In a greenhouse eaten by time, with El Hierro bitten by the years and the yearnings or desires that have been lived in it, a man continues to live, Samuel. Every night of a day It starts when a policeman, a character who is never seen on the scene, goes to that place to try to find out what happened to Silvia, the owner of the greenhouse, who disappeared years ago. The spectator thus becomes a great witness to what really happened in that humid and silent place.
Every night of a day, that arrives at the Fine Arts Theater of Madrid (until January 6) after several months of touring Spain, with Carmelo Gómez and Ana Torrent as protagonists, is the first theatrical encounter between the playwright Alberto Conejero (Max award to the best theatrical author for The dark stone) and the stage director Luis Luque. They have been years of joint work so that this theatrical poem, winner of the III Contest of theatrical texts of the Association of Authors of Theater (AAT), climbed to a stage. "I needed someone who was capable of understanding all the poetic materiality that the text contains, but at the same time turning it into a theater and exploiting everything dramatic that the poem can contain. I needed a director who appreciated poetry, but who did not influence the poetic so much, which is already in the writing, but in the dramatic tension. And that man was Luis Luque, "says Conejero. "To that wild and elevated poetry that breaks through the text, we had to look for the flesh, the spirit and the materialization of that spirit", adds Luque, who refers to his companion as "a poet of the people".
Summoned by this newspaper, Alberto Conejero (Jaén, 1978) and Luis Luque (Madrid, 1973) make a review of the vital materials and theatrical obsessions that go through the function. The meeting takes place on a rainy and somewhat sad morning in the Botanical Garden of Madrid, amidst trees and plants with beautiful names.
Alberto Conejero The work starts precisely when a man, who has taken refuge in silence, is forced to speak and, therefore, to order his thoughts. It is a journey through the shadows that goes towards the light, when that man is able to share what happened and becomes something liberating. Telling us we understand each other. That is the function of the theater. This work makes a radical commitment to silence as a subversive act. It is an attempt to escape the noise of the world. In this sense, the plant world gives us many lessons. It has been fundamental, both in the text and in the dramaturgy, what we can learn from the silence of the plants, because they speak with another eloquence that is not that of the words, but it is there. That greenhouse is a place where silence still occurs, in front of the noise of the world. One of the senses of this function is to bring silences to the theater.
Luis Luque Today silence is an act of provocation. In the work the silences are heard and the viewer is invited to value it, live it and get excited about it. With these silences, the word becomes more important and the essential remains. In Every night of a day, we let the plants breathe and talk about ghosts and memories. Silence harmonizes with your surroundings.
A. C. We are what we remember. Our memories shape us as much as dreams. In Every night of a day Those memories are so alive that they seem to leave no room for the present. They are two characters who drag a powerful crack of memories and who struggle to find themselves in the present. I am interested in the fact of how memory can be invented and also protest to take the voice. The theater allows us to put chairs to the absent and listen to our own ghosts. My obsession as a dramatist has to do with the management of memories and how, by default or by excess, one must have a healthy relationship with their memories.
L. L. The function proposes how to live with our memory in the best possible way. It is our own life experience and our pains that are in our art. The pain scratches you forever, but I can not and I do not want to escape what I am or what I have lived because that is the food of my proposals. My theater lives from my memories. Making theater for me often turns into adjustments with life. The only loophole that saves me is art.
A. C. The theater has to name uncomfortable and complex things. This work touches very intimate topics. Perhaps it is one of my texts where the shadow and the light fight with greater fierceness. On the one hand, I think there is something very vital, because of the beauty of meeting love, but at the same time there are ghosts that are my own and for which I have no answer, such as death, illness or the right to each one to leave life. I do not believe in a theater that gives unequivocal answers, but the one that makes me think. In this sense, the work raises whether we have the right to abandon this life and, when we do, who we left behind.
L. L. It is a question to the world, that of the right to death, that hits us in the chest but for which we have no answers. I know what I want for myself, which is the right to decide when to leave and I would not want anyone to legislate against it. More than that is accepted by all, I think we have to fight for that to be possible.
L. L. That love that is lived in the greenhouse is tragic because it has been deep and vital. That is the love we claim, the painful love and not the liquid. Living hurts and love is part of that journey. The tragic horror of love in Every night of a day It has more to do with the fate of the characters than with their decision. We talk about love that hurts but also makes you touch the sky.
A. C. We live in a very cynical time, in which to love and suffer for love is as outlawed or old. I really wanted to tell a deep love story, that maybe it's a story from another time, and that it was a man who proclaims devotion for that woman and tries to alleviate the wounds of his beloved. I proclaim love not from a place of dependence, but from kindness and care.