And the direction by Mr. Gimenez, not to mention his painterly use of lighting, should tell anyone
why this man, who is not yet 40 years old, is considered the greatest director in Venezuela.
''They will not
remember my ideas,'' Simon Bolivar cries out at the moment of his elevation
into a godlike hero, ''and there will not be a shadow of the truth left about
me, but only a statue.'' The sorrow that washes over one at that moment in
''Bolivar,'' presented by the Fundacion Rajatabla of Caracas, Venezuela, at the
Festival Latino in the Public Theater, is a tribute to the dramatic vison of
its author, Jose Antonio Rial, and its director, Carlos Gimenez. Their command
of the audience's emotions in this revolutionary play is complete.
That
is ironic, given that the play is a searing indictment of all authority. The
concept is simple. Guards in a modern Latin American prison order their
political prisoners to enact a dramatization of Bolivar's life to celebrate the
200th anniversary of his birth in 1983. Inspired by a poet among them, they
choose to depict not the Great Liberator in his glory but the sick Bolivar in
his last days, in pain and tortured by doubt. ''What will history say of me?''
is an unnerving question from such a man. But it was in the minds of the
prisoners, who put it in the mouth of the hero and the mouths of his friends
and enemies, all of them questioning history and the reality behind it. Only a
historian who appears at times to lecture everyone claims the authority to lead:
''The present must correct the past. You are to reduplicate the history I give
you, and obey.'' But even he has to confess his authority derives only from
power, announcing that ''order is here now, coming on black horses, surrounded
by smoke and steel.''
But
''Bolivar'' is not just intellectual drama. As the prisoners' play proceeds and
historical figures from the Spanish colonial past as well as from the turbulent
present move in and out of it, the 18 episodes are punctuated by choruses sung
to music reminiscent of passages in operas by Alberto Ginastera, the devotional
music of Olivier Messaien and hymns of the Roman Catholic Church. At times the
ragged jail uniforms of the prisoners are replaced by the armor of
conquistadors, the regalia of viceroys and the billowing gowns of 19th-century
socialites as the characters move among processions of candle bearers, altar
boys swinging smoking incense pots and soldiers carrying huge flags brilliantly
lit by horizontal shafts of light from the wings. The prisoners' play becomes a
baroque oratorio.
The
dramatic power of the religious symbolism saturating the play is enormous.
Emerging out of the suffering of Bolivar is a vision of the passion of Jesus.
The guards strip Bolivar naked, throw an old sheet over him like a cloak and
throw dice at his feet while his historical enemies and competitors, ranked on
benches like a panel of judges, fiercely hurl accusatory questions at him. As
death approaches, his mistress, Manuela Saenz, washes his feet and wraps him in
the sheet, like Jesus' shroud. Later, stripped and tortured herself, in a
passionate recital of her love for Bolivar, she conjures up not only Mary
Magdalene anointing Christ's feet, but the Virgin Mary holding her son's body.
Overall,
''Bolivar'' is a somber spectacle, but there are canny comic moments of
political satire. Claims to virtuous authority by different officials tickle
the audience. At one point an aged Manuela appears, reciting a litany of
Bolivar's enemies and one realizes she is calling her dogs. And a little play
within the play, in which three male prisoners dressed as rich women of
Bolivar's time gossip about him, is hilarious.
Mr.
Rial seems fond of plays within plays. The prisoners' play is a play within a
play. And inside that, other little plays multiply until, like mirrored globes
scattering light in a dance hall, they reflect the dramatist's ideas in so many
directions it is impossible to catch them all. That is a weakness. In fact, the
overall complexity of ''Bolivar'' is troubling. At several points, as
characters from different eras confront one another, the viewer is left
confused about the basic arguments of the play. And toward the end there is a
series of repetitions of political arguments through successive moments of
history that seem excessive. The complexity is probably greater than someone
without Spanish can guess, since the playwright says he uses four levels of
language. The Public supplied simultaneous translation through its infrared
sound system, but no translation could convey that kind of subtlety.
The
19 actors of the Fundacion Rajatabla who perform this splendid theatrical
spectacle are as disciplined, energetic and graceful a troupe as one is likely
to see anywhere. Daniel Lopez as the poet, Pilar Romero as Manuela and Roberto
Moll as Bolivar give performances that haunt the imagination. And the direction
by Mr. Gimenez, not to mention his painterly use of lighting, should tell
anyone why this man, who is not yet 40 years old, is considered the greatest
director in Venezuela.
The Cast BOLIVAR, by Jose Antonio Rial; directed by Carlos Giménez; lighting by Mr. Gimenez; scenery and costumes by Silviainés Vallejo; production, Jose Tejera. Fundacion Rajatabla's production, presented by Joseph Papp. At Circle in the Square, 159 Bleecker Street.
Poet Daniel Lopez
Samuel Robinson Jose Tejera
Piar/Sucre Javier Zapata
Simon Bolivar Roberto Moll
Manuela Saenz Pilar Romero
Mantuana Helena Naranjo
Mantuana Mira Parra
Woman soldier Maria Elena Davila
Choir boys Luis Garban, Daniel Uribe and Juan Rodriguez
Choir boy/Mantuana Jorge Luis Morales
The official/Bishop Francisco Alfaro
The scholar Cosme Cortazar
Guards Pedro Pineda, Luis Malave,
Anibal Grun and Robert Stoppello
Photo of a scene from ''Simon Bolivar''
(Miguel Gracia)
By D.J.R. Bruckner
The
New York Times
August 17, 1985
Source: The New York Times
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Roberto Moll, PIlar Romero, María Brito
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