Death knell for Gaza at the National Convention Center

The anguish, fear, and death that inhabit Mercè Rodoreda's novel hovered over the audience of the National Theater of Catalonia at the season opening. The anguish, fear, and atavistic death of the village of pink houses imagined by Rodoreda and the anguish, fear, and death of the thousands of Palestinians murdered by the Israeli government.

The genocide in Gaza was the central theme at the beginning and end of this captivating and grim novel. Marcos Morau's gaze about the Barcelona-born writer's most enigmatic and obscure work, so different from the others in concept, structure, and ambition, but considered by literary critics to be her masterpiece. "In this novel, Mercè Rodoreda's creative talent reaches its peak," wrote Robert Saladrigas after its publication. She opens with a declaration of art's commitment to the reality and suffering of the Palestinian people and closes with a short song. a cappella by Maria Arnal, which brought the audience to their feet in a prolonged applause.

And Gaza could perfectly be the imaginary town built on a rock and a mighty river taught by the desired death. The corpses wrapped like the victims of Gaza. The constant flight and the bouncing of the bells and the thunder and pipes that impact and move the dancers. The heartbeat of the novel connects with reality and, in reality, is what remains of the novel and of the pain that Rodoreda poured out. The impressions of a creator. A series of impressions, of moving paintings of absolute beauty and rotundity in the framework of an atmosphere of darkness and noise despite the colorful final note with a possible rebirth of hope. The proposal shines in the flight of the dervish skirts, in the group choreographic phrases that evoked the work of the always missed Pina Bausch, and with solos like that of Lorena Nogal, hypnotic, dazzling, rabid, splendid. All of this in a superb sonic space of noise and fury (that of the river in the novel), of a high-pitched scream and a tense bellow, contrasted with the warmth of songs reminiscent of the Mediterranean by Maria Arnal and the grace of a Valencian jota.

It is possible that there are metaphorical evocations of the symbolism rooted in the novel that are personal enough to be imperceptible, except for the most obvious: the tree/grave that everyone glimpses. In short, an open function of meanings that overwhelms with the force of its plasticity and the power of the dance. Fantastic.