reviews.

If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed that Alerta – written and directed by Marianne Eilers González – was the latest offering from a seasoned director with over a decade of theatre- making experience. Such is Eilers González’s mastery of her craft, both as a writer and a director, that it boggles the mind this show was only her MFA graduating project.

 

If there’s one thing that immediately stands out, it’s the mountains Eilers González has built for herself to climb, and the ease with which the pulls off every ascent. Immersive theatre can often feel self-indulgent, much like an aimless one-shot in a movie, as if the director has chosen it for flair rather than because it serves an artistic purpose. Pulling it off is so much harder than a typical staged production, and yet Eilers González does so with consummate ease. Told by a cast of ten Latin American actors, Alerta places its audience slap bang in the middle of the occupation (or toma) of the Casa Central, the main campus of the Universidad Catolica, and as you experience it, the use of immersive theatre feels inevitable, like it was the only choice Eilers González could ever have made. But that alone is a sign of tremendous skill from Marianne, because this story could so easily be told in a more traditional format – and in the hands of a lesser storyteller, it would have been – yet Marianne recognised she could tell the story even more effectively through immersive theatre, and pulled it off so flawlessly that you never even consider the possibility other alternatives were available.

 

Even more impressive, Marianne succeeds where theatre- and film- makers with decades of experience have failed; she pulls us straight in with the stakes at their highest level, and the tension and fear palpable from the get-go, and none of it ever feels contrived. As the actors – who have truly been given a gift from Eilers González in the form of a script that is beautiful and heartbreaking – fight through the emotions of the toma, always on the verge of breaking point, the play reaches so many points where a worse storyteller would have fallen into contrivance or melodrama. But Eilers González avoids these pitfalls, and keeps the story grounded and authentic with skill so mastered she makes it look easy.

 

It is truly unbelievable how many elements of theatre making Marianne has this remarkable instinct for. One of the hardest things in a good play is writing a good monologue, and many a great play with some otherwise excellent dialogue has failed to really justify why a character is talking for minutes at a time – even when the talking itself is beautiful and poetic – other than to provide 18-year-olds over the next decade with material for drama school auditions. Alerta has countless monologues – in fact, I think most of the ten characters have at least one – but none of them ever feel put on. When Marianne's characters speak for minutes at a time, they feel totally grounded and real. Think about how rarely people actually monologue in day-to-day life, and the fact Marianne has been able to fit easily a dozen or more real and authentic-feeling monologues into a two-hour play is all the more impressive, and all the more demonstrative of what a colossal artist she is.

 

Ask any actor, and they’ll tell you that the single greatest gift for an actor is a beautifully written play with gorgeous dialogue that feels somehow poetic and authentic at the same time. Marianne truly gave her actors this and more, but they, too, deserve some credit for delivering and doing her words justice. Though it’s hard to pick stand outs from an ensemble piece like Alerta, and though I could easily offer individual praise to every one of the ten cast members, some special mentions are worth singling out. Lara Vivone is as close as the play comes to a lead, and she gives a towering performance that has the audience in the palm of her hand for the entirety of the runtime, feeling all of her emotions and believing every second of her journey. Sonja Varela has arguably the most moving but thus probably the hardest monologue of the piece, and she pulls it off with note-perfection, bringing the audience to a hear-a-pin-drop silence hanging on her every word. And Wanda Stuardo – the only Chilean in the cast, although this doesn’t mean anyone else takes any less ownership of the story – gives a masterclass in acting internal turmoil without every demonstrating or performing it.

 

At the end of Alerta, it’s not just the actors who walk out feeling like they’ve just received a gift from Eilers González. Alerta feels like a gift to its audience. Truly great art can make us feel connected to other parts of the world. It can make us feel more connected to ourselves. And at its best, it can make us feel a little more human. Alerta does all of that and more, and Marianne should be endlessly proud of herself for this gift she has given the world.