This is a story all about sex, death, families and food on a late 19th century Mexican ranch. Tita, the youngest of three daughters, is destined to remain a spinster looking after her widowed mother Elena "until she dies". The love of Tita's life, Pedro, in the face of this difficulty, marries her eldest sister Rosaura in order to be close to Tita. Tita remains on the ranch, cooking for the family, abused by her forbidding mother (played with terrifying bony authority by Sarah Kemp) and advised in moments of crisis by the ghost of her all-wise and ever-gentle nurse Nacha.
But her feelings seep into her food. When making her sister's wedding cake with 100 eggs, she weeps into the batter. Later the guests are overcome first by sorrow and then by overpowering nausea. Similarly, when she makes a dish made with the roses given to her by Pedro (having been told by her mother to throw them away) it takes on their forbidden passion and causes a feeling of uncontrollable lust in the diners. Food is a central part of the dialogue, action and plot throughout: Rosaura's guilt is expressed in her digestive troubles; Nacha's love is expressed in her reappearance with timely recipes.
If you've seen the film, you'll know the power of the story. As a stage production it was really quite amazing: the inventiveness of the staging and the skill of the actors made it a very emotional experience, even in Spanish (there are a few lines in English to help one along, but I was very grateful for my Spanish IB course).
The staging is simple (everything is a washed out white or a dusty black) but cleverly designed so that effects like water and fire are convincing in an impressionistic way. Sound effects are done with contemporary props - boxes, baskets and a bucket of water - onstage by any actors who happen to be currently free. This creates a very intimate feeling: the closeness to the sweat and the dust of the story actually seems to help in the suspension of disbelief.
And the acting is fantastic: lots of physical theatre and clever voice use (particularly by Leonila Argüello Chavarria). The whole cast work really well, individually and as an ensemble. It's a brave and accomplished theatre company that can make you believe half the actors are quails being chased by the heroine, and then, when laying the table as humans a minute later, allow a player to let out a tiny "cluck" as a jokey reference to her former state. These people really pull it off.
Alejandra Ambrosi Cortés beautifully carries her place at the centre of the action as the thwarted Tita, and the passion smouldering between her and Jerónimo Best's Pedro is seriously intense - without even a word, you can feel them dying for each other at opposite ends of the stage.
I was also particularly impressed by Alicia Martel who plays both Nacha and the wonderful devil-may-care sister Gertrudis who runs off with a revolutionary. She provides most of the haunting music for the show with her guitar and her infinitely flexible voice, and is hilarious as Gertrudis: full of sex, fun and freedom, she's a brilliant shadow to the principled, vigorously-repressed Tita.
The sparkles of comedy make the essential tragedy much more involving and poignant. I wanted to stay for the post-show discussion, but I was crying buckets (it's such a sad story) and had to go and have a stiff drink instead. You would probably need to know a bit of Spanish or to know the film to get the most out of it. But if you do, you really, really shouldn't miss it. There's one more night.
Laura Esqiuivel’s book Como agua para chocolate has been adapted for the stage and performed by Theatre Sans Frontieres (Theatre Without Borders).
The story centres on Tita, a young Mexican woman who falls in love with Pedro, only to be told by her mother that she cannot marry and must look after her instead "until she dies". Mama Elena then offers Tita’s sister Rosaura to Pedro, and they marry. It is an epic tale that spans several decades, weaving together the forbidden love between Tita and Pedro, John, the dashing American doctor, and the Mexican revolution.
All of the actors gave stellar performances, passionate and honest, with just the right amount of comedic flair. The use of masked mimes to tell the story of Mama Elena and her illicit affair as a young woman was particularly poignant, as was the silhouette effect used for some of the scenes with Tita and Pedro. The performance was punctuated by several musical numbers led by Getrudis or her alter ego, the ghost of Tita's nurse Nacha, whose rich voice filled the theatre.
Though I would not characterise the performance as a comedy, there were some delightfully slapstick moments – particularly the hot and heavy reaction Gertrudis has to her sister Tita’s rose petal salsa, where she dashes off into the night to find herself a man, and the wonderfully timed sound effects from Chencha the maid.
The dialogue is for the most part in Spanish, though there are the occasional asides from Tita in English. I understand very basic Spanish, and though I was not able to follow the dialogue in detail, a quick read of the synopsis before the show ensured I could follow the story right the way through.
This is an engaging and vibrant performance, and worth seeing even for those who don’t speak Spanish.