By Gerardo Fulleda León
Translated by David Lisenby
Good evening to you all! Today I want to tell you the tale of a boy. He was not a prince or a philosopher. But he could have been someone who passes by and then builds a tower that makes us raise our eyes in amazement.
Reviewed by Jean Graham-Jones
Staging the Spanish Golden Age serves as a detailed, critical record of an important translation event for the English-speaking stage and as an insightful provocation for future theatrical-translational collaborations.
Reviewed by Kathleen Jeffs
Here is an engrossing and troubling play in a translation crying out for contemporary performance.
Reviewed by Gregary Racz
Kudos to all involved in introducing English-language audiences to Guillén de Castro’s overlooked play and in salvaging it, thus, from the limbo of unmerited oblivion.
By Alejandro Ricaño
Translated by Jacqueline E. Bixler
And come out at the Good Luck Hotel.
And they would be there.
And everything would be fine again.
By Rafael Spregelburd
Translated by Samuel Buggeln and Ariel Gurevich
Sometimes I hide a document. I put it somewhere secret, and I start to gauge the effects. When I see everyone’s desperate, I pull the document from its stash, sign it and get the belt running again. I make myself indispensable, you understand?
By Francisco Bernardo de Quirós
Translated by Ben Gunter, Kerry Wilks, and Samuel (Chip) Worthington
I’ll be as still as a dead man. Marta, tell me, God’s truth, do you know what killed me?
By Enriqué Zumel
Translated by Christopher Kidder-Mostrom
Through that terrible crone’s interfering,
I move on from this place empty-handed.
From your hands we’d like to be hearing
Applause as the room you are clearing,
If pleased you “A Fiery Young Man” did.
By Federico García Lorca
Translated by Luigi Salerni
I don’t think it will occur to the other woman or the lady Secretary to come around here again when five years pass, but if they should come…
By Jorgelina Cerritos
Translated by Margaret Stanton and Anna Donko
Cerritos’ concern with the theme of identity, not as an ethnic construct, but rather as an existential angst, is expressed through techniques of the Theatre of the Absurd such as the lonely desk on an isolated beach, Dorotea’s insistence that her lone client gets in line and the obsession with documents as proof of existence, documents that cannot be obtained without, ironically, other documents.
