Angelica Liddell's obsessive funeral masturbation

Greta wants to commit suicide It is one of the first works by a young Angélica Liddell and the first to win one of the many awards that would follow, the Ciudad de Alcorcón Theatre Prize in 1988. Since then, death and suicide as a final poetic act have been omnipresent in the intense stage production of the artist born into the artist. In fact, her last two acclaimed shows revolved around her own funeral –Voodoo (3318) Blixen, in 2023 – and that of Ingmar Bergman –Dämon. Bergman's Funeral, in 2024–. The creator delivers one or more shows per year, so now she premieres in Temporada Alta Sepukku. Mishima's funeral or the pleasure of dyingwhich would close a false trilogy that resonates, and how, with suicide as one of the fine arts and death as the artist's aesthetic ideal.

She too thought about suicide. A few years ago, she says. And she photographed it. "When will I die?" she asks herself. "On stage I can commit suicide a million times." She proclaims the end of life; hers and all lives. The admonition from the artist's superiority is inevitable. And a fleeting reference to youth. She does so with the sincerity and conviction of a fanatic. With the spite of the condemned. With the contempt of a diva. With the talent of a genius. Her monologue, in the final part of the show, is the best of a somewhat schematic production, if it was meant to be a tribute to the Japanese writer who committed suicide with the samurai ritual after a failed attempt at a military uprising.

On a white tatami mat surrounded by red sand, the officiant invokes a series of the deceased, some of them suicides, through their actual clothing. Eroticism is present, but it lacks sensuality. The director shares the spotlight with a Japanese dancer and actor who meticulously emulate classical Japanese theater (Noh) with their movements, dances, and the tale of the angel who has lost his wings. There are also some quirky touches, like a huge bodybuilder or a hairy masked figure with rather artificial flashes. Or like the performance The blood draw was done on the actress and one of the actors. The needle didn't work on him, but instead of accepting it as a convention, they pricked his other arm. Someone was scared, a woman felt dizzy, and others made us laugh. The diva wanted the proposal to take place in the early hours of the morning—at 5:45 a.m.!—we imagine, however, so that the sunrise would usher in death.