After opening with performances, on six consecutive days, of Vuela by Ballet Flamenco Sara Baras, the second Sadler's Wells main stage feature of the London Flamenco Festival was Manuel Liñán’s Muerta de Amor. Frankly, festival director Miguel Marin could not have offered two shows of greater contrast in these polar opposites by two of the most popular names on the global flamenco scene.
Baras always produces spectacular theatre rooted in traditional flamenco, whereas Liñán is constantly reinventing the art, stretching its boundaries, mostly through a gay lens, in terms of both thematic narrative and choreography. Incidentally, he presented an early sharing of the concept behind this work with Amor Amado Amen at the Lilian Baylis Theatre, part of the 2023 festival. At that time, Liñán said that the idea of a work about love and desire had been on his mind for two years but had only been developed in a residency for five days prior to that sharing.
Two years down the line and his idea has matured into a fully-fledged theatrical performance under the new title of Muerto de Amor, although I found the show, at close to two hours’ duration, to scream much more of the power of love than its death. It was an absorbing performance that kept my eyes and ears glued to the stage although, if I were ascribing an editor’s eye to the work, it is possibly ten minutes’ too long (there’s potentially a perfect ending about ten minutes prior to the conclusion, which is then opened up again for an epilogue).
What Baras and Liñán have in common is the star quality that draws in the very best of flamenco artists that enables them to be surrounded by excellent supporting casts. Liñán was joined onstage by eleven other performers. I hesitate to say which were dancers, singers (etc) because – as is common in the best of flamenco – the singers could dance, the dancers could sing, and the percussionist (Javier Teruel) could sing and dance! Only the superb guitarist (Francisco Vinuesa), also composer of the show’s original music, enjoyed exclusivity with his elite skill!
The stage was largely bare with spectacle provided through Gloria Montesinos’ clever lighting against a pink background; the strong sense of theatre was enhanced by Liñán’s decision to place the musicians left of stage and not behind the dancers (as is normal). This enabled a much clearer unimpeded focus on the dance.
The only woman onstage was the impressive guest singer, Mara Rey, who opened the show in a striking black lace dress and matching mantilla (headdress), which was regrettably marred by some amplified sound malfunction. Thankfully this poor sound quality was resolved for the later songs. Some humour was introduced later in proceedings when Rey faced off in a non-contact combative contest with the six male supporting dancers, which she easily won!
Liñán’s last show Viva! featured a similar number of male dancers all of whom, like the star himself, performed mostly as bailaoras dressed in traditional bata de cola (dresses with long frilly trains). Other than the star, only one dancer, the exceptionally tall Miguel Heredia, has transferred to this new show and he enjoyed an arrestingly intimate duet with Liñán that concluded in a long and heartfelt final embrace.
At 45, Liñán’s stamina is remarkable. He was rarely offstage and participated in duets with each of the six dancers, not to mention various danced conversations with the musicians, especially the other exceptional singer, Juan de la María. The many duets illustrated the passage of one gay man’s life through the handful of his love affairs: I was especially absorbed by the closely harmonised footwork in Liñán’s explosive, lustful duo with José Ángel Capel; another with Alberto Sellés where the pair were joined together (but at a distance) by a purple ribbon; and a dance in which Liñán began by simply sitting and intently watching a solo by Juan Tomás de la Molía, before joining in the finale that ended with a kiss.
Other highlights included an ensemble dance with long blonde wigs choreographed by another of the performers, Ángel Reyes; a solo in the bolero style by Capel, who sings at the same time; and an amusing skit by David Acero, introducing himself in English saying something like “it’s my turn, now”, and dancing a kind of hybrid flamenco/highland jig, known as jota, a courtship dance from Aragon, to the violin accompaniment of Victor Guadiana. It was like seeing La Sylphide interpreted through flamenco.
Muerta de Amor is both powerful and poignant, illustrating journeys through the birth of desire to the gentle extinguishing of love’s flame, through descriptive dance that was both explosive and tender. I loved it. The only problem being that since it was a one-night-only event, I couldn’t go back for seconds!
