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THE CHILE YOU DON’T KNOW ABOUT By Irene Caselli “Pain” at Universidad Mayor (Dec. 3, 2004) “It’s a tale of the real Chile, the one you don’t see in the soap operas or hear about in the news,” says Rodrigo Pérez about his latest production. “The part of Chile in which you don’t live, but you know about,” adds Marcela Millie, one of the actresses. “Pain,” written by young Chilean playwright Javier Riveros, is the story of the part of Chile that has been left behind, the part that doesn’t benefit from the APEC leaders’ summit because it was born on the wrong side of town. The graduate production of 13 promising young actors, the first generation of theater students to come out of Santiago’s Universidad Mayor, “Pain” was put on stage under the skillful guidance of actor and director Pérez, the new chairman of the university’s fledgling drama department, lodged in one of the school’s newly restored buildings in the central Calle Santo Domingo. “Pain” tells the story of a sister and a brother, Lula and Jun, living in one of Santiago’s poblaciones with their mother. Lula is ugly and Jun is homosexual, “it’s a disgrace,” their mother screams out convulsively. They’re poor and hungry, but they have each other. “It’s a story of marginality, of how one can be marginalized in life in an economic, social or cultural sense,” Pérez tells me. “It’s the journey of two kids that belong to this world and that want to get out of it.” Asked why he chose such a dense text for a student production, Pérez chuckles and says that it is the very function of theater to make people think about the social context in which we live. “It’s about marginality simply because that is what there is. There is nothing fictitious about it,” says the director. As he showed in his previous play, “Provincia Kapital” (which will be showing again at the Teatro a Mil Festival next January – for a review, See ST, Sept. 10), Pérez is a firm supporter of Bertolt Brecht’s idea that theater should denounce the world’s atrocities. Only by doing so can an actor fulfill his true role, which is strictly social, he says. In “Pain,” a melodramatic story of a poor family becomes political when the spectator recognizes the main characters as people that could be living a few meters away from them. “Many of my friends told me they knew a Jun that worked in the corner shop and a Lula that they met every day on the way to work,” Pérez explains. In the play, Lula, Jun and their mother are doubled – each has an exact doppelganger. “By doing that, I give spectators a space to reflect,” says Perez. He explains that he needed to adapt the original text to 13 actors, and thought about doubling the main characters in order to obtain Brecht’s “Verfremdungseffekt” (alienation effect). Seeing two versions of the same character on stage works to reduce the dramatic effect of the moment, gives a different rhythm to the play, adds elements of humor and reveals the secrets of theater. It ultimately gives the spectator the chance to distance himself from the play proper and reflect on the simulacrum that is the real world. Following the rubric of Brecht’s epic theater, Pérez tries to stimulate the viewers to learn, react and make decisions so that they can ultimately walk out of the theater with a changed, more critical perspective, even the will to alter society. The words in English spoken out during the play – including the title itself – are the result of the continuous bombarding of the national culture from the English-speaking, globalized world. “Culturally we are a hybrid in Chile, especially in comparison to the rest of Latin America. The continuous use of English words in our everyday life reflects this phenomenon,” says Pérez. But the play is not only the fruit of Pérez’s social engagement. As the director himself points out, “Pain” comes out of a “very affectionate encounter with these students, who have a predisposition to learn.” “All the work was done by them,” he admits proudly. They did the production and stage design for the play. If you phone up to ask for information or reserve the tickets, you are likely to have a chat with one of them. “Working with Rodrigo was incredible: he transmits love and is always reflecting on political and artistic themes,” says Millie, one of his cast. They got together in a theater company called “La Falta,” a word that means absence or lack, a concept they took from the work of Chilean novelist Diamela Eltit, she explains. The 25-year-old actress plays Lula, and stands out for her impressive voice (“I will be a teacher’s assistant in voice training next semester,” she says shyly). “The ‘falta’ we talk about in the play is the result of a much more extreme life than the one we lead. But everyone experiences this loneliness. The ‘falta’ we talk about is something that belongs to us all, it’s the product of our society,” Millie tells me. “Many spectators have recognized the characters. They belong to our Santiago, to our Chile. The part of Chile in which you don’t live, but you know about,” she concludes.
A CONTINENT WITHOUT BORDERS CLASSICAL NOTES Perhaps 20 years ago on a warm summer day you were sitting at the piano, reluctantly pounding away at the keys while your friends were out playing soccer, football, or even "Kick the Can." Every day at four o´clock after classes your mom forced you to practice for some abstract reason like "culture," when all you really wanted was to catch frogs or torture bugs with a magnifying glass. She told you that some day you´d appreciate this but eventually you wore her down and the lessons stopped. Now all these years later you've got a high-class Chilean girl (or guy depending on your sex and or "life-style" choices) that you´re trying to impress, but when it comes to wowing her with the breadth of your cultural education in music, your brain gives you a read-back of "file not found." In desperation, you may have already run out to the record store looking for a music version to "Cliff Notes." Well, fate has decided to shine her capricious light your way with a brief overview of the upcoming performances of the Symphonic Orchestra of Chile and its history. Perhaps during dinner beforehand you can tell her (of course with false pauses to show that you're extracting bits of memory) that the symphony was organized in the beginning of the 1940s, for the altruistic purpose of bringing beautiful music to the entire country. It has kept to this ideal, touring the country as far north as Arica and as far south as Tierra del Fuego, to a total of 50 times in its fifty-five years. It often accompanies the National Ballet in such performances as "Carmina Burana," or the National Choir in works like "Requiem Aleman." There has been a wide range of famous visiting conductors, some of whom are Chileans who have been plying their trade overseas. In 1987, the University of Chile, which had joined the Symphony in '81, opened the doors of the Center of Artistic and Cultural Extension to frequent performances. The theater, smack-dab in the middle of Plaza Italia, has three main sections. The first and most expensive section has worse (but still quite clear) acoustics than the second section, its main purpose being for the pretentious and those with bum knees. The second or balcony section puts you right on line with the stage and features the best views of the players and the most powerful acoustics. The unwashed sit high above, where the sound is still good and their scent can float harmlessly into the rafters. For this week's performance (August 8,9), as you enter the theater and see the names, you can comment on how Alexander Borodin was a member of Russia's Group of Five, who sought to unite the varied musical heritage. They will perform his In the Steppes of Central Asia, an allegory of the reign of Alexander II. Following this is Sergei Rachmaninov's Concert for Piano and Orchestra #4. You can even put in that much of his work was done while in the U.S. with Philadelphia's Symphony and that the piano will be played by the renowned Ilya Itin. The night will end with Concert for Orchestra by Hungarian Bela Bartok. Bartok, a sort of musical anthropologist (ala Paul Simon), grabbed bits and pieces from various musical traditions. This eclectic mix is handled by German conductor, Lothar Koenigs, who has studied at the top universities in Germany and is the Conductor of Muenster Orchestra. He also travels frequently to other orchestras. The following week(Aug. 15,16) begins with Schubert's Fifth Symphony in B flat Major. One of the great masters of Vienna, Schubert headed the first generation of "Romantics". His music, as well displayed in this piece, features flowing and direct melodies. The music of Dimitri Shostakovich, often made to keep one step ahead of the censors in the former Soviet Union, is featured in Concert for Cello and Orchestra #1. His problems with censors stemmed from his interest in traditional Russian-Jewish melodies. The cellist will be eighteen year-old Rafal Kwiatkowski, from Poland. The last work of the night will be one written by Johannes Brahms, Symphony #2 in d Major, which features this composers powerful style. Also of significance in this weekend is the return of American conductor, Irwin Hoffman. He heads the Chilean Symphony Orchestra along with that of Costa Rica. All performances start at 7:30 p.m.. The prices on the main floor are $8000; $4000 for the second floor; and $1500 for the nose-bleeds with a 50% discount with a student I.D.
TOMAS A naked man and woman step out of the shadows and prowl around the stage, clambering up and down ladders and swinging on beams which link together an upper and lower level. This ambiguous scene near the beginning of "Tomas" is a warning of what lies ahead in the new play by Chile's most important young director, Andres Perez. The play, based on a true story by comedienne/actress, Malucha Pinta, tells of the trauma experienced by her family when the last son, her brother, Tomas, was born with severe brain damage. As it becomes apparent that Tomas will never walk or talk, their comfortable, happy life falls apart. The family is stripped of any superficial stability, leaving its members stranded with only the barest shreds of emotions. Heavy as this may sound, it is a mesmerizing, humorous play in which Pinta's catch phase for life "laugh or cry, but don't hide your emotions" rings true. Visually fascinating, "Tomas" seems as if Perez foresees the moment when the audience's attention may wander, and so pulls another trick from up his sleeve. At a family dinner the mother is the only one who eats, silently scooping up mouthfuls whilst gazing into space, oblivious to her other children because she is so wrapped up in her own anguish and pain. The three climb up onto the table, desperate to attract her attention. As they do so, they knock the plates - camouflaged in the same blue as the tablecloth - to the floor. The plates fall silently, just as the children's cries for love do. No plea for help can reach their mother, as she can find no peace. The familiar anguish of the helpless, confused parent rings true and brings the scene home. Eventually the mother dares to voice her true, selfish pain: her aspirations for her child to be handsome, popular and successful in the way she and her husband dreamed now will never be. Tomas may be happy in his world, but his mother is left frustrated and disappointed. But the family's personal tragedy is not without redemption. Tomas, in spite of the pity he inadvertently inspires, becomes the reason behind a deepening and strengthening of his mother and father's love, both for each other and for their children. Tomas is also responsible for creating the opportunity for his mother, godmother and uncle to work together for the first time on a large project. The play was not originally written as a script, but developed out of a series of workshops which took the book "Letters to Tomas," written by Malucha, as inspiration. Tomas's uncle said of the production, "It was difficult at times because I saw things which I didn't know about the family before. We wanted the music to represent two worlds, a magical and a real one." Whilst the real one is full of pain as each member of the family copes alone with this new, difficult situation, the magical one is where the answers are found. Access to this world is permitted only to the emotionally literate, to those who are honest about their feelings. Big sister, when she faces up to her fear of Tomas - "I don't know what to do with him, he scares me"- is dressed in funky plastic pants, slouching around in typical teenager stance on the upper level stage. From here the machis, a traditional wise woman in Chile, spouts her advice, Malucha finds her calm moments, her ghost sister skips around in pigtails, and Tomas's spirit silently observes the action as his superbly long white sleeves and legs drape down into the real world below. All the characters use various ladders to move between the two spheres, apart from Tomas who is unique in being the only one who scrambles up and down without an aid, a harsh, physical juxtaposition with his life. Reality, however, is not so easily escaped. Dad wallows in an alcoholic stupor, ridiculing his wife's efforts to bathe Tomas in mud baths in the belief that it will cure his condition. Mum seeks solace through female company, turning her back on the days of slim hips tottering in high heels and opts instead for flowing dresses, weight gain and group menstruation in the Atacama Desert. Meanwhile the other siblings are left to get on with their growing pains alone. Their solitude is sometimes such that we even hear Tomas's big brother declare, "Sometimes I wanted to be like him, just so you would treat me the same." Although wanting recognition, teenage coolness forces him to shake off his mum's kisses - "Ugh, mum cut it out...!" Normalizing, humorous scenes like this one release the tension which builds up as the general scenario deteriorates, allowing the audience a giggle. It is the mad mixture of the normal and the extreme, in the words, costumes, props, music and acting. From the oh-so-terrestrial - grooving down to earthy vibes on a self-help weekend - to the supernatural - the introduction of ghosts from the past, the constantly changing rhythm enveloped me for two and a half hours. It is fantastic non-fiction at its finest. La Casa Amarilla, Estacion Mapocho, every weekend until August. (56-2) 735 6167.
THE PLAY THAT
DARE NOT SPEAK ITS NAME We North Americans, especially those of us of the MTV Generation, are difficult to shock. Constant exposure to sundry deviant sexual and social behaviors on daytime talk shows has a sort of numbing effect. Also, the acceptance of "alternative lifestyles" has been heated, pounded and forged into the U.S. consciousness. Chileans, by contrast, tend to have easily ruffled feathers in the lifestyle/morality department. Even the populist La Cuarta (the newspaper which feeds the public a constant diet of posterior shots of thong bathing suits), is unlikely to give us headlines like "Cross-dressing Carabineros: Black Lingerie and High Leather Boots", or "Bomberos Gay: 'I'd rather fight fires with my life-partner than with a friend.'" Taken in this context, the play "Restos Humanos y La Verdadera Naturaleza del Amor" ("Human Remains and the True Nature of Love") is a gentle and graceful jab into the ribs of Chilean conservatism. The play looks at the lives of those invisible Chileans who don't fit into the "Boy meets girl and they fall in love and have two kids" pattern. These characters are more like "Boy meets girl and wears her panties because they 'make him feel sexy.'" This confused mess of desire, guilt and occasional drug-use also carries a more disturbed subplot. There have been a series of murders, all women. Appropriately the stage is centered on a large futon, where all the main scenes take place. To the left of the bed are four cubicles, donned with lights with string-switches. The four secondary actors are housed in these cubicles as they lounge in poses reminiscent of Calvin Klein ads. The lights in the cubicles are switched on and off, confirming each character's presence in a scene. Still, one gets the feeling that on some level all the protagonists are constantly aware. Main character Daniel (Pablo Schwarz), who in the television soap opera "Oro Verde" plays a teenager with crowÕs feet and teeth that have seen 20 years of coffee and cigarettes, is a former TV actor working at a bar. Daniel is a homosexual and one of the only characters confident with his sexuality. He is not quite as confident about whom to choose as his partner. First there is Vicente (Gonzalo Munez), who pops in and out, never stating his true intentions, sexual or otherwise. Another possibility for Daniel is the young Lucas (Felipe Braun), who at eighteen is confronting burgeoning feelings of homosexuality. Daniel's roommate and confidante is Coni (Mariana Loyola), the character whose sexuality is most ambiguous. She vacillates between the testosterone-oozing Victor (Ramon Llao) and the veteran lesbian Carla (Francisca Gavilan). Watching over them all is the prostitute, Benita (Carolina Fadic), an ironic sort of spiritual leader who sings the occasional song and updates the audience on the plot by reading aloud from a giant book. Much of the background information is related through conversations and phone messages coming from a telephone booth, located behind the bed. Alongside the phone is a closet where players change clothes, often implying a change of mind. Rising above on the right side is a platform holding a chair. A rolling cart pushed about freely makes for the bar were many of the scenes transpire. All of this is wrapped in a Japanese style wooden cleanness. The theater itself, the Sala Nuval in Providencia, was recently hulled out and rebuilt and looks and feels "I can still smell the paint" new. Much of the oozing mortar of the original wall is still visible under a layer of paint. The design makes for excellent acoustics, necessary for the audience to follow the complicated and abrupt scene changes. In style alone the play is enough to kept a hyperactive child in his or her seat. Director Francisco Melo uses the whole stage, occasionally giving the feel of a tennis match as the focus shoots suddenly from, say, the bed to the bar, leaving the members of the previous scene frozen in time. These jumps from one end of the stage to the other help draw the audience into the action. Another scene change technique uses recorded screams which indicate another murder has occurred. Although the effect is disconcerting and brings the killings to the front of your mind, the murders themselves operate as little more than a tacked-on effect, drawing attention away from what is really a compassionate humanistic drama. The lighting, which is even and unchanging throughout the play, also utilizes the large scale of the stage and the theater. The spots on the characters are turned up only during soliloquies. The music, which changes to fit the scene, gives the sensation of a mixed night-club (which 50 years ago might have meant a bar that isn't the Moose Lodge, but now means a bar with a mix of gays and heterosexuals). Generally the script is even-handed in what could be a very fragile subject to deal with. The only glaring problem is that Victor, the only devout heterosexual male, is less a person than a caricature - like a young Homer Simpson with a libido and a cache of woman. Beyond this glib cliché, the ambiguities are handled gently. Getting there is easy. The theater is located at 703 Condell. The street runs North-South off of the south side of Alameda. It´ss close to Plaza Italia to the east side. Prices are $10 for the general public, $7.50for students, and $7 with a coupon. It's wise to dress warm and use the bathroom beforehand, as the play runs a straight one hour and forty-five minutes.
THE SMALL
HISTORY OF CHILE La Pequeña Historia de Chile is a play that depicts the history of a young nation called Chile as seen through the eyes of five Chilean citizens, teachers in a liceo (public school). But history is only a part, albeit an important one, of what this drama is about. For along the way, it delves into the psyche of the average middle-class chileno and lays bare the many complexes that distort his self-perception. The two aspects that stand out in this thought-provoking play are the script and the sets. It won awards for both last year from the Asociación de Periodistas del Espectáculo (Association of Entertainment Journalists). The script was penned by the highly-acclaimed playwright and professional psychiatrist, Marco Antonio de la Parra. Through it he reveals an intimate knowledge of the appalling conditions that prevail in many of this country's liceos and provides a poignant portrayal of the way the teachers who work in them view themselves, their noble profession and, through it, their country. The sets, another tour de force , are in the experienced hands of stage-veteran Susana Bomchil. At the back of the stage are three or four gray cement statues - Balmaceda in stately repose, O'Higgins at his martial best - commemorating the heroes of this young nation. In the foreground, rickety, overturned benches, ink-stained desks, broken pieces of chalk, tattered attendance registers, wrinkled overalls and battered cupboards almost buried under layers of dust and tons of papers from past assignments. The Past lies in stark contrast to the Present. The staging of the play comes at an opportune moment, at a time when the Frei government is trying to implement a long-postponed but vital item on its agenda: the educational reform. Surely a country that seems to have got most things economic right in the past decade or so and, indeed, is held up as an example for other developing countries in this respect, deserves better standards of education? Yet it is that very sector, the basis of a growing economy and healthy society, that has languished from years of neglect under successive governments. The welfare state is on the retreat, but nor has it received any better treatment from the implacable market forces that seem to value on engineers, doctors and lawyers. The play offers a devastating depiction of the apathy and mediocrity that plague the public education system: five ill paid (a full-time teacher in a liceo earns only around US $600 a month), badly trained, poorly motivated and disenchanted teachers trying to function in grim and dilapidated classrooms. To make matters worse, there is an asphyxiating state bureaucracy (the educational map of Chile never arrives from the omnipotent ministerio; nor does Mr. Fredes' official letter of appointment). And students are conspicuous by their absence. As the director declares in anguish, "el liceo es un purgatorio". Of the five teachers, there is Mr. Sanhueza, the eager bearer of ominous tidings, always short of money and caught in the vice-like grip of moneylenders. There is Mr. Fredes, young and idealistic, who returns to his old school to teach, only to have his enthusiasm shredded by his cynical colleagues. There are the two schoolmistresses, Loureiro and Muñoz, once young and now heading for a sad and bitter spinsterhood. And there is the director of the school (wonderfully acted by Sergio Aguirre), a man who has grown weary and disillusioned from years of struggling - in vain - against the odds and is preparing for death. Indeed, la muerte (death) is often invoked. In part because it is a final escape from a life-time of misery and frustration and in part because that is one sure way of passing into History. Even if, in the eyes of the protagonists, history has not been generous with a young nation like Chile, depriving it of cultural glory and a proud collective identity. Mr. Sanhueza, in one of his frequent outbursts of operatic despair pithily sums up the national complex: "what is our country called? France? Germany? No, we are only called "Chile", a long and piquant chilly". This play is a satire, a powerful piece of social criticism that is made easier to swallow thanks to the crisp tightness of de la Parra's script and the thread of ironic, even black, humor that runs through it. The actors, members of the Chilean National Theater company of the Faculty of Arts of that noble public institution, the University of Chile, interact fluidly under the guidance of director Raúl Osorio, and do a competent job on the whole. The only shortcoming in their otherwise compelling performance is a tendency to overact at times. With so much gesticulation and shouting occurring simultaneously, the audience tends to miss important bits of dialogue. What finally keeps the spectators' attention riveted on the stage is the effective combination of different elements - sets, sound, lighting, and acting - that creates a haunting imagery and palpable tension in the atmosphere and an overwhelming sense of decay. Anyone interested in understanding better the Chilean people cannot afford to miss the two remaining performances of the season. La Pequeña Historia de Chile Sala Antonio Varas, 25 Morandé Street, Santiago Center. Near Metro station Universidad de Chile on Line 1. Telephone: 6961200 (reservations) Date(s) and timing: Till 5 April; Fri., and Sat at 8.30 pm Admission: Tickets 3,600 pesos; 1,800 pesos (students, senior citizens)
A NIGHT AT THE OPERA If enjoying opera is
an acquired taste, don’t try to acquire it on
a10.000-peso-ticket.
"EL DESQUITEe" "El
Desquite" (The Revenge) is one of the most
critically acclaimed and commercially successful plays
currently running in Santiago. Based on a posthumous work
by Chile’s literary genius, don Roberto Parra, it is
staged by the company Teatro Sombrero Verde whose members
played the leading roles in "La Negra Ester",
another magnum opus by the same author.
"FROM
ONE TO TEN .... TELL ME HOW MUCH YOU LOVE ME." An eccentric,
insecure psychiatrist patiently listens to his client, a
hysterical woman, rambling on about converting her
husband into a doormat. He, meanwhile, fantasizes about a
beautiful Spanish woman, though we are never quite sure
if his thoughts are fantasies or actual memory. Two men
sit on a street bench discussing women, infidelity, and
separation while a third man joins them carrying a
suitcase. "How long has it been since you left
her", they knowingly ask him. These are but a few of
the private and very human exchanges we see at "De
uno a diez...Dime cuànto me quieres?", the most
recent play by Teatro Aparte.
WHAT A CIRCUS! It isn't a circus exactly. "Circus" instantly conjures up images of: an enormous canopy; bright lights; a loud orchestra; lions jumping meekly on stools at the crack of a whip; elephants playing football; sequined acrobats performing daredevil stunts; and clowns with big round noses and even bigger feet indulging in their usual antics. That kind of circus, one would suppose, is only for children. This one doesn't boast of any of the above elements, and it yet it appeals to every kind of audience for the feelings, vitality, imagination and creativity that it contains and the stirring emotions that it provokes. Que Cir Que is the name of the show offered by a one woman-two men team of French artistes. Emmanuelle Jacqueline, Hyacinthe Reich and Jean-Paul Lefeuvre are back in Chile some four years after they delighted audiences as members of "Cirque O". Cirque O broke up soon after but - thank God! - Que Cir Que was born. Trained at France's National Center for the Circus Arts, the troupe borrows from the old French circus tradition to provide a show garbed in a modern aesthetic and new ideas. Their concept of circus - a perfect circular continuum in which endings are beginnings - is clearly embodied in their carefully thought-out production. All its elements, the tent, the floor, the accessories used, the costumes, the background music and the very movements of the performers, testify to . So too the themes underlying their routines and the way they perceive and provoke the audience. The tent, conceived and designed by Christophe Gärtner, is round, white and small. With a capacity for some 450 people squeezed together, it was made to generate a sense of intimacy between the members of the audience and to create an instant rapport between performers and public. The accessories used are apparently all ordinary objects of every-day use - a wooden mast that rises from the center of the floor, a broom, ropes, a see-saw, a bicycle, a wheel and a ring. The costumes are simple, one-color pieces - black, brown and white - that are discrete, low-profile and only serve to enhance the minimalist conception of their art. Perhaps Jean-Paul Lefeuvre embodies this concept best, clad as he is in nothing more than a pair of briefs whose whiteness blends naturally with his own pale complexion. The music, which ranges from techno to jazz-pop is taped though complemented at places with improvised primal sounds created by the performers themselves. From the very moment the spotlight targets a circular opening at the center of the floor through which a long white human arm and cautiously takes in the surroundings as if it had a life of its own before finally coming out of its underground lair and bringing with it its rightful owner onto the surface, the audience sits spell-bound. What comes next and continues for the next one and a half hours or so is a sublime mix that provokes curiosity, wonder, awe and sheer delight among those assembled. Litheness of body, lightness of motion; mirthful contortions and explosion of emotions. these words would sum up well the spectacle. The sentiments that they artistes seek to express in their short acts are as basic as they are universal: Power, love, jealousy, anger, contentment and laughter. First there is a fierce contest between Jean-Paul and Hyacinthe, each balanced at opposite ends of a semi-circular see-saw , each vying to get closer to Emmanuelle and blow out the candles held in her hand. Then there is a wonderful sequence that caricatures the man-object relationship. A Jean-Paul molded to a broom! He, with a shaved head and an expression of heroic stoicism plastered on his face combines very effectively with the dynamic, aggressive attitude of Hyacinthe. Even when they do not resort to slapstick, they seem to represent an old and endearing duo: Jean-Paul is Laurel to Hyacinthe's Hardy. Emmanuelle also surprises with her grace and fluidity, resembling a gazelle in flight as she goes round and round the stage, hanging from a low trapeze and using her arms to propel herself. In Que Cir Que the incredible strength and dexterity of the performers and their remarkable physical prowess and feats are not an end in themselves; they are the means, deployed simply yet with a devastating imagination, with which the performers seek to strike a chord in the public. And do they succeed! To know why, you have to see the show. As producer Ueli Hirzel puts it, "Que Cir Que cannot be explained. It is something you have to see and experience". Que-Cir-Que Till 13 April 1997 at Plaza Poniente Centro Cultural Estación Mapocho. Estacionamiento Parque de los Reyes. Opposite Metro station Cal y Canto on Line 2. Telephone: 672 0347. Friday and Saturday at 9 pm. Sunday at 8 pm. Tickets: 4,000 pesos (general public) and 2,000 pesos (students and senior citizens). Note: If you intend to buy tickets before the show on a weekend day, make sure you come well in time. If not, you may just find yourself ticketless and stranded, together with a small army of like-minded Chileans!
LOS HUASOS QUINCHEROS Los Huasos
Quincheros, a quintessentially "Chilean"
musical group, also enjoy international renown. The group
has performed in Japan, Russia, Germany and twenty other
countries. They will be giving a special benefit
performance for the North American community August 12,
7:30 p.m. at Santiago College in Providencia. Los Huasos
Quincheros date back more than half a century.
LOS TRES To refer to Los Tres
simply as Chile's leading contemporary pop group is quite
inadequate. For one thing, the group has long crossed
regional and national frontiers since its creation
towards the end of the ’80s in the southern city of
Concepcion. For a group so young, Los Tres earned a
singular honor last year when it became the first and
only Chilean group to record an unplugged album for MTV.
And secondly, their music defies easy classification and
could best be described as a provocative amalgam of
wide-ranging styles, from the sentimental ballads and
boleros that go down so well with Chilean audiences
through diverse forms of rock, to fox-trot, funk, cueca
(the national dance music), and even disco.
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