Photograph on the Beach : Life in A Snapshot. In a style reminiscent of Chekovian drama, Carballido takes a long still shot of a large family that comes together for a brief reunion on a beach somewhere in the state of Veracruz. In the span of one day, members of four generations converge in the home of the grandmother, where, like the waves of the gulf, they merge and meld, only to clash and separate anew. The constant entrance, exit, and regrouping of characters soon reveals strong, dangerous undercurrents below the surface of feigned contentment, personal fulfillment, and familial harmony. The final scene, in which all sixteen characters, including family, friends, and servants, hold still for a family portrait, is one of the most powerful scenes ever created by Carballido.
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Photograph on the Beach : Life in A Snapshot. In a style reminiscent of Chekovian drama, Carballido takes a long still shot of a large family that comes together for a brief reunion on a beach somewhere in the state of Veracruz. In the span of one day, members of four generations converge in the home of the grandmother, where, like the waves of the gulf, they merge and meld, only to clash and separate anew.
The constant entrance, exit, and regrouping of characters soon reveals strong, dangerous undercurrents below the surface of feigned contentment, personal fulfillment, and familial harmony. The final scene, in which all sixteen characters, including family, friends, and servants, hold still for a family portrait, is one of the most powerful scenes ever created by Carballido. As if it were itself a snapshot, Photograph on the Beach captures the life of its creator. Dismissed by her family as blind, deaf, and senile, Grandmother is nonetheless the character around whom the others revolve and the only one who actually understands what is going on.
This play is not only about the complexity of relationships and the ultimate strength of family ties, but also about the fragility and fugacity of life itself. The final words of the characters, heard above the sound of the waves and beyond the frozen smiles on their faces, remind us that death lurks around the next corner:.
Jorge : Chacho had already gotten married, and Vevita, too. It was my turn. I was on a motorcycle. I just turned my head and something was running over me. During the days and weeks that followed, we saw photo after photo of each victim, smiling in what appeared to be an eternal present. During the process of translating the dramatic text, I realized that my predilection for this particular work is based in large measure on the intensity of this last scene, the way the physical and the emotional, the momentary and the timeless, the verbal and the visual, all come together in one frozen moment.
As for the rest of the text, I found, to my chagrin, that it is often wordy and repetitious. While I was initially loathe to eliminate anything, colleagues and other friendly readers persuaded me as to the need to cut, or at least condense, parts of the dialogue. During his long career, Carballido captured time and time again the complexity of human relationships, particularly those that involve family. While some may not agree with my selection of Photograph on the Beach as the best of Carballido, the weaving of life and death, the momentary and the eternal, the profound and the pedestrian, is without a doubt classic Carballido.
Photograph on the Beach is just one of the nearly one hundred plays that Emilio Carballido created over the course of six decades.
During his long lifetime, he was widely recognized as the most influential and successful Mexican playwright of the 20 th century. His plays continue to be a staple of the theatre scene in Mexico City and are also frequently staged in Europe, the US, and throughout Latin America.
Aside from his own writing, he devoted his life to the promotion of Mexican theatre through university classes, workshops, edited collections of Teatro joven , and the theatre journal Tramoya , which he founded in and edited until his death. Jacqueline E. She received her Ph. The patio : Sky in the background. In front of that, a wall about 6 feet high, preferably of a dense, visual texture.
Cement floor. In the center, a rustic wooden chair with a woven straw seat. Nothing else. The beach : Sand, sky and a beach chair. Clouds that cross the sky and disappear. The patio : Bright sunlight.
Grandmother, seated, shells peas. The mailman whistles nearby. She raises her head. She looks up. Flocks of birds. Such a sunny day. All these crazy birds. Pigeons and seagulls. Vultures, too, way up there. You start wishing that you could be one of them. All it takes is a carcass to bring them down.
Shelling peas. I can smell the sea from here. Veva must be sick. She already sent the money for this month. They must be coming. More visitors. So, Agustin is coming. They were here two years ago. No, three. But this will be the last time.
If not, they go flying and end up God knows where, with one big gust, just like life. Life is nothing but a big gust of wind. She exits. Grandmother : Good. Shells peas. Ah, the billowing sheets. My wedding sheets, my brand-new little house. I watched so many trees grow tall, and for what? There are no trees here. Looks up. He sleeps too much.
Constanza says he needs it. Well, that could be true. God bless those who can sleep. Blessed are those who can sleep. But not all day. No, not those who get up at noon, nap all afternoon, flip through the papers and just go back to bed… Stops suddenly but continues to shell peas. A short silence. She pauses and goes back to shelling.
Constanza, please come here! The phone rings, she answers, says something, hangs up, and runs off to the public phone on the corner. Grandmother : The impulses of the young are that and nothing more. But an old maid? Constanza, please come! Grandmother : Come close, dear. She whispers in her ear. But… there are other things. Constanza : You were shouting for me just to tell me that? God, grandma, how can you think such a thing?! Grandmother : Yes, he does.
I was just thinking. But keep an eye on him, just in case. Grandmother : Well, that may be. But those all cause insomnia. So keep an eye on him. Constanza : You never run out of things to make up!
She leaves, disgusted. I never know what to invent. Grandmother : No, thanks. Nelly : Laughs. Grandmother : Skeptical. Well, if you want, join me later. I mean, if you want to learn how to cook something. Grandmother : Yes, very. Nelly smiles, disapprovingly, moving her head a little.
FOTOGRAFIA EN LA PLAYA DE EMILIO CARBALLIDO PDF
Gujar Fotografia en la playa emilio carballido pdf I understand it very well. Nothing left but my pathetic life. Are you going to let him get away with it? You were shouting for me just to fotoggafia me that? Wolke will never forget your magnanimous gesture. Te juro, Juana, que tengo ganas.