DANZA MAGNIFICO

By Wilhelmina S. Orozco

The image of a grandmother in a Spanish play is that of a strong maternal and matriarchal character who makes all the major decisions in the home. The man or men usually bow down to them. Even serve them without question. In the Philippines, our grandmothers are no different. We love them even more than our own mothers sometimes because they dote on us, their grandchildren, lovingly while our mothers are busy with housework and eking out a living.

So when I watched Eduardo Guerrero dance the flamenco with the title, De Dolores,  last night, November 27, 2012 at the RCBC Plaza), I could see why he was so inspired to move, to flick his hands, to sway his hips, to clickety-clack his two-inch high boots, and to strut, fly and sweep the floor, as if it were natural for him to be like a butterfly, a praying mantis, and even a bull. He was highly inspired by that image of Dolores, (the title of his dance is De Dolores) his grandmother.

El recuerdo del ayer nos hace vivir hoy para triunfar en el manana…(The memories of yesterday make us live today to succeed tomorrow,) – Eduardo Guerrero, his  statements in the program.

What makes Guerrero’s piece remarkable is that he was accompanied by the singer Emilio Florido, and guitarist Javier Ibanez. Did he move according to the meaning of the lyrics of the songs, or the rhythm and melody coming from the guitar? The night was truly a great combination of many arts – music – song and guitar- dance, and theatre, a novel form that exploits the many talents and shall we say geniuses of the artists.

In the beginning, Guerrero was bare from the waist up and seated on a wooden chair without arms. Around him were two other chairs. Then he laid down on one his head reaching the floor, and his legs stretched out on the opposite side. It was as if, he was part of the furniture and he could not care less. It was like a moment of recall, of remembering the past; then slowly he moved, carrying the chairs one by one to their proper positions. On the right side of the stage stood a clothes rack. He approached it very slowly and then removed his pants, then put on one by one the pieces from the rack.

“…son recuerdos y en estos mas que el argumento es elsentimiento el que nos traslada hasta ellos. (a show without storyline because they are memories and in them, rather than the store, lies the feeling that moves us to them.) –E. Guerrero.

Guerrero has that sense of suspense in him as he made the audience draw their attention with bated breath as to what he would do next. After a few minutes, he was dressed up an ordinary man – in dark blue shirt with long sleeves, tight pants and a sash. Then, as the guitarist and the singer had sat on the two chairs, he began to move, his dance rising to a crescendo and after that it was like watching a bullfight with him as the bull, as the torero all rolled into one. The passion and intensity with which he moved to shape the characters on stage through flamenco were truly magnificent – he was a proud toreador, a romantic lover, a  shy young man, a tease, a virile man out to conquer a bull? A woman? The world? All rolled into one man were the various passions anyone can feel through this setting, as if the whole of Cadiz, of Espana was coming down to that stage to give us, not a glimpse but a panorama of how a man, a dancer can feel.

“Y mas inevitable es aun, recorder a la personal que me crio, que me introdujo n el arte, que me regalo mis primeras botas para bailar, que me acompano alla donde actue y que confio en mi.La suma de todos estos recuerdos es el recuerdo de mi abuela, es el recuerdo…De Dolores.  (And even more inevitable is to remember the person who raised me, who introduced me to this art, who gave me my first boots to dance, who came with me wherever I performed, the person who trusted in me…All these memories are the remembrance of my grandmother, the memory of…Dolores.) – E. Guerrero

Javier’s music and Emilio’s songs were truly penetrating of the heart, not just the ears. The amplifier gave just the right volume with a bit of echo sounding hrough the auditorium as Javier caressed and plucked  the guitar strings, while Emilio sang lilting tunes sometimes clapping as Guerrero clicked his heels, and at times, seemingly pining for something or someone lost?  Ay, if only we could understand Spanish pero nuestro 12 unidades en colegio no esta bastante para comprender los cantos total.

By the way, after our singing (many in the crowd sang) Lupang Hinirang, the music of Spain’s national anthem followed. I did not hear the lyrics at all from my seatmates whom I had heard talking in Spanish antes de programa. Maybe next time, the organizers could play the anthem with lyrics and make the expats sing with it.

Yet, twice already, after the playing of the Spanish anthem, last November 20, when Teresa Nieto’s company danced flamenco (where virility was championed over 4 women onstage), and last night, suddenly, the images of Rizal, the Luna brothers, and other heroes who went to Europe flashed in my mind. Why, they listened to that tune throughout their lifetime while in Europe and in the country. They must have hankered for our own anthem to be played as well.

Come to think of it, our anthem is a marching song borne during the times when our heroes and heroines were amid a period to assert the national sovereignty. On the other hand, the Spanish anthem is much slower sounding like an obeisance to some royalty, which could be the case as their society is aristocratic. 

Also, the program, started a bit late and the Instituto Cervantes director apologized for it before the start. While queueing though, he told us that they performers were still rehearsing. I responded, “Sir, no one is perfect. We are all human, please tell them. We have been standing here for quite a while.”

But the performance was truly perfect from beginning to end. The audience could sense the effort, the perseverance that had gone into making it truly memorable not only visually but emotionally as well.

We could probably empathize deeply with the performers onstage because of that common historical strain, of our having gone through the authorities of their forebears. Jane Orendain, a Filipina New Yorker, who was seated next to me, said that she has traces of Spanish blood in her – Catalan and many others. I, myself, an Orozco, is rooted to the Mexicans (remember Orozco the painter?) as Mexico was one of the colonies like the Philippines of Spain in the centuries past.

Danza is the title of the performance of Guerrero, Emilio and Javier, a truly impressive program which moved us strongly. The stage was minimally set – only the chairs on the left, the clothes rack on the right. Lighting consisted of spotlights coming from the ceiling and the sides. So there was a lot of shadows and darkness around, making us experience the sounds – the song and the clicking heels more intensely.  The synergy among the three of them was very strong and reverberated throughout sending the audience to give them a standing ovation in the end.

Jane asked me if this is the first time I had seen flamenco. I said I had seen it in the movies, and had watched a performance of students of flamenco but I did not experience that passion in their dance. This time I did – I felt the passion of the people of Cadiz, Seville and Andalucia. Perhaps even of the gypsies

Pride of their roots and their artistry were etched in every movement, every moment of song and guitar strumming.

We had to clap for so long because they deserved it. A lady brought in three garlands for each of them, and someone said, “Kiss!” but she had exited.  Cries of appreciation came one after the other and simultaneously too from different sections of the audience. In return, Emilio and Javier bowed while Guerrero, ah, Guerrero, he blew kisses to his right, to his left and to us, center.

We returned his kisses with “Bravo!”

“Magnifico!”