A little over a week ago, and as the cheesy would say, a Twitter thread went viral written by Mercè Martínez in which our actress lamented the poor public reception of the musical Golfus de Roma that the production company Focus has brought to the Condal since the end of September. Martínez emphasized the paradox between the very high number of professional complainers from the tribe (that is, the people who spend all day whining because there is no offer of the genre in Catalan) and an audience with too many empty seats, recalling that the production had already been done in Spanish and that Focus had used many resources in the "feat" of remounting it in our language, also guaranteeing a show comparable in any other city on the planet. Martínez ended by demanding more "activism" (that is, less talk and more going to the box office) as a necessary condition to maintain and launch similar productions.
Judging by last Thursday's performance, almost a sold out, I would say that Catalans have responded to the actress's plea, honoring their dreadful and ancestral tradition of moving their butts (and loosening their wallets) only when emergency bells ring and national mourning for the language is declared. Martínez is right at the root of her annoyance: staging a musical in Catalan of such dimensions implies a huge budget that can only be saved with an overwhelming public success or, as a lesser evil, thanks to the cushion of an administration that, let's put it finely, socializes its losses. The causes of this fact would deserve many articles and are explained by equally important phenomena such as the militant illiteracy of our politicians and the unbearable snobbery of spectators who consider it natural to pay 150 euros for a London musical they don't understand while ridiculing a similar product in Catalan.
For complex problems there are no simple solutions, and I already tell you that I am not one of those who thinks that the problem would be solved simply with an administration that is a paternalistic pillow for deficit shows. Be that as it may, and as always happens in Catalunya, we more than meet the fundamental (and most difficult) requirement regarding the survival of this genre, and this show is a good example of it. In short, we are facing a first-world Golfus de Roma that has little to envy a Broadway production and that is worth the price. The first cardinal virtue of this Golfus is directly related to the debate on Catalan, since it starts from a splendid textual adaptation of Sondheim's text. Daniel Anglès and Marc Gómez deserve the first resounding applause for having recreated a text that honors the immense ductility of our language, with a brutal lexical and rhythmic richness.
In short, we are facing a first-world Golfus de Roma that has little to envy a Broadway production and that is worth the priceThe work employed in the libretto is not a casual matter, because the freshness of the text (and its adaptation to syllabic singing) are the main wall of the entire show. Afterwards, evidently, there is the music, and the blow of Anglès and of the great Xavier Mestres at the head of some twenty actor-singers with an overflowing stage involvement is commendable. Anglès has acted saintly in treating Sondheim's masterpiece as a classic, detaching it from its natural Romanized environment to turn it into a burlesque comedy where the plot arises from the ingenuity of the actors (Montse Amenós's scenic framework helps with this and works perfectly). This is a Golfus thought for a spectator who already has the tradition of the work in retina and eardrum, and Anglès has done very well transforming it into a production very similar to opera Pagliacci by Leoncavallo to play with theatrical convention itself as a premise.
A good show also requires demanding criticism. I would say that the staging would improve with fewer doses of "musicalist" exaggeration: the role of Senex is too caricatured in his grumpy old man aspect, the passion of Eros and Philia would need much fewer doses of sugar (they are in love, they are not idiots!) and for me, Miles Gloriosus still seems more effective as a heteropatriarchal baritone than as a metrosexual tenor. But all this is nonsense that does not amend a splendid cast. Jordi Bosch faces the burden of a character that titans like Zero Mostel or Nathan Lane have defended with very good craftsmanship, saving a certain rigidity in the dance and a voice often short in long phrases by jordibosquearing without rival. Frank Capdet is a Hysterium like a cathedral and Meritxell Duró cracks a Lycus with a Ponent accent that is a marvel.
If we think about the survival of the genre in our country, it is also comforting to see how the list of young actors in this cast (fully trained in musical culture) gives us tons of optimism. Eloi Gómez, Ana San Martín and Víctor Arbelo do what must be done in a musical: sing damn well. And whoever wants to save themselves a doctorate on how to interpret classical clown should spend the entire show admiring Oriol Boixader, who deserves a Creu de Sant Jordi asap. I'm leaving out many names, I know; but there are so many of you! They will be there, if the gods want and the tribe digs a little into their pockets, until December 11, but this show should reach spring. It's funny, it's well done. It's better!