Showing posts with label play. Show all posts
Showing posts with label play. Show all posts

April 24, 2020

Once Upon a Honeymoon Suite

On Ana Diosdado’s 321, 322


Ana Diosdado
(Buenos Aires, 1938 - Madrid, 2015)
An interesting innovation was posed by playwright (and novelist and actress) Ana Diosdado when 321, 322 premiered in 1991. Unlike Noël Coward’s Suite in Three Keys (1966), or Neil Simon’s Plaza Suite (1968) and California Suite (1976), which showed different occupants of the same hotel suite in each act, Diosdado’s two-act play stages what is happening in both suite 321 and suite 322 at the same time. No, we are not meaning a scenic design split in half; the whole stage represents both suites, so their occupants share the same space (i.e., during performance, the actors playing characters from one suite take no notice of the presence of the others throughout the show).

Regarding what is the predominant interest for us here in spanishgayfiction.blogspot.com, we are going to respectfully ignore the events in suite 321, and focus on what is cooking in the other suite. Let’s take a sneak peek. . .

Jorge and Sara are newlyweds: both young and beautiful and shiny happy at first sight ― what could be wrong with them? They love playing charades envisioning what their marriage would become several years from then. . .and the audience can soon notice through these games an obvious underlying dialogue dripping unexpectedly disillusioned, disquieting thoughts for honeymooners.

Sara seems far from being the typical bride. In her opinion, the wedding has been ridiculous: both her mother and Jorge’s quickly took charge of the plans, preventing the bride and groom from making any single choice. Why the rush after only a three-month engagement? Jorge told his mother that Sara was pregnant; his family is a wealthy traditional family, so the wedding had to be celebrated. Concerning Sara, she does not care; just living with Jorge and remaining unmarried is OK with her, but ― given her working-class background, the in-laws presume that she has married Jorge so as to climb the social ladder. Is she really that ambitious?

The truth is that Sara is not expecting. How could she? They have never had sex with each other. Sara has been waiting for tonight to ask Jorge the reason of his unjustified respect for her all along, as Jorge has already been in the know that she is sexually experienced. Jorge is reluctant to answer but, after Sara’s strong insistence, he shyly admits his genuine virginity. His wife finds it peculiar, so she suggests whether Jorge may not like women at all; Jorge gets serious and claims that he does indeed. The wife gives in (for the time being) and blames his unspoiled status on his mother’s hidebound influence. This controlling lady even makes an urging call to her sonny that night: Thou shalt not covet thy own wife. . .until she gives birth!! On account of the official version stating that Sara is only at her second month of pregnancy ― Just do the math. Now that the bride and groom can enjoy the sweet advantages of marriage, Jorge wants it to happen pronto; as if it were about a surgical intervention the patient is hoping to end soon. . .

Another of Jorge’s singularities is that he usually interacts with an invisible St. Bernard called Buby. According to him, Buby sleeps every night at the foot of his bed, and tonight is no exception. Sara has always been understanding and gone along with Jorge, but she also wonders whether this delusion of his should last much longer ― It seems to be the night of disclosure, so Jorge reveals that Buby truly existed in real life; his late father gave it to him when he was a child, and some years later a truck ran over poor Buby and. . .Back then Mother explained that heaven is no place for canines, therefore Jorge determined that Buby would stick around, though unseen. Sara gets emotional, and you can see in her disposition that she will never try to change her husband’s mind again; Jorge sees her resolution as a bigger act of love.

Jorge’s life goal was becoming a professional musician, but his mother persuaded him to get a degree in business administration instead; furthermore, an occupation in the family business and a brand-new sumptuous flat are waiting for him after the honeymoon. As long as they stay together, Sara does not mind Jorge’s career decision. On the contrary, Jorge feels that his wife got captivated by the flawless property acquisition, exposing her feigned attitude of unselfish girl from the wrong side of the tracks. Straightforwardly, Sara questions her husband whether he believes that she is a gold digger. Jorge does not bother to deny; then Sara breaks out and asserts that his only aim is acting as a regular heterosexual guy in his mother’s eyes, since Jorge secretly loves his gay friend Chema ― What a bomb! Jorge gets incensed; he opts to take Buby for a walk, and the woeful wife shuts herself in the bedroom.

Later, Jorge comes back to the suite under the influence, seeking after Sara into the bedroom. After a while, Sara emerges furiously: she condemns Jorge’s disgusting macho behavior there in, as if he needed to prove his cojones. Jorge suggests that they would rather pretend nothing happened and give it another shot; Sara agrees. . .but this time she will leave the bedroom all disenchanted.

Subsequently, Sara remembers how gleeful Jorge looked the happy occasion when they two and Chema danced avidly all together; now it is about time that Jorge must choose only one dancing partner. Eventually, Jorge confesses that he has been in love with Chema; Sara reacts proposing a separation. He worries about scandal, and vows to be always faithful. But now Sara is positive that Jorge got married because this is a much comfier position for him than an openly gay relationship;[1] she recommends Jorge to quit the family job and go on tour with his band, of which Chema is also a member. Some months later, when Jorge will be back, they can discuss their future; right now he must leave Sara alone in the suite and book another one ― tomorrow he shall take Sara back to her family home.

All is over for this young couple. . .Or at least that is what it seemed; before tomorrow comes, Jorge enters back the suite determined to talk Sara into not throwing in the towel for now. Jorge agrees about the tour, but with a difference this time: one band member less ― yes, that one ― and for good. Sara is finally at ease now; so the reunited are ready for their first breakfast together as a married couple. . .and Buby can wait outside. THE END.

However ― what will become of these poor guys? Why should Sara trust that her husband will never break his vow? How can Jorge be sure that he will never fall for another man again? Are they really going to make each other happy, or devastatingly frustrated instead? Well, life is too complicated ― we all should agree about that. While we keep caught in this web of mingled yarn, Diosdado’s characters decide to put the ill aside. It might only take the time they are enjoying their breakfast, but no one can refuse to this pair their right to esteem that they have found Prince Charming in each other for a while ― the rest of their lives? Not our business.

We are not going to conceal that we have an annoying feeling with this play. Jorge’s homosexuality is more or less subtly related to an absent father and a possessive mother; thus, Jorge is depicted as quite naïve and confused. . .He even stays friends with an invisible dog from childhood now in his twenties! ― No problem so far: a positive picture of a gay man does not need to portray a kind of absolute superman. But we find rather controversial the idea that his sexual orientation is just a childish stage from which one could get over with the little help of a regular woman with a down-to-earth viewpoint that Sara (arguably) represents. We are dealing with a piece of literature from the last decade of the 20th century here; not too distant from our times and customs ― that is why we expect a less therapeutic, more normalized treatment of the topic.[2]

Anyway, our reading might be much more serious than what Ana Diosdado could probably expect when she wrote the play: the stage directions suggest an unreal atmosphere, so let’s think that the author was, just like her creations, fooling around.



[1] Remember the fact that 321, 322 premiered in the early 1990s, when same-sex marriage was a still-to-be-legalized right to fight for.
[2] We can find a similar situation in Diosdado’s script for a popular Spanish TV series: Segunda enseñanza (“Secondary Education”), 1986. In episode 8, “Tabúes” (“Taboos”), a female student, Sisi (Aitana Sánchez-Gijón), expresses her feelings for her female teacher Rosa (Ana Marzoa); in response, Rosa hopes that Sisi’s homosexuality is just a teen phase that she is just going through ― if not, the girl will have a friend in her, in any case.

December 3, 2014

I Pronounce You Woman and Wife

On Paloma Pedrero’s Lauren’s Call… (“La llamada de Lauren…”)

It was 1985 when a young female playwright’s short piece opened on the Spanish stage, amazing the
audience with the scene in which a cross-dressed man fervently begs his wife to penetrate him with the help of an artificial penis--

Although Paloma Pedrero cannot exactly be called an author specialized in LGBT-themed fiction, you would point out the titles of Lauren’s Call… and The Color of August (“El color de agosto”) if you had to choose some of her most popular, celebrated plays. In these plays, Pedrero deals with issues such as cross-dressing, homosexuality, and transsexuality. We may discuss The Color of August in the future---Now bells are ringing: it is the time of Lauren’s Call…

This is the story of a young marriage, Rosa and Pedro, whose life is going to experiment a turnaround during the Carnival on their third anniversary.

The choice of Carnival as the time frame of the play seems to me very suitable. Masks are paradoxically useful to unmask the truth. Something similar to what Shakespeare did in As You Like It: Rosalind, in man’s clothes and under the name of Ganymede,[1] makes her beloved Orlando ignore her appearance and woo him as a woman--a courtship she fiercely wants and would have never ever dared to request in her true female appearance (that was a disgraceful behavior for a girl in farthingale times.)[2]

Then, Pedrero gets the man disguised as Lauren Bacall, and the wife disguised as Humphrey Bogart.[3] While Rosa does not feel too comfortably with her male role, Pedro accepts his female part easily. He even tries to role-play with his wife, a game that starts amusingly but ends up bitterly.

From this moment on, Pedro’s memories will emerge, memories of a past in which Family (Society) had aborted any possibility to fulfill himself (that is, herself), suppressing his female side and forcing Pedro to keep on a regular life everybody expected from a man. Traumatic experiences are released and words grow cold, but, when you guess Pedro is going to go back to his old ways, Rosa eventually acts as a friend, helping with the finishing touch of her husband’s costume.

However, this is a bittersweet ending. While Rosa has finally understood and respected Pedro’s necessities, then--what is the point of their marriage now? What is her place? Does she need to play the husband part from now on?

We must take into account that Paloma Pedrero is a feminist author. She especially focuses on female roles, so she clearly feels pity, sympathy, and solidarity for Rosa. Pedrero saves the last scene for her; there, we can see Rosa alone and crying in the dark. Nevertheless, the author has not skipped the dark, ultra-tense situations Pedro has undergone throughout his extremely gloomy life. Up to this point, let him have fun at the costume party.



[1] In Greek mythology, Ganymede is a hot Trojan prince abducted by Zeus, totally mad about the boy. When in Olympus, Ganymede does as the Olympians do, so he becomes immortal and gets a job as the cupbearer of the gods. This myth represents the model of pederasty (sexual relationship between a man and a boy), a social custom permitted in ancient times.
[2] Regarding the question that, in Elizabethan times, women could not be actresses and female roles should be performed by young boys (no need to remind the Academy Award-winning film Shakespeare in Love, I guess…), the ambiguity of this situation is really astounding: in the good old days of the Virgin Queen, the audience could see two men making love freely on stage.
[3] Bacall & Bogart: Paradigm of the Hollywood marriage model, as well as perfect examples of masculinity and femininity standards. Note this play opened in the 1980s, a time when 1940s films like Casablanca, The Big Sleep or To Have and Have Not were much more esteemed than today--