That story is heart-wrenching.
Seamlessly the play jumps over time–well, not so much jumps as almost seamlessly glides. Paulina gets better, amid dreams and fragments of memory we hear but do not see–with Laura Crotte, Sofia Ybarra, and Miguel Nunez providing voices of these shreds of history bubbling up to the surface.
All the while the back walls of the set project simple but beautiful images which offer hints–as well as text! Every line in Spanish appears as an English subtitle (or maybe uptitle) above the action, while every line in English appears in Spanish! Honestly, I loved that, on so many levels, and not just for allowing me to precisely understand every line (honestly, I’ve attending bilingual shows before now–and it is startling how understandable things became). Paulina is a writer, first and foremost. Seeing the play not only spoken but written proved a startling as well as moving event, one which still makes me shiver.
Ultimately, this play chronicles not just a seriously wounded woman clawing back to her own memories, her own self (on so many levels) but re-discovering and even re-defining her relationship with Rodrigo–including why she is here, in a private home, rather than a professional health facility.
Hint–for her own safety.
All that she discovers we anticipate, but never completely. Surprises abound, some touching, others horror-soaked, others complex, and some breath-taking. It amounts to a profound tour-de-force of storytelling, a concentration that seems totally theatrical as opposed to cinematic in any way. Its topicality adds to the power of this production, a tall order since half the time I was holding my breath and feeling genuine terror about what the truth of this story would prove to be.