After ten years of war, Titus Andronicus finally returns to Rome victorious and with Tamora, Queen of the Goths, and her three children as prisoners. After sacrificing the oldest of them as ordered by sacred rites, Titus only aspires to seek peace and rest because under his rough triumphant general exterior is a man with a spirit worn by the harshness of battle and the early deaths of most of his children. Only five remain by his side and, out of all of them, he cannot hide his devotion to Lavinia in whom he sees hope for a future that may be able to escape the violence that has accompanied him throughout his life. The calm will not last long however: he will be immediately forced to intercede in the political intrigues between Bassianus and Saturninus, two brothers confronted by their right to the crown of the Empire. Titus’s vote in favour of Saturninus quickly leads to a fatal chain of events that will always converge in an instinct as universal as it is dangerous: vengeance. Titus Andronicus is said to be Shakespeare’s most violent and most brutal work. And, number-wise, it undoubtedly is: there are a number of murders, there are mutilations as well as a rape. But what makes this text fascinating are not all the violent acts but rather the mechanisms that lead to such violence and the extent to which it is exercised. How do the characters, irrespective of their motivations (or justifications), use violence to the greatest extent their wit and circumstance allow? Why do they not stop? Why do they not seek a mechanism of justice? Perhaps it’s because their personal pain makes them lose all perspective or just maybe there is an even darker instinct. Perhaps they inflict all that pain because they can.

Antonio Castro Guijosa

La corte de Faraón is a zarzuela known as a biblical operetta in one act and five scenes. It premiered in Madrid at the Eslava Theatre on 21 January 1910, with a libretto by Guillermo Perrín and Miguel de Palacios and music by Vicente Lleó. More than 700 performances were given there, making it one of the 5 longest-running zarzuelas ever. It’s based on a French play on the biblical episode featuring the celibate Joseph and Potiphar’s wife. This zarzuela has never stopped being performed ever since it first premiered, even if at times hidden (performances were banned during the Franco dictatorship because of the erotic and irreverent tone), and once under complete democracy, it has been performed on a number of professional and amateur stages. Along with La verbena de la paloma, it is no doubt the most well-known zarzuela to the general public even for those who have practically no knowledge of this musical genre. Proposed this time is a new version, based on the well-known original, of course, where the plot is altered by different accidents and events outside the argument of the libretto, taking it to a somewhat more modern terrain yet with actions dating back to post-war 1940s. A new orchestration of the most popular songs with musical winks included may very well be a good method to get the audience to come out singing those unforgettable songs. A turn towards a musical and the most modern of revues, with costumes and choreography tuned into modern intentions and an adaptation that tries to blow the dust off a piece which is already in and of itself immortal, converting it into a new hit, if possible, provided time and the authorities so allow.

Mary Zimmerman’s version of Ovid’s Metamorphoses is a dazzling gem filled with some of the most well-known myths and legends the Roman poet wrote in his masterpiece. Zimmerman plays with this literary prodigy with nearly reverential love and care, always trying to respect the beauty of Ovid’s language while at the same time creating an absolutely personal piece that rejuvenates and modernizes the narration of those verses. She thus achieves a fascinating, fun and exciting text that has become a small contemporary classic recognised with a number of awards including a Tony for Best Direction of a Play in 2002. Ovid and Zimmerman tell us stories of gods, heroes, kings and wars, but also of love, vengeance, ambition, madness, jealousy and the most unbridled of passions. Metamorphoses realistically speaks of life and of how human beings coexist with their desires and their fears. Zimmerman tells us that today’s world also continues to be full of Midas, Phaetons, Orpheus and Apollos, proving that the validity of Ovid’s stories remains unchanged today. A play as special as this one deserves to have a great cast and there is no doubt this has been achieved. Few productions in recent years in Spain have been able to rely on a list of actresses and actors as brilliant as the one that will be featured in these Metamorphoses. Being able to see them together on the stage at the Roman theatre in Mérida is in and of itself quite the event which will be talked about for a long time to come.

The play is a journey through memory. That of a man tormented by what he did by sacrificing his life upon giving fire to man and would later wonder for centuries: was it worth it? The old man begins today, even a future today, from the moment where everything has already happened: wars, slavery, crises, injustices, ideological and religious failures, etc. He desperately searches for what’s positive about the development of humanity. Co-existing with such horror and rot are Galileo, Bach, Shakespeare, Fleming, Curie, Picasso … and so many others of the same humanity whose stela is falling apart (“burning” according to the poet). The conflict in the play is seemingly whether the young Prometheus will confess his secret: the end of Zeus. However, the real core of this piece is this old man’s inquiry into memory, trying to rekindle the reasons that moved him to act. Reasons that have been diluted over the years, becoming blurry and powerless. He tries to find and recover the passion of that young hero he once was. Reviving his dreams, the spirit that sustained and drove him to answer the question… was it worth it? He still wonders without response what is leading him to scepticism, apathy, a destructive cynicism into which he does not wish to fall. Having the ability to view all of history from the now provides great clarity, a sense of humour and, as Steiner once said, the death of God for contemporary society led to the death of tragedy as such. That’s why he brings it back to life. Yet, on the other hand, the myth of Prometheus is based on an epic legend; however, the lyrical nature of Luis García Montero’s text leads the focus to the punishment (Chorus and other characters) with that tragic Greek character where Compassion and Freedom, for example, are eternal concepts – travel companions for the old man – not psychological characters. Working from the organic truth of emotions, sensations and beliefs, there’s an attempt to reach that “style” – simply to give it a name – where the text has an extreme presence. Prometheus is a young man who dreamed up a history.

José Carlos Plaza

Antigone embodies the conflict between conscience and obedience: she buries her brother even though it’s against the law. The intransigent rigor with which she acts, because she’s convinced she is doing what’s right, turns Antigone into one of the most famous theatrical figures in history. Antigone is Oedipus’ daughter. Her two brothers were killed in the battle for Thebes. The cadaver of the assailant Polynices was not to be buried by order of King Creon, rather should be thrown to the starving birds in front of the walls of the city of Thebes. That is the new law. However, Antigone feels that the desires of the Gods were not taken into account with this order, and secretly buries her brother in the night. She knows that for her insubordination she will await the death penalty. When Polynices is found covered in dirt and dust in the morning the guards exhume him, and so Antigone decides to make a statement by burying him in the light of day. Creon is outraged, but Antigone decides to confront him all the same. By his order, she is to be punished, buried alive. Sophocles, poet, politician, and priest, believed in the muse of the poet, in the compassion of the gods, but he also knew, like the politician he was, how to wage war and what it meant to demand obedience by force. Sophocles could identify with Antigone, just like with her uncle Creon, the king of Thebes. “The blind man sees, and the seeing is blind”, for this reason Sophocles also permits Creon to arrive at the institution with the help of the blind prophet Tiresias. The seer prophesized the death of one of the king’s family members if he continued with his plan to bury Antigone alive. Creon wants to follow the advice of the wise, but he is too late. Antigone has hung herself in her cell; Creon’s son, Haemon, Antigone’s betrothed, has stabbed himself with his sword because of the pain. Eurydice, Creon’s wife, couldn’t deal with the death of her son and also committed suicide. It’s only after this that Creon truly changes his mind and realized that he was wrong. Fascinated by Sophocles’ timeless reflection about human nature, we decided to create Antigone with our company, Víctor Ullate Ballet, specifically for the Roman Theatre of Mérida. Overwhelmed by the richness of thought and wisdom that Sophocles expressed in this cruel and archaic tragedy, what interests us the most are the feelings that are ancient as humanity itself. Principally inspired by the conflict in each figure, we trust in the power of dance: like no other form of art, it permits us to access the realm of universal emotion. Like always, the eternal question regards destiny: “What destiny has in store for each person is impossible to avoid”. Víctor Ullate

Dionysus, the Greek god of theatre, wine, ecstasy and fertility. Of all the immortals included in the conventional Hellenic pantheon, he is by far the one that enjoyed the longest life; his presence can already be found in the first documents written in the Greek language (the Mycenaean tablets dating back more than three thousand years ago) and he continues to be found even today in Nietzsche’s philosophy (The Birth of Tragedy), a novel by Thomas Mann (Death in Venice), a film by Visconti (Teoreme) and a novel by Vargas Llosa (Death in the Andes). Dionysus gives us humans that supreme bacchanalian happiness that brings us “to sharing souls”. Dionysus spews wine all over the Earth and opens up his wild paradise, otherness and all things prohibited to humans. He gives himself to everyone (women and men); he’s a god as well as an open flame seeking peace. He’s an errant god, aimlessly wandering, a generator of phrenetic dances yet is also the pursued, sufferer and the dying and all those who accompany him and feel his love must share in his perhaps tragic fate. Dionysus has celebrated his final rebirth, producing utopias ranging from tragic wisdom to narcotic nihilism, but is always reborn with Eros in the form of light.

Pericles, Prince of Tyre, the most epic of Shakespeare’s work, is a fascinating story of fate and fortune. A long, winding tale of adventures full of tumultuous melodrama complete with a tyrannical king, a wicked stepmother, a virtuous heroine, pirates, battles, shipwrecks, brothel scenes, magical cures, resuscitations and, of course, a happy ending; in short, a real party for the audience. With a stage director of the likes of Hernán Gené, accustomed to taking spectators to unexpected places, the production makes use of all the resources available from its flexible cast all while remaining faithful to the original spirit of the play and all the plot twists. Written in the final period of his life, Pericles, Prince of Tyre –directly related to Cymbeline, Winter’s Tale and The Tempest–, is a performance worthy of the masterpiece it is: an open drama where the cause/effect relationship is constantly broken, gender roles are completely abandoned and all the dramatic illusion is repeatedly fragmented by jumps in time and sudden changes in narrative style. A nearly unknown Shakespeare to 21st century audiences, yet as classical and contemporary as ever.

Viejo amigo Cicerón is a play about the famous Roman orator, a main figure in the intense fighting and violent transformations that occurred in the first century before our era. José María Pou plays Cicero, personifying the moral integrity of a man who sticks to his political convictions even in the most adverse of circumstances. Marcus Tullius Cicero is, thus, presented as an exceptional politician in a world of petty personal ambitions, disloyalties and minor compromises which were so inherent to public life back then. A politician, jurist, orator, philosopher, disseminator, he could have incarnated Terence’s famous maxim as nothing human seemed alien to him. In any case, this performance offers characteristics which are inherent to the world of men and women in our days; so much so that the text features concise and colloquial modern expressions in the play, which is mainly intended to arouse civic debate in the most Cicerian way at this historic point in time that is as worrisome as the period in which Marcus Tullius Cicero lived. Accompanying him on this fascinating voyage are his loyal secretary Tiro and his beloved daughter Tullia. Ernesto Caballero

Samson and Delilah (1877), by Camille Saint-Saëns (1835-1921). A biblical opera in three acts. Based on the Book of Judges in the Old Testament. Ancient Israel, 1150 BC. A leader who debates between the Hebrew people and his love for an exuberant philistine, Delilah. A man who seems strong yet is weak. A woman who hides all her strength with apparent weakness. A lesson to be learnt: an exemplary leader also has weaknesses. A great final effect: Samson gets his strength back and destroys the temple with everyone inside. It’s an inclusion event, the aim of which is to have 400 people onstage; a participatory opera where the people are the real stars.