c/o Olivia Loaiza
“En ocho años que dure el luto no ha de entrar en esta casa el viento de la calle.”
“During the eight years of our mourning, we mustn’t allow even the slightest breeze to go through this house.”
These lines, spoken in Spanish and projected in English several minutes into the production, set the tone for the next 90 minutes of Second Stage’s production of “La Casa de Bernarda Alba,” directed by Alex Carroll-Cabanes ’20 in the ’92 Theater this past weekend. In this house, no one is happy—not the maids, who enact spitting on Bernarda Alba, nor her daughters, who must stay in the house and embroider because “that’s what it’s like to be a woman…born into a wealthy family.” Not even Bernarda Alba (Vianca Perez ’22), whose powerful presence commands the household and the stage in one of the best performances of the night, seems to be happy, which raises the question: Who is actually in control in this now fatherless household—the imposing Bernarda Alba, the outside world always threatening to cast judgement, or the looming portrait of her late husband, Antonio Maria Benavides, hovering 20 feet above the set?
Overall, this is a well-done production that is even beautiful at times. The actors fluently switch between Spanish and English throughout the production. The lighting design by Daniel Knopf ’22 expertly matches the tone of the scenes, and the set design by Grace Morenko ’20 captures the elegance of this wealthy yet sanitized household.
What begins as a period of mourning soon becomes rife with sexual tension and conflicting desires; this is not a play about a family dealing with a recent death. An orderly and repressive household is maintained throughout the first and second act with consistent performances from the five daughters Angustias (Angela Loyola ’21), Magdalena (Kyla Frieden ’22), Amelia (Dulce Rubio ’22), Martirio (Luisa Rodriguez ’22), and Adela (Luna Mac-Williams ’22); however, despite their stifled interactions, the restriction and angst becomes palpable. The only prospect of escape and joy in this household is through a man, and it soon becomes clear that it is a specific man that offers this escape. Pepe, a local man, is the only one to express interest in the daughters—in particular, Angustias. However, it soon becomes clear that Angustias doesn’t even like Pepe, and Pepe may only like her for her money. The other sisters are not so impartial to him.
Unfortunately, others notice this developing interest as well. Martirio steals a picture of Pepe from Angustias, and Bernarda Alba finds out. Tensions rise. The slow first and second acts are followed by a tumultuous third act, aided by masterful performances by Rodriguez and Mac-Williams. The tensions erupt into a well-choreographed fight scene, as the entanglement of love becomes clear: Martirio and Adela both love Pepe, Angustias’ fiance.
It is discovered that Adela has been staying up late with Pepe in the stable. The spotlight focuses on the center of downstage where a chair awaits the guilty daughter. Bernarda Alba walks over with her cane as sounds of crickets from the warm summer envelope the theater. But Adela has had enough of her tyrannical mother. In a desperate attempt for freedom, Adela refuses the punishment and breaks her mother’s cane in half, but Bernarda Alba is not willing to relinquish control of her household. The lengths she will go to maintain discipline in her house is pushed to the extreme as she gets her pistol and kills Pepe in the stable—or so Adela thinks, as she runs to her room and takes her own life. It is then revealed that Pepe has escaped Bernarda’s pistol and has run off into the night.
The chaos undergirding this ostensibly orderly household is finally acknowledged in its extreme. “She, the youngest of Bernarda Alba’s daughters died a virgin,” Bernarda Alba shouts in Spanish, as the once orderly projection of English on the large curtain is replaced by disjointed words threatening to dislodge the place of the stoic, late patriarch. But the audience is left wondering if Bernarda Alba actually believes this, as her threatening composure collapses in the final scene. The actors leave the stage. The house is still in its orderly state. The light fades, as the portrait of Antonio Maria Benavides is left intact in its place, his formidable glare staring out over the audience.
Noah Seltzer can be reached at nseltzer@wesleyan.edu.