plays (at least, by my count) that are being put on the the first week of Festa 2018. It’s a lot, but apparently not too much: if Memoria, a play that takes less than an hour, is a small side project, it is nonetheless a theatrical experience of he highest quality, in which physical technique, intelligent analysis, and unwavering passion join together.
Memoria is the end result of a process of creación colectiva, which is to say, of an investigation by the actresses and the director into the lives of women displaced by war and violence, the internal refugees of Colombia. Ariza, González and Escobar began with the words of these women themselves (presumably oral histories or official interviews). From these testimonies, the three artists set off to discover, through improvisations in dialog and movement, theatrical forms that could bring the lives of these forgotten women to life. The final product of that investigation, the play itself, includes a great deal of dance, which allows it to capture and portray, in the restricted space of small studio theatre, the immense changes of being displaced: the forced exits from one’s home, the fleeing, the running, the endless walking. It’s obvious that González y Escobar have worked together a great deal: the timing and the precision of their dialogue, movements, pauses, and gestures are impressive, the work of sisters who know each other well.
At the beginning the stage is empty; in this theatrical poem the actresses bring all their props with them as they enter, like painters approaching a blank canvas. As they enter, they’re singing and carrying a stretcher. One thin woman and a strong one, they wear costumes that combine the traditional with the symbolic: the thin one wears a hat from which grows a small tree; on the hat of the strong one is mounted a little house. In other words, they’re carrying their homes in their heads and their memories in their hands.
Sometimes they speak directly to the audience about their feelings in regard to the stories they are telling. In these moments, they’re not breaking character: in this play, each one embodies many women and one of those is herself, an actress in Bogotá, living in these times in which peace seems possible. “Is this worth doing?” asks one, referring to the project, to the effort of transforming into a stage play so many displaced and damaged lives without being able to help. And we, in the audience, understand her doubt. It’s true, theatre cannot redeem the injustices of the past. But what it can do is give form to memory. Visual and verbal form. Physical form. Corporal form.
Yes, it is worth doing.
