BACK
STAGE WEST
April
30, 1998
PARADE
OF STRANGE IMAGES
at
the Bilingual Foundation of the Arts
Reviewed
by Rob Kendt
With
a title like Parade of Strange Images, a production promises a lot in the visual
department, if not in dramaturgy (parades, after all, are not known for
narrative form). Unfortunately, this U.S. premiere production of Argentine
playwright Carlos Pais' play under director Margarita Galban doesn't deliver much
of either.
For
this static story of an aged stage star holed up in her presumably dilapidated
manse with only liquored memories and a gruff maid for company, Estela Scarlata
has designed a clear, spare set that is little more than serviceable; only a pair
of rickety wooden doors at stage left, leading off to the sanctum of the
boudoir, suggests the kind of decayed splendor in which we are otherwise
encouraged to imagine the once-famous Violeta Echag e (Alejandra Flores) now
languishes. And apart from a few sadly blowsy numbers for Violeta and one
knockout dress for a tangoing ghost, Carlos Brown's costumes are unexceptional.
For
its part, Kathi O'Donohue's lighting effectively shifts the play's gears,
opening up the space with sidelights to establish Pais' central conceit, from
which the title comes: Whenever Violeta is left alone, her portrait of Carlos
Gardel, a real-life crooner of the 1920s and '30s, comes to life (in the person
of Agustin Coppola, a good sport who must stand still and smile through most of
the show) so the delusional ex-star can reminisce with him about the old days,
and a few dancers come in from all sides to strut portentously, in Marcos
Questas' choreography. We're inside Violeta's addled brain, see?
But
there's not much to see there, and the trick itself gets monotonous. And even
though each act ends with some first-rate tangoing by these ghostly figures,
made all the more spectral by Alejandro Scarpino's crackling bandoneon, these
seem tacked-on flourishes. Mainly, the phantoms are there to suggest the
decades-old trauma of her daughter's political "disappearance," a
disgrace doubled by Violeta's denial of its reality, and a particularly sore
point for her loyal maid (Margarita Stocker), whose feelings for both Violeta and
the daughter have clearly wrecked her.
Of
course, that's all backstory; the play's only dramatic action occurs midway
through Act Two, when a fiercely impatient, dark-browed man (Juan Carlos
Malpeli), ostensibly a newspaper reporter, arrives as expected. But even his
part in the proceedings is deeply tangled in the past. The effect of all this
backward-looking is a tiring, wallowy evening, despite the extraordinary
efforts of Flores, in an uproariously ugly hunchback performance that suggests
a cross between Norma Desmond and Albee's "A," and of the reliably
stoic Stocker (also the show's best dancer, with the elegant lead of Questas).
Malpeli comes off a bit wooden, though not without splinters; he seems capable
of formidable force and bite, but, like the fine artists of the BFA and this
production, he doesn't connect with it here.
"Parade
of Strange Images," presented by and at the Bilingual Foundation of the
Arts, 421 N. Avenue 19, Lincoln Heights. Apr. 24-May 31. (213) 225-4044.