In this hilarious comedy -bordering on the grotesque- four men who "suffer for love and have broken hearts" carry us into their hopes as they seek to recover what they have lost. They put us at the front of the eternal battle: the search for love.
Noche de Luna / Luna Night -
Fundraising Night:
The first Saturday performance of
each production
will be followed by a reception.
General admission is $40.
‘Club de Caballeros (Rotos de Amor)’ at Teatro de la Luna
“There is nothing more ridiculous than a man in love.” That
is the basic premise of Argentine playwright Rafael Bruza’s
alternately absurd and poignant Club de Caballeros (Rotos de
Amor) at Teatro de la Luna. Like most subjects in comedy,
it’s funny because it’s true.
It’s also funny because the production boasts an ensemble of
four master clowns: Alex López-Montañez is “Rodríguez,” a
cuckolded public official; Jerry Daniel’s “Berlanguita” has
carried on a ten-year love affair with a woman from a
distance; Alex Alburqueque’s “Artemio” is the victim of
unrequited love; and Juan Bianchi’s Harpo Marx-ish “El Mudo”
has difficulty letting go of the memory (and cremated
remains) of his long-deceased wife.
Together, the actors possess such chemistry, physical comedy
prowess, and timing that it is impossible to highlight a
stand-out. Each also builds a distinctly memorable character
with an element of pathos. This is also a testament to the
able craft of Director Mario Marcel, who keeps the action
crisp with clear intent, but never mechanical.
In this “Gentlemen’s Club,” the jilted caballeros don’t
drown their sorrows in sangria at the local strip club, but
rather turn to the hair and manicure salon for solace.
Bruza’s beautiful text muses poetically on the folly and
pain of love, while providing plenty of fodder for genuinely
uproarious comedy: a Garden of Remembrance ceremony gone
horribly wrong; an ill-fated self-medication experimentation
session; and the most atonal love song in the history of
balcony serenades. The English translation by David Bradley
and Christine Stoddard (projected as surtitle) is sufficient
but practically irrelevant because Marcel’s cast performs
with a specificity that transcends any language barrier.
Desigers Rosita Becker, Nucky Walder, and Juanita Real
coordinate costumes, props and wigs into absurdist
uniformity. The color-themed “baggage” carried by the
gentlemen becomes its own element in the story, perhaps
representing the object of each man’s star-crossed affection.
Marcel’s sound design hearkens back to classic Latino
Cinema, and his simple scenic design helps to magnify the
power and legitimacy of an actor-driven masterpiece.
On a dimly lit stage, a
sensually twisted, abstract sculpture is anchored to a
pedestal and spotlighted in red. From overhead speakers
comes a voice: “Can you hear me?” The question sounds
out-of-place and odd, and remains unanswered until repeated,
like a refrain, at the end of this theatre-of-the-grotesque
satire, that, at various high points, is hysterically funny.
Argentinean playwright
Rafael Bruza wants so badly to make us think, he’s willing
to make us squirm. In Gentlemen’s Club (Love Torn) / Club
De Caballeros (Rotos de Amor), Bruza takes sad events
and exaggerates them outrageously and makes us laugh. He
shows us how love drives men silly. The Gentlemen’s Club
becomes a halfway house for curing heartbroken men. Healing
remedies for lovesickness range from philosophy to drugs and
hair color changes at the beauty parlor; but every treatment
fails. And that’s where the fun begins.
Theatre Review: ‘Club De Caballeros Rotos De Amor/
Gentleman’s Club (Love Torn)’ at Teatro
de da Luna
In Club de Caballeros (Rotos de amor), or The
Gentleman’s Club (Love Torn), we are able to see the
truly desperate lengths that men will go to in order to
achieve love. This hysterical comedy by Argentinean
Playwright Rafael Bruza demonstrates this through four
men who attempt to heal their broken hearts by rather
ridiculous means. They ultimately triumph, their success
hidden in their failures. Their search for love and a
cure for their broken hearts does indeed, as the
director, Mario Marcel, states “border on the
grotesque,” not only because of the outrageous behavior,
ranging from changing their hair color to
self-medication with drugs, but also the determination
to win love they so desire.
The intimate setting ... enables a relaxed and
interactive atmosphere for the audience, adding to an
overall enjoyable performance.
We first meet Rodriguez, a clever and smooth character,
who we learn is a high-level government official that
has been humiliated by his wife; she has taken up with
the tango instructor and thrown him out. His three
friends come to visit and offer their support, remarking
on how far he has fallen, for not only is he being
cuckolded by his wife, but he is forced to live in the
small shed in the backyard and the house is guarded by
the ferocious dog, Delilah. Played by Alex Lopez-Montañez,
Rodriguez handles his situation with sarcasm and a cool
attitude, often mixing innuendos about the dog and his
wife, much to the audience’s amusement. Though he claims
his reason for wanting to get her back is to reclaim his
honor, he cannot hide from his friends that he does
indeed love his wife. Despite his and his companion’s
extreme actions throughout the play, as well as the
caricatures of the other characters, Lopéz-Montañez
distinguishes himself in playing the witty Rodriguez in
a subtle way that well balances out the rest.
In the next scene, we are introduced to Berlanguita’s
dilemma. He sits in front of the audience with a sad
bouquet of flowers sighing with a slightly dopey grin on
his face when his friends enter. They discover that he
has been in love with a woman for fifteen years but has
never once spoken with her out of fear of ruining the
relationship. He continues to love her, despite her
being married with children, and continues to sit across
the street and watch her each week: a borderline
stalker, his companions note, much to the audience’s
amusement. Though he is encouraged to speak with her, he
explains to his friends that his love for her is purely
platonic, and he is afraid to sully that love. Jerry
Daniel gives an excellent portrayal of the dual role of
Berlanguita, for he also provides the voice of El Mudo,
the Silent One of the group, translating the grunts and
gestures of the character for the rest of the group. He
is a jolly and almost clown-like character, yet
heartfelt in his love and devotion.
Artemio opens the third scene outside his wife’s window
and in one of the most hilarious scenes attempts to
regain her affections by a rowdy musical balcony
serenade, pleading with her to accept his apologies for
his faults and take him back. The “fault,” of course, is
itself just as ridiculous: he snores. The attempt is a
miserable failure and the voice of his wife shouts
rudely calling them “barrachos” (drunken fools) as well
as hurling other profanities. Poor Artemio proceeds to
enumerate the various ways in which he has tried to
please his wife: reciting poetry, rubbing her feet,
catering to her every whim, yet she has still kicked him
out. The scene is an amusing farce of the traditional
troubadour wooing his lover, for rather than a smooth
Latin lover seducing his lady, we have a desperate and
somewhat pathetic man who’s wife is tired of his
adoration of her. Played by a talented Alex Alburqueque,
Artemio adds his own brand of humor to the group with
his often-truthful observations.
Juan Biachi, playing the Silent One, El Mudo, is
clownish and eccentric character who moans and grunts to
communicate with the other character and is interpreted
somehow mysteriously by Berlanguita. Biachi plays El
Mudo in a way somewhat reminiscent of Harpo Marx;
despite his inability to speak, his expressions and
actions speak for him for the most part, adding a
light-hearted silliness to the group. He suffers his own
loss, however, of his wife who has been dead for fifteen
years and in all that time he has not spoken. Though his
silence adds show-stealing humor for the audience, we
realize that it hides the greater pain of his grief.
The first four scenes set the stage for a club of
heartbroken men and the audience watches their bizarre
yet comical attempts to heal and find love. Director
Marcel does an excellent job of not letting the personal
stories distract from the play’s premise, but rather
balances them out with the characters interaction in
their attempts to remedy their problems. Their
individual personalities and brands of humor blend into
a harmonious quartet in which each man’s problems is
fused as one, along with their failures or successes.
It is quickly apparent the overall lesson which Rafael
Bruza wishes to convey: “Is there anything more
ridiculous than a man in love?” Their desperation
throughout the play borders on the absurd, yet their
love-sickness does not leave the audience heavy-hearted,
but instead able to recognize the humor in matters of
love. The intimate setting of Teatro de la Luna enables
a relaxed and interactive atmosphere for the audience,
adding to an overall enjoyable performance.
Many of the finest productions that Teatro de la Luna
has produced over the years have existed in a realm best
described as unconventional and tending toward the
absurd. So it is with its latest sprightly creation,
"Club de Caballeros: Rotos de Amer" ("Gentlemen's Club:
Love Torn") by Argentinian playwright Rafael Bruza.
The narrative, neatly directed by Mario Marcel, is
divided into 10 scenes. It tells the story of four
salesmen, differentiated only by their body types, the
colors of their shirts, ties and the suitcases they
carry. Everything else about them is the same, from
their hair to the fact that they are unhappy in love.
They search for it and can't find it. They have it and
lose it. They see it clearly but can't go after it.
Their lives are cases of frustration, suffering and
broken hearts.
And yet the tone of "Club de Caballeros" is light, at
times verging on hilarious. The men are clowns in a
huge, universal circus where they are not allowed to see
a happy ending to a story. In fact, the play starts out
by announcing that every story has a sad aspect.
One man, Rodriguez (Alex Lopez-Montanez), can't get into
his house because his wife's dog blocks his way.
Eventually the dog is accompanied by Rodriguez's wife's
tango teacher. Another man, Berlanguita (Jerry Daniel),
courts the woman he loves silently for eight years,
bringing her flowers even as she marries another man.
For him, the "unblemished illusion" of love is more
precious than a real marriage because it lasts forever.
For Artemio (Alex Alburquerque), serenading his beloved
with poems written on perfumed paper and bringing her
flowers is a way of celebrating his love for a woman who
has long ago rejected him. For the Silent One (Juan
Bianchi), silence is how he honors his dead wife.
The spare set, designed by Marcel, emphasizes the
emotional wasteland the characters inhabit. Rosita
Becker's and Nucky Walder's costumes (dark gray suits,
that rainbow of shirts and ties) offer an intriguing
comment on how alike the men are. The play would not be
possible without the colorful contribution of
hairdresser Juanita Real.
"Club de Caballeros" is the sort of play in which the
playwright will offer no way out of his characters'
private hell. As the clowns try various fixes to
alleviate their unhappiness, everything from visiting a
beauty shop to experimenting with medicines, they come
closer and closer to the conclusion that they are simply
victims of love, that no one has control over their
emotions, that there is no cure for love-sickness, and
that the search for love will drive men on forever.
¿Quién no ha sufrido por amor?, es la pregunta que más
que hallar respuestas busca encontrar soluciones a
través de la nueva producción del
Teatro de La Luna, “Club de Caballeros: Rotos der
amor”.
De
esta manera el Teatro de La Luna trae a sus tablas una
creación del argentino Rafael Bruza, uno de los
dramaturgos contemporáneos más reconocidos por su
peculiar estilo e imaginación.
Bajo
la dirección de Mario Marcel “Club de caballeros: Rotos
de amor” presenta cuatro diferentes historias de amor
ligadas entre sí por el sufrimiento que produce el
desamor o simplemente la ausencia del más sublime de los
sentimientos.
Cuatro caballeros de nombres: Rodríguez, Berlanguita,
Artemio y El mudo dan vida a cuatro hombres con vidas y
temperamentos distintos, pero que comparten el oficio de
visitadores médicos y sus malas experiencias de amor.
Con
un gran trabajo actoral los cuatro personajes son
capaces de dar vida las diversas penas de amor que sufre
el ser humano a lo largo de su vida, pero al mismo
tiempo te invita a reflexionar sobre el valor de ese
sentimiento que con tan solo cuatro letras es capaz de
cambiarte la vida y muchas veces hasta replantear tu
existencia.
Así
tenemos el caso del que sufrió una infidelidad, del
hombre cuya mujer le perdió el interés o lo dejó de
amar, del perfecto casado que tuvo que enterrar a su
amada y del soñador, quien vive por un amor platónico.
Con
un buen uso de la comedia los cuatro personajes
transportan al público por un camino en busca del amor y
del antídoto del desamor para juntos llegar a la
conclusión, entre risas y reflexión, que más vale sufrir
por amor que no haber vivido porque en vivir se
encuentra el misterio de nuestra existencia y la razón
de nuestro paso por este mundo.
La
obra completamente en español, con traducciones
simultáneas en inglés cuenta con un elenco de actores
latinoamericanos de Perú, Argentina y Puerto Rico, y se
puede disfrutar en el
Teatro de La Luna hasta el 25 de mayo.
You have to hand it to the characters in “Club de
Caballeros (Rotos de Amor)/Gentlemen’s Club (Love
Torn)”: Their romantic lives may be in free fall, but
they don’t sit around moping. Instead, the four hapless
men strive to remedy their plight — at one point going
so far as to take experimental drugs that may, or may
not, cure amorousness entirely.
The human-guinea-pig scene — the love-curing drugs turn
out to be available in ingestible, injectable and
suppository form — is just one of the zany sequences in
Argentine playwright Rafael Bruza’s witty comedy, now
receiving its U.S. premiere from Teatro de la Luna.
Director Mario Marcel’s amiable 90-minute production,
performed in Spanish, with English surtitles, showcases
four actors whose ability to suggest impetuousness,
amicability and goofy seriousness, by turns, complements
Bruza’s stylized, screwball-flavored plot.
Told in a series of vignettes — a format that creates a
pleasantly snappy narrative flow — “Club de Caballeros”
is a tale of friendship, as well as a meditation on the
absurdity of love. After Rodriguez (Alex Lopez-Montanez)
separates from his wife and alienates his dog, he turns
for comfort to three close pals, each of whom has his
own tangled personal life. Artemio (Alex Alburqueque)
has been sleeping on the couch because his spouse is fed
up with his snoring. Berlanguita (Jerry Daniel) is in
love with a married woman, to whom he has never spoken.
Their mute friend, the Silent One (Juan Bianchi), is a
pining widower.
The four men get together periodically to strategize and
console one another. At one point, they form a band, but
their attempt to serenade Artemio’s wife produces a
ghastly din. Later, they decide to improve their
romantic prospects by dying their hair blond: But first
they have to agree which shade to use — golden blond,
ash-pearl blond, ivory blond or “savage blond.”
Dapper figures in matching suits, with contrasting
colored shirts, the four actors clown and deadpan
affably on the spare set, which is anchored by a
modernist statue of a tangoing couple. Lopez-Montanez
makes an appealing straight man; and Alburqueque’s
Artemio is droll in the experimental-drugs scene,
nervously fidgeting with a medicine dropper before
downing the entirety of a vial in one swig. Adopting
infuriated, scolding and blissfully clueless expressions
as needed, Bianchi aces his silent comedy.
And Daniel is effective enough as Berlanguita, who
delivers some of the script’s most pointed lines.
Justifying his habit of worshiping women from afar, the
character asserts, “An unblemished illusion lasts for
centuries. . . . There’s no greater destruction of love
than the one that becomes real.”
Wren is a freelance writer.
Club de Caballeros (Rotos de Amor)/Gentlemen’s Club (Love
Torn)
by Rafael Bruza. Direction, set and sound
design by Mario Marcel; assistant director, Silvana
Fierro; lighting, Gary Hauptman; costumes and props,
Rosita Becker and Nucky Walder. In Spanish with English
surtitles (English translation by David Bradley and
Christine Stoddard). 90 minutes. Through May 25 at
Gunston Arts Center, Theater Two, 2700 S. Lang St.,
Arlington. Call 703-548-3092 or visit
www.teatrodelaluna.org.