Carmen: the Flamenco-Dancing Samantha Jones

Location: Madrid, Spain

Wednesday June 16, 2010

So I bet Lauren enjoyed me dragging her out to (almost) the end of the red/#2 line on the metro to go to Las Ventas for the Museo de Taurino at the bullfighting stadium. I just hate sitting around dully as I wait for lunch to be prepared. The museum was quite small, which was probably why the guy in the ticketing booth tried to convince us to take a tour of the actual stadium first before visiting the free museum (initial pull of me actually getting my ass over there). But we didn’t want to give him that €10 (each) to have a little jaunt around the vacant ring. Instead, we headed straight for the museum that was situated right next to the stable that had sad, small partitioned stalls for the horses to spend their day facing the wall without even the option to turn around or horse-talk to one another.

The museum that smelled of shit (at least near the entrance) had the friendliest staff ever. I loved how they were so unhappy to see us. I loved how they made Lauren put her little colourful handmade knapsack from Mexico down because she was liable for walking out with one of the gigantic taxidermic bullheads hanging up on the walls in her little bag. I loved how they ask people to leave their bags behind without offering any lockers or a desk to put the bags behind. I loved how they decided that my shoulder bag was too big after I had walked around for thirty minutes with it. Sarcasm aside, I did like the shiny matador clothing and the museum’s feature on the first kickass female matadora whose name is slipping my mind at the moment.

Our Prado class that afternoon was moved an hour earlier because of the World Cup game against Switzerland. But I guess that just built up unnecessary anticipation for the expected victory that didn’t end up happening. Man, you should have heard everyone talking about Spain’s first game the days leading up to the complete fail. I believe words like “cream,” “kill,” and “slaughter,” were used with Spain as the actor. But I guess the hunter became the hunted. The Spaniards were pretty longfaced because of the sad 1-0 score at the bar/restaurant we ran into after our Prado class. The waiter, who kept pacing here and there with only half a mind to take orders, was extremely frustrated at Spain’s constant, desperate, and poorly set-up goal attempts.

After going home to change into some fancier clothes, I met up with a group of nineteen students at Tirso de Molina for Carmen, the flamenco ballet interpretation of the popular French opera. Our fifth row seats were pretty rocking for having paid nosebleed seat price, but I still couldn’t see the tapping action of the dancer’s toes. Who would’ve thunk that the fifth row wasn’t sufficiently slanted up enough for us to see the dancers’ feet entirely. Hmm… The first ten minutes were kind of awkward, because for some reason the company was off on parts. I was worried that the other students would get angry at Sophie and me for convincing people to go to some nonlegit dance company’s performance. You know how you just feel awkward watching bad dancers perform? I’m not saying that I’m that good or anything, but I never want to feel awkward when I watch people dance… But soon the flamenco dancers got really into it and it became amazing.

I love the strong masculine dancing of the male dancers (der). There’s such power behind it. And unlike types of dances that I know, the guys did most of the turns. The show turned around for me in a good way when the soldiers danced onto the stage while snapping the beat. Such power! Because it was a dance show, the dancers had no dialogue nor singing, but there was a live flautist, guitarist, drummer, tambourinist/clapper/singer. The numerous ten-minute solos were great. It blew my mind how fast the soloists tapped/danced/made rhythms with their feet. And there were never enough time for us to applaud. I had urges to yell “GET IIIIIT!!!” during amazing solos and exciting, large group pieces but felt that it probably wouldn’t be appropriate. I also liked the feisty girl dance when they decided to come out with castanets. I’m so glad that I attended the flamenco class a couple of Mondays ago, because I loved being aware of what the dancers were doing how they were doing it.

Carmen, the character/actress and not my señora, had the teeniest waist and was quite angular. She loved her angry thrashy dancing, throwing her head this way and that in anguish. Another thing she loved were her legs. Her thin, long, glistening legs were always showing, because she always had her red dress or skirt hiked up. Forget cleavage when you have toned dancer legs that go on for kilometers (yes, we’re on the metro system now, dahling). She threw her piernas around like Samantha does with her bare chest. And man did that get her all the boys. Sexy seductress, manipulative slut, or independent woman, or whatever you think of Carmen, I think the vocal man sitting behind Lauren was right during Carmen and Don José’s passionate kiss when he said, “Ooooh, Carmen!!!”