Malaga Theatre Festival | 'Essence': When Echanove Makes You Doubt

What you are about to read is a review of 'Essence', the play by Ignacio García May, which was performed on January 22 and 23 at the Teatro Cervantes, starring Juan Echanove and Joaquín Climent. But before we begin, several questions: How do you know I went to the Teatro Cervantes? What makes you assume that what I'm about to tell you has anything to do with 'Essence'? Moreover, how can you be sure that the play even exists? "Everyone chooses what they want to believe," Pierre tells his friend Cecil. They are in Canada, but Canada is just a word that could be replaced by Malaga. And the rest of what I tell you will be as true as the words I choose or how I arrange the sentences.

I could start with the text, and say that 'Essence' is a witty, fun, and complex palimpsest that deserves to be read and reread. Even written over. A play where García May demonstrates undeniable mastery without hiding his tricks, rather warning that they are coming, like the brilliant story between coffee and tea. It shows how dependent we are on narrative. Sherlock Holmes said, "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." Yet humans prefer the impossible to the truth. We prefer to dive into the gap between reality and fiction even if there's no water. Because, as Cecil says, we like to deny the everyday, we get bored, we prefer to follow those who tell us about feats, secrets, or conspiracies. It doesn't take much reflection to see a parallel with the characters who dominate today's headlines and the world they are leaving us.

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I bring up the London detective because, besides a pipe that appears here and there, 'Essence' is a puzzle, a duel of wits between the author and his characters, or between the characters and the audience. A matter very comical that turns very serious or vice versa. We could say that everything is in plain sight but nothing is very clear. It hides a message that says nothing. Everything would be as true as the misleading scenography by Carolina González or the apparent simplicity in the staging by director Eduardo Vasco. Far from somersaults and death-defying leaps, Vasco sharpens the knife gradually, trusting each word, letting Echanove and Climent dance comfortably, before the final blow.

And the final blow is a long, heartfelt, enormous monologue by Echanove. A performance that shakes any certainty you had about the play. Such brilliance leaves the theater in a silence you can chew. It leaves you speechless with a perfect economy of gestures and a wealth of intention. Taking charge in a key and risky moment of the story, and that says a lot about his talent and commitment. And it leads to one of the most beautiful, suggestive, and tender endings I have seen in a long time.

Seeing this gem of text, staging, and performances reconciles you with theater even if you're not upset. It even cures your cough, which was prevalent yesterday. You even forgive those who didn't turn off their phones in time. If they rang at all. If all this really happened. If, essentially, you choose to believe me or not.