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A history of Theatre in Bolivia
This year FITAZ broke with tradition and opened with a Bolivian play, going against the international element integral to the festival's identity. This innovation is symbolic of the growing confidence which Bolivia has regarding its theatre. What, however, is Bolivia's history regarding the theatre?
Both before and after the Spanish conquest, theatre has been performed in this landlocked nation. However, a coherent tradition was somewhat lacking and traditional Spanish styles heavily influenced Bolivian theatre throughout the nineteenth century. How has this nation overcome its many problems in order to establish a theatrical heritage for its future generations?
Despite this lack of theatrical tradition, the plays performed during this year's FITAZ festival have been remarkably distinct and Bolivian. One reason for the underdeveloped theatrical tradition is Bolivia's imposing geography and relative isolation. Both communication and travel was, and to a certain extent still is, difficult in Bolivia, and so it was difficult to establish theatre companies. The Bolivian spirit of endurance has, however, overcome this seemingly insurmountable problem, and it has been incorporated into its theatre. With much of Bolivia's landscape being empty, a minimalist approach to both staging and direction has been created. The imposing and extravagant staging, characteristic of the West End and Broadway, often separates the audience from the play. However, the typically Bolivian staging includes the audience in the action, representing both the country's geography and the breaking of the fourth wall, a typically modern, Western theatrical convention.
The Aymaran culture also influences Bolivia's theatre: with such heavy emphasis on nature and on an individual's symbiotic relationship with Pachamama, Bolivian theatre works from within a play, as director Diego Arambaro comments, 'The work creates itself' – it is both the creator and the created. This elevates Bolivian theatre onto its own altiplano, giving it a higher literary appreciation and also a distinctly Bolivian quality.
Despite the long-lasting political unrest that Bolivia has endured, its population often did not turn to theatre to express its sorrow or anger. During the War of the Pacific, in which Bolivia lost valuable land to Chile, including its access to the sea, the theatre did not reflect the political and social turmoil. However, as time has passed, Bolivia has become increasingly confident at using theatre as a vehicle for social and political expression and commentary. The War of the Chaco helped to unify the country in a quest for a national identity, and this time theatre played an integral role. Bolivians used the arts to create a new and distinct identity for themselves, with Antonio Díaz Villamil including the lively and expressive language of the lower classes, creating a more representative theatre. Again, working from within this national-identity crisis, Bolivians started to look at their problems and the theatre offered an invaluable avenue for expression and commentary: Raúl Salmón in the 1950s and 1960s wrote social plays with a didactic purpose. Tres Generales (Three Generals, 1969) puts three presidents of the nineteenth century into contemporary Bolivia, faced with the quotidian problems of the everyday Bolivian citizen, highlighting the social and political problems as seen by the populace. The perspective of the average Bolivian contributed to the use of diverse and colourful everyday language, shying away from the stilted and elevated verse monologues of the preceding century. Guillermo Francovich urged for educational reform in Como los Gansos (Like the Geese, 1957), and the identity of the indigenous people became increasingly important for Bolivian playwrights and audiences alike. Arambaro comments that Greek tragedy is the purest and most intense form of drama, but it is too theatrical for Bolivians, as are the works of Lope de Vega and Calderón de la Barca (whose works are hardly ever performed on the continent). Instead, Bolivians seek a theatre that expresses who they are collectively, what challenges they face, and what problems they must overcome.
And what of its future? Despite weaknesses in funding and state support – no surprise in a country that's slowly lifting its way out of poverty – there is a newfound confidence and desire to explore creatively through the theatre, epitomized by the FITAZ festival. Additionally, Bolivia has a wellspring of indigenous culture that, combined with its tumultuous modern history, gives its creative class a rich vein of experience to mine. Now, with recent improvements in transportation, education, and an incipient but growing middle class, Bolivian theatre has an opportunity to develop in its own way; to produce domestically – and, through collaboration, internationally – a historically unique performance art.
She found herself floating towards the stage; the music was too hard to resist… Her mind swam along with the undulating notes of the piano and her eyes searched for their author. There he was: a man dressed in black, his back turned to her as his hands glided across the keys. She couldn't see his face, but the music he played was of transcendental beauty; she had to know the musician's name. She rushed outside to the ticket office where her friends were still working and asked who was playing that evening. They looked at each other and laughed. She insisted: 'He plays so beautifully – what is his name?' 'There aren't any musicians playing at the moment', they replied. 'It must have been something else…' 'But he's playing in the stage area'; she didn't understand. 'It must have been Tío Ubico', they at last confided to her. Her skin prickled with goosebumps and her hair stood on end. She was sure of it: she had just seen a ghost.
This is the story of Doña Inéz, an usherette working in La Paz's most famous and historical theatre, El Teatro Municipal. It was on a cold Wednesday evening that I met with her, perched beside her and armed with my trusty tape recorder, hanging on to her every word. She was mesmerising. A small figure dressed head-to-toe in her navy blue theatre uniform, with a pair of thinly rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose, she was the typical grandmother: softly spoken yet with a magic behind her eyes that told of tales and adventures yet to be shared. When I asked her what she had witnessed all those years ago, her gaze grew distant. There was a moment of silence as she took the time to let her mind rewind freely back to the night when her perception of reality had done a 360-degree turn and had left her reeling.
Three days after the surreal experience, the usherette had suffered from a continual fever. The fright had proved too much for her. After conversing with her friends, who had explained to her the more esoteric aspect of the theatre's history, she had carefully made her way back to the stage area where she had seen the man playing the piano. But the orchestra pit was empty: there was noone there. The piano, too, had disappeared. She only realised later that it would have been impossible for someone to have carried down a piano of that size: it would have required the strength of at least eight men. In the history of the theatre, there has not once been a piano in the orchestra pit. This realisation provoked her fever.
I had never before been a believer in ghosts, but Doña Inéz speaks to me with quietly assured confidence. There are no theatrics involved – her hands don't shake and her eyes don't roll when she speaks of the past. She is simply telling her story; she believes in it wholeheartedly, yet leaves the listener the freedom of choice to believe or not.
The event took place about eight years ago when she was working in the dressing rooms, of which she was then in charge. The 'hauntings' had been taking place in the theatre since the early 1900s yet, prior to the experience, Doña Inéz had been totally unaware of the reported sightings. She had never even heard of Tío Ubico. Her complete ignorance undeniably adds weight to her story: without previous knowledge, it would have been impossible for her to have projected the impression of a ghost onto her experience. She repeatedly assures me of how convinced she was that the music was emanating from the touch of a famous pianist. A pianist who was alive, not dead. Furthermore, it seems uncanny that her description of the ghost – a figure all in black, wearing a long tail-coat jacket and gentleman's hat – could be so accurate a portrait of Tío Ubico.
Doña Inéz strikes me as a brave woman. She still works for the theatre, now acting as a theatre attendant for El Teatro de Camara which is situated in the adjoining building to El Teatro Municipal. Other theatre workers have not been as courageous. She tells me about a security guard who quit his job in shock after a visit from the phantom.
Although many have had differing experiences of him, it remains unclear who 'Tío Ubico' actually is. As corroborated by Doña Inéz, it is said in the world of theatre that ghosts are usually accompanied in their after-life by orchestras playing beautiful music in their wake. Indeed, despite not having been a renowned pianist whilst alive, it appeared that Tío Ubico was playing challenging classical music, possibly that of Beethoven. The story goes that Tío Ubico, as he is so fondly called nowadays, was originally Wenceslao Monroy, a talented actor who spent the majority of his life working within the theatre. At first, one of its most important lead actors, he digressed in later life to work in administration with odd jobs including that of doorman. It is said that he even came to the theatre when he was a young boy, a habit that led to his love of the theatre and all that relates to it. Rumour states that Monroy spent his last days as a beggar, asking for money outside the theatre doors. His family deny this, however, claiming that he remained at home until his death. The latter, moreover, is another point of contention in the life of Monroy. His family maintain that he died at home from an illness, whilst some members still working in the theatre – principally our story's usherette – believe that he died in the stage area from a heartattack.
The mystery surrounding the figure has attracted many, causing a Ghostbusters- type team to go in and investigate. According to Doña Inéz, the group left empty-handed, although it is believed that a photo was taken in which it is possible to see a pair of ghostly hands playing a piano... When asked if anyone has been called in to rid the theatre of the ghostly presence, however, the theatre worker was firm in her answer: Why would they? Tío Ubico doesn't do any harm. He might scare you a little bit but he isn't vengeful. Bolivian tradition calls for a priest to come in and to bless the haunted space, but in this case there is absolutely no need. Tío Ubico is seen by the theatre- workers as a friendly presence – a sort of middle-aged Casper, if you like – who protects the theatre and acts as its guardian. According to another staff-member, he only does things to those who go in with bad intentions. She mentions stories of people having been pushed over, left rolling across the floor without any reasonable explanation. As in the case of the Ghostbusters, she argues that Tío Ubico hides from those who search for him. He'll only appear to you if you don't expect anything from him.
Anecdotes of Tío Ubico tapping people on the shoulder or of cheekily slapping women's behinds are told as though relaying tales of a close family member – such is the relationship between the 'ghost' and the theatre's staff. He has been a part of the theatre ever since people can remember: there is no clear point in history where the two are self-existent. The theatre-workers are so used to him now that they see him as an integral part of daily life. As another staff-member puts it, though she was scared at first to see Tío Ubico, she is not frightened by him because she knows what and who he is. She is certain that there are two worlds: the world of human beings and the world of the soul and the spirit. She understands clearly that Tío Ubico is a presence – a soul who loved the theatre so much in his physical existence that he has remained there in his after-life
She asserts that Tío Ubico is an 'emblematic personality' that acts as an auxiliary attraction of the theatre. For this staff-member, it is ridiculous to talk of him as a ghost: if he were one, then the theatre would be empty and abandoned, and this is not the case. To talk of 'ghosts' is to talk of horror stories and terror, of madness and lunatic asylums. This is far from the reality present within the theatre. There are no hauntings here. For those who love torch-lit tales of doors slamming and footsteps running this will come as quite a disappointment, but it is clear that Tío Ubico is more of a cheeky guardian angel who has got stuck on his way to Heaven, than a Peeves left in limbo with unfinished business.
From my discussions with Doña Inéz and her colleagues, one thing is clear to me: Wenceslao Monroy, aka Tío Ubico, is the 'essence of the theatre', and should be remembered as such. We may choose not to believe in the reality of ghosts, but we must believe in the metaphorical ghost of memory and passion. Tío Ubico is a bold reminder of the power of our souls to stay present – even beyond death – in what we love the most. And, let's face it, if you got stuck on Earth for decades more than you bargained for, who's to say that you wouldn't try and have a little fun whilst you're waiting too... I know I would.
A true phenomenon for Bolivian theatre
Once every two years, theatre companies from around the world, including Brazil, Argentina, Chile, France and Spain, join Bolivian theatre groups to present the two-week-long International Festival of Theatre in La Paz, FITAZ. Everyone involved works with the common purpose of providing entertainment as well as creating a nurturing environment for discovery, development and advancement of the global art form of theatre. This year, the popularity of the festival was evident from the packed venues and queues of people waiting for rush tickets, in hope that some people wouldn't turn up for their reserved tickets. Without a doubt, this event holds significant importance for the essence of theatre in Bolivia.
So how exactly did FITAZ begin? The brain behind the initiative is Maritza Wilde, an actress and theatre director whose elegant gestures and body language reveal her past as a ballerina. Although originally seeking to become a professional dancer, theatre has been her love and passion for the majority of her years. Having studied in France and Spain and visited almost all of Latin America, she has formed many contacts and established many connections throughout the European and Latin American theatre communities. Whilst living in Spain in 1996, her colleagues inspired her to organize an international theatre festival in Bolivia, justifying the idea through her experience and how well networked she is. Despite being unsure of the idea to begin with, she decided only a few days later to put the idea into action and host a festival in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, in the lowlands of eastern Bolivia. Little did Wilde know that this was to be the first of many festivals to follow and a significant step in the development of contemporary theatre in Bolivia.
After the success of the first FITAZ festival in Santa Cruz in 1997, Wilde was called upon to produce another in La Paz in 1999, as it seemed appropriate that Bolivia's cultural and historical capital have its own theatre festival – as well as the fact that Wilde lives here. This first year was difficult, especially on economic terms, but after a rocky start, FITAZ has gained a following, allowing it to be produced every two years. FITAZ has obtained the support of an increasing number of municipal institutions over the years, and, along with the positive reactions from the public and media, this has enabled the festival to become the success that it is today.
This year, the festival has seen more Bolivian plays than ever before, which has lent it a much more Bolivian focus. Over 30 national groups performed, attracting an even larger Bolivian crowd. It's worth noting that this year was the first that the festival actually opened with a Bolivian play. According to Wilde, there's no real reason behind this apart from it being worthwhile. However, the play has particular significance as it's from La Paz, and its playwright, Jaime Saenz, worked in theatre for many years and is one of the best known novelists, poets and short story writers amongst Paceños, with his most famous piece of work being a poem called 'The Night,' written just before his death in 1986.
So is FITAZ simply about entertaining the people of Bolivia? When asked about the purpose of the festival, Wilde replied with her thoughts that it holds the same objective that she believes the majority of other festivals have. She adds, 'It is a festival that I have created to contribute to, collaborate with, and develop Bolivian theatre.' At the same time, she believes that it is important that a cultural exchange takes place and that the Bolivian artists and young creators can have an interrelation with the others that come from other countries. However, according to Wilde, the most important part of theatre is the link between people and their culture, and it's essential that this connection be established. Ultimately, it is a means to reflect upon society and is therefore a learning curve and a process of discovery for everyone who participates.
For the eighth time running, FITAZ has proved to be a success, selling out the majority of performances; one wonders what more we can expect from the festival in the years that follow. Wilde enlightens us, stating that her aspirations for the future of FITAZ are to add many new creative and valuable features from other groups to the programme as well as expanding it to allow more performances from groups that currently cannot be accommodated. At the end of the day, she believes that the festival has to continue not only for La Paz but for the rest of the world. In the words of Maritza Wilde, it's all about 'continuing the path' of the festival and theatre in general so that both survive for centuries to come.
