Las Sillas @ Teatro Gótico (Teatro Dallas 20th International Performance Festival)

—Teresa Marrero

As part of the company’s 20th International Performance Festival, Teatro Dallas presented a well-known Mexico City theatrical company, Teatro Gótico, in the play Las Sillas, a Spanish-language adaptation of the Romanian-turned-Parisian playwright Eugène Ionesco’s Absurdist classic The Chairs (1952).  The festival, originally conceptualized by TD founders Jeff Hurst and Cora Cardona twenty years ago as a platform for Spanish-language plays from around the world, has expanded in recent years to include other forms of performance including music and dance.  Executive artistic director Sara Cardona, who assumed leadership from her mother (who now resides full-time in Mexico’s capital) introduced the work as “a return to TD’s roots.”

And a fine return to roots it was, with Ionesco’s midcentury Absurdism in full flower. The Theatre of the Absurd is generally recognized as a post-WWII phenomenon which emerged in the Western world, then suffering through the physical and metaphysical losses of two world wars: The War to End All Wars (aka WWI) and WWII (with its first nuclear US bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki). It was a time of grief and self-questioning by Western thinkers, among whom emerged some of the most influential ones of the 20th century. Among the lines of philosophical thought were Jean Paul Sartre’s existentialism (life has no more meaning than that which we assign to it by our choices and not by the recognition of some abstract god) and Simone de Bouvoir’s idea of The Second Sex, a questioning of the role of Other assigned to women (as “other” than being male).

Las Sillas/The Chairs (in a translation/adaptation by Teatro Gótico’s director Eduardo Ruiz Saviñón) is a play that breaks several important traditional constructs of theater. There is no plot per se. There is no character development, no central conflict, thus making the rendering of any sort of resolution impossible. It has been described as an anti-play. The play does follow one prime characteristic of Absurdist theatre: the presentation of characters who have no way out of their predicament. This leads them to both comic moments and a tragic ending—if “ending” has a meaning here at all.

Saviñón’s adaptation tweaks the original enough to bring in contemporary clues like selfies, typical Mexican popular language, and a fine visual rendition of The Speaker (El Orador, played by Jeff Colangelo).

The central two characters are Semiramis (Cora Cardona as the Wife) and Pichonsito (Rodrigo Mendoza as the Husband). Director Saviñón’s set design is stark: a central downstage bunch of chairs piled on top of one another, and flanked by two tall window-like projections.  Brooks Powers is credited as lighting designer and board operator. The two central characters also have a chair of their own.

The conversation between them allows the audience to step into their private and claustrophobic world. Cardona excels as Semiramis, the sometimes wife, sometimes mother, sometimes sex kitten as she transforms herself, moving from character to character without missing a beat. While I have witnessed Cardona’s gifts as a director for many years, I had never seen her perform live. Indeed, her facial expressions, her physical movements, her flawless use of props brought to mind how a truly seasoned actor leaves no detail out, and yet adds nothing superfluous. Even during the hectic scenes of frantic to-and-fro movement with the chairs, her performance flowed with a relaxed control that enraptured the viewer.

Her counterpart Mendoza is described in the program as a 55-year veteran of the Mexican stage, and his vast experience was also evident. As performers, they were evenly matched. His Pichonsito/Husband bounced his insecurities, his hopes, his angst against Cardona’s Semiramis/Wife’s endless support and recriminations. There were no physical clichés on Mendoza’s part as he went from a frightened man to one who had a very big message for the world.

The play makes aptly clear that, behind everyman there is a wife who plays surrogate mother. Behind every woman, there is a man whose aspirations she must support. This line of reasoning is clear. However, at some point I began to wonder who was truly the protagonist in this play, the man or the woman? I pondered this question as one that points towards the power relationship between these two characters. If I had to choose, I would say that while Semiramis/Wife “supported” her man, she also drove the action forward. It was her questioning, her comments, her concerns, her cajoling that generated a reaction from Pichoncito/Husband. Who is really running this show, on both levels—at home and in the performance?

The event they are planning is at the center of the play’s absurdity. Everybody who is anybody will be there… including the President. This is the culmination of Pichoncito’s life: to deliver his message, which will save the world. 

The invitees are welcomed, one by one, as empty chairs of various colors. Generally the pink chairs were portrayed as females and the other colors as males. Conversations between the two live characters and the invisible ones uncover the relationship between them. I actually envisioned each chair’s occupant in my imagination—no need to have physical actors present.

As the “room” (center stage) is piled high with more and more chairs, aka guests, a sense of claustrophobia begins to suffocate our main characters, who, we discover, live surrounded by water.

Since Pichoncito decides that he is not an adept public speaker, a Speaker must be the one to deliver his very important message. On that culminating note, both husband and wife recognize the pinnacle of their rather meaningless lives and jump into the water. When the Speaker does finally arrive, the unthinkable happens… he cannot speak. There are no words. No message. The entire ritual of life is rendered meaningless and tragic.

This presentation at the Latino Cultural Center marks a success story behind the years-long lobbying efforts of Cardona, husband Jeff Hurst, Cara Mia Theatre Company’s David Lozano and others to have the City of Dallas Office of Cultural Affairs house both theater companies as residents of that important community space.

Looking around Saturday night’s audience, it seemed to me a who’s who of the local theatrical world come to pay homage to la reina, the queen—Cora Cardona—whose talent and determination way back in ‘85 (supported by our own Dallas legend, Vicki Meek) gave birth to Teatro Dallas and all that came after. Those of us in the North Texas Latinx and Hispanic theater communities, audiences and theater workers are forever grateful.

In Spanish, calling someone mi reina is a loving endearment. And, while it is usually reserved for a man to use with his wife or lover, I do believe that we, as lovers of the theater, can take the liberty of using this phrase for the woman whose vision ignited the birth of Latinx/Hispanic theater in North Texas. Gracias, nuestra reina.

WHEN: Closed

WHERE: 2600 Live Oak St., Dallas, TX 75204

WEB: teatrodallas.org