DANCE_Julieta unplugged Inés Boza/Senza tempo - Karaoke Grill Sarah Anglada. The boiler

With these lines I would like to celebrate a multiple encounter. I am referring to the excellent proposal made by "la Caldera", an emblematic dance space in the city, as part of the Grec'2012 Festival: two shows articulated in a single session. Julieta Unplugged by Inés Boza's company SenZa TemPo and Karaoke Grill by Sarah Anglada. Both are separate and at the same time united as if by a staple. Julieta Unplugged presents us with a piece that takes its inspiration from Federico García Lorca in Poeta en Nueva York and El Público. 

With hardly any preamble, we collide with the unmentionable core of what both dancers will make appear in the course of this journey: the impossible encounter between man and woman, proposed from a sort of dismantling of Romeo and Juliet. A sofa for two and a simple and precise set of lights will be the stage chosen to unfold the nature of love, and not only with words, but also with dance, thus managing to show that language and words are always supported by the body, since, beyond their meaning, they are vehicles of enjoyment.

Julieta wants to love at all costs. To love what slips through her fingers, to escape from herself, from any attempt by anyone -even herself- to appropriate her definition. She even shuns the heroism of all Juliets, of Antigone, of Marguerite... She is a Juliet who escapes death. She does not pretend to be immortalised in a frozen and eternal image of a vision of woman. At the beginning, she is a text by a man, by Shakespeare, she is the poet's poem. She is not, if not for the reflection of the other. She says it herself: as a woman, she does not exist. Romeo on his own, trapped in her, oscillates between fascination and suspicion, between knowing her to be brilliant and mad. He doesn't understand her, but remains close, dancing next to her on the sofa.

The piece grabs us at the beginning and gradually accompanies us to show us the failure of any empty ideal of a supposedly perfect love. Dancing the paradox: if love does not include its own impossibility, it cannot exist. Bodies endure their own solitude. But it is not a closed, mute, conformist loneliness... it is a loneliness that cries out to be found, a loneliness with the other. The power of this work arises from skirting and approaching the impotence of love as a deaf cry, as a surrendered desire, as a tireless attempt to name the unnameable. It is precisely in this endeavour that its most beautiful strength emerges. Julieta Unplugged makes the failure of being the very epicentre of love.

Then, in a change of scenery that is part of the work itself, the central sofa will be moved to one side to give a seat to another version of the man-woman relationship. Karaoke Grill presents us with a piece that is "futuristic" but close, where some things never seem to change... On this occasion, love is deliberately excluded from the relationship between the sexes. If the previous piece presents us with an encounter, this one shows its flip side: how to avoid at all costs the encounter with the other. A man makes a video game-woman. The woman is included entirely in the male screen. If Romeo and Juliet played on the sofa, here the man plays alone and only to compete. For him it is about never losing, never losing anything. Coca-cola and pizza fill his mouth, a mouth closed to words addressed to no one. The loneliness is so great that there is not even a version of it. The little man is amused by creating the woman in his own image: an inert monkey in charge of eliminating the others: laughing monsters, insipid butterflies.

The cybernetic heroine is the one who unfolds the dance in a movement in accordance with the soul of her creator: erased of any feminine sign, robotised, programmed not to lose, she moves in the rectangle of the screen, where the background scenery is the absence of any exterior. She, though lent to his game, dances with a brutal disbelief. At times she surprises the viewer with some exquisitely cynical glances, showing a kind of existential stupor devoid of drama. In fact, the piece is quite funny, the audience laughs. But close to humour -as Freud already said- there always throbs a fierce push towards death. That's why the ending shines a light on the truth at stake: a virus contained in his version of the woman volatilise in a second a whole life dedicated to the stupid task of being the best.

Irene Domínguez