Review: LA CASA DE LA LAGUNA at GALA Hispanic Theatre

It's said that words can be like wounds, but sometimes words are the only way to process those wounds. Such is the case for Isabel Montfort, an aspiring writer who reflects on the clashes of her life, loves, and duties in GALA Hispanic Theatre's latest production, La Casa de la Laguna.

La Casa de la Laguna is a stirring and riveting production. The plot centers around Isabel, a young Puerto Rican woman who, when we meet her, is studying literature at Vassar with dreams of being a writer. She was raised by her abuela, Abby, who instilled in her strong values about respect for others, especially those less fortunate within their society, along with a dash of passion for Puerto Rican independence. Isabel meets Quintin Mendizábal on the beach in San Juan the summer before her junior year - like her, he's studying in New York, though he's a year ahead of her and at Columbia, where he's pursuing a degree in history. Quintin is from a wealthier family with strong views about Puerto Rican statehood, but his devotion to Isabel leads them to pursue their relationship and wed. Unfortunately, life and duty draw them back to Quintin's family home, a mansion built on the lagoon where Quintin's father, Buenaventura, made his fortune. This new lifestyle forces Isabel to confront her own conflicting values and loves.

La Casa de la Laguna was written by Caridad Svich for GALA, based on the novel by celebrated author Rosario Ferré. Ferré was born to a wealthy and influential family in Ponce, and her father was Puerto Rico's third governor as well as a staunch advocate for US statehood. Ferré was best known for writing through a feminist lens, examining the struggle women faced between duty and personal need as well as issues on class, race, and wealth - all themes of her pivotal novel. It's clear that her own upbringing and internal conflicts are reflected in Isabel, who also, in many ways, stands in for the general public of Puerto Rico - torn between love and duty, practicality and hope. And, like many Puerto Ricans, caught between the warring interests of statehood and independence.

In many ways, La Casa de la Laguna is a fascinating and thoughtful play: despite Puerto Rico being a part of the United States, its individual history is rarely taught extensively, and this production is keenly aware that it can help introduce a lot of viewers to Puerto Rico's story and internal struggles. The play carefully balances the delicate conversations about not only statehood and independence, but the impacts of race, colonialism, and socio-economic status as well. Add in an (albeit, retrospective) eye towards the status of women, especially women of color, and the result is a deeply political and nuanced production that touches on issues that are, unfortunately, as relevant today as they were in the mid-twentieth century.

Part of the production's success certainly hinges on its cast. For a play that's about broad questions of politics, race, and wealth, it's also an intimate portrait of one family. As the imposing patriarch Buenaventura, Juan Luis Acevedo demands the audience's attention, and it's easy to see how he managed to build his company and intimidate his family so thoroughly. Luz Nicolás' Abuela Abby is spirited, but it's her heartbreaking portrayal of the layered socialite Rebecca that truly deserves notice, though I did occasionally wish she'd let just a little more slip through - an accurate play of the character in that regard, though. Evelyn Rosario Vega's Petra serves as the show's conscience, reminding everyone about the emotional as well as physical burdens women of color are forced to bear; at the same time, her character arc also gives the audience the greatest satisfaction, and the broadest insight into life in Puerto Rico, since she sees the world beyond the family fortress on the lagoon. María Coral's Coral is a strong-willed, idealistic revolutionary, though it also feels as though she's occasionally winking to the audience (such as the scene where she dons a pair of colorful sunglasses and a beret); even so, Coral manages to balance the character's political passions with a compassionate, caring woman, and it's easy to understand why Manuel would fall in love with her.

But it's Isabel, Quintin, and their son, Manuel, who truly create the heart of the production. Quintin, played by Ernesto Concepcíon, begins as a history student who is determined not to become his father, and regularly clashes with Buenaventura, often defying him. And yet, as time and duty wear on, the audience can see Concepcíon adopt more and more of the patriarch's mannerisms, slowly sliding into exactly what he swore he would never be. The character change was a bit surprising for a history student, but it's also mentioned on more than one occasion that Quintin is a poor student (as the saying goes, "those who fail to learn from history are destined to repeat it. . ."). Still, Concepcíon's portrayal does carry the nuance of Quintin's escalation in a way that shows how it could sneak up on a person. In contrast, there's Omar Cruz, who gives a beautiful, conflicted performance as Manuel, Isabel and Quintin's idealistic son. He manages to hit the same beats as Concepcíon does before him, but with just enough subtle difference that the audience can understand this story will play out differently. It's those nuances, that extra bit of compassion, that make Manuel a unique blend of his parents, and makes his own fate far more upsetting. Central to the show, of course, is Yaiza Figuroa's Isabel, whose hopeful optimism slowly fades away, replaced with fear and the weight of the life she never envisioned. Figuroa's portrayal is clear and strong enough to carry most of the production, with a blend of acquiescence and sarcasm that feels unique to Isabel's uncomfortable position, but her overt strength also left me often wondering why her position is believable; even accounting for the time period, I never fully understood why she would agree to marry Quintin, especially after the opening incident - her continued biting comments and pushbacks seemed incongruous with a woman who would watch her fiancé behave the way Quintin did and still agree to marry him. I also felt the two lacked a bit of needed chemistry - while Concepcíon and Figuroa nail the portrayal of their estrangement, I didn't quite feel their love was as believable.

It does feel as though some of my concerns stem from the way the novel is condensed into the show. Title cards are helpfully projected before each scene, initially giving the time and place of scenes before devolving into a less rigid structure. The opening scenes give the audience clear places and dates, but after the first few jumps it occasionally felt like math was required ("five years later" and "twenty years later" were used, along with the frequent "later" making a day feel longer than possible and making it difficult to fully trace the timeline). I'm also not entirely sure I loved the decision to start with Quintin's violent episode in 1954, then bouncing back to their meeting in 1952 before moving along chronologically. However, part of my skepticism stems from the incident itself: in the opening scene, Quintin commits a gruesome act of violence; while I understood the purpose of setting up the idea that he has this capability inside him, and even can draw from other parts of the play that he learned this behavior from Buenaventura, who was abusive, it doesn't quite fit with the escalation of rage we see in him throughout the performance, and almost removed some of the shock factor of his later violent acts. Furthermore, this could be my background in studying abuse coming out, but it's simply not plausible that an abuser would display this level of violence and lack of control, then suddenly be capable of keeping it completely in check for decades. Even the most practiced abusers can't keep themselves under control for that long, and we're meant to believe that the incident was Quintin's first violent break.

Another frustrating aspect of the show is that there are hints at mysteries that are never fully explored. Buenaventura is allegedly killed during a robbery; Isabel remarks how odd it is that he was killed in a struggle for his wallet amidst the vast home, but no one else reacts and the topic is never revisited. Likewise. Petra and Isabel discuss a known female novelist who writes regularly and seems to have revealed secrets about Buenaventura; while it's implied that both women recognize this writer as Rebecca writing under a pen name, there's never any real discussion or acknowledgement until, years later and long after both Buenaventura and Rebecca are gone, Isabel includes the accusations among other references to Rebecca's writing. It's a "blink and you'll miss it" reference for something that feels so central to the story and to Isabel's own journey, it feels dissatisfying to not explore this further.

My concerns with the plot aside, I do need to avidly praise the technical elements for this production. Rebecca Aparicio's direction keeps the family drama and the greater philosophies in balance, creating a production that is engaging and layered. Geradro Díaz Sánchez's simple and modern scenic design allowed the characters and conversations to take center stage, but still carried the necessary air of wealth and influence befitting the family manor. Sánchez's set works perfectly with Kelly Colburn's projections; the use of the home's window wall both to display the lagoon view as well as newsreels that showed the passage of time and relevant events between scenes was clever and helpful. The projections also worked well with Jennifer Fok's lighting, which carefully moved a set stage through different days and locations. Germán Martínez's sound designs were particularly well done in their unobtrusiveness; I was impressed with the ambient noises of the water in the background, quiet and yet always setting the sense of place, as well as the music choices between scenes. And Jeanette Christensen deserves a standing ovation herself for the period-perfect costumes, which managed to tell the audience a tremendous amount about each character on sight but were also beautiful in their own right (who do I contact about stealing Rebecca's stunning wardrobe?).

La Casa de la Laguna is performed in Spanish, with English subtitles provided on screens above the stage, much like at an opera. While it may take a bit to get into the rhythm of watching the stage and the screens for non-Spanish speakers (or even those of us who are a bit rusty), one thing that certainly helps is that the emotional core of this show still shines through. Each actor so perfectly conveys their character's complexity - from Quintin's barely-controlled rage and need for success to Rebecca's protective veneer of a society wife to Isabel's conflicted emotions about being torn between her principles and love - that while details may pass by, the overall emotionality and tone will absolutely stick with you.

La Casa de la Laguna is playing at GALA Hispanic Theatre through February 27th. Run time is approximately two and a half hours with a 20-minute intermission. Performance is in Spanish, with English subtitles. Tickets and additional information are available on the GALA Theatre website.

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