This Spain-set dramedy by Andrew Bovell is compelling and wildly satisfying, despite the mixed performances throughout.
The family of a post-war Madrid is at the heart of Andrew Bovell’s newest drama Song of First Desire, which aims to bring to light the intergenerational trauma and after-effect of political violence through a non-linear narrative with multiple characters struggling with their secrets. After the play’s opening in Spain in 2023, the Australian premiere takes a direct look at Spain’s reckoning with its colonial and fascist past, and even features some of the cast from the original production.
When Alejandro (Borja Maestre), a Colombian migrant arrives in Madrid, he is promptly hired by twin siblings Carlos (Jorge Muriel) and Julia (Kerry Fox), to look after their ailing mother Camelia (Sarah Peirse). Soon the twins begin to compete for his attention – in some of the play’s funnier moments – while Alejandro seems to build a connection with Camelia and sees her improvement.
From there the audience is transported back in time, as the family’s past reveals itself and the political repression and mass violence during the Spanish Civil War and Franco regime comes to the fore. Between the violence and sexual abuse, the family’s secrets fester and their ramifications play into the current-day narrative of Alejandro and the family.
The play does a fantastic job of using the family as a microcosm of exploring the impact of the Pact of Forgetting that was employed after the death of Franco in 1975, which saw the repression of the atrocities committed during the period by political parties across the board and across Spain. The significant challenge for viewers is the need for some basic knowledge of Spanish history to fully grasp where the story is set and where it is heading. However, we see that these societal issues are not restricted to Spain. As Maestre acknowledges during the play’s Acknowledgement of Country, even Australia has an ongoing reckoning with its past brutality against Indigenous people.
Director Neil Armfield makes great use of the space, with much of the set by Mel Page decorated to look like a garden full of dead foliage. Despite this somewhat limiting the set space of the backyard, it helps to not make the play feel specifically set in Madrid, but could take place anywhere. And rather than present the usual home set, where abusive marriages and child sexual abuse would have been contained, the garden presents a reprieve and, ultimately, is where Alejandro does his best work.
Unfortunately, the letdown on the production is the varied performances. Maestre is a triumph, with his compassion and raw emotion during one critical scene one of the best on stage this year. Likewise, Muriel is compelling during the more light-hearted scenes of the show. Pierse is as strong as Camelia but unfortunately doesn’t quite make the character sing. Sadly Fox is miscast here, with her dramatic chops lacking against her comedic timing. As the melodrama heightens through the show, the need for a strong embodiment of characters is needed, and this tall order is hard to reach.
Moreover, Song of First Desire struggles with a title that doesn’t encompass what it means or is trying to say. In its final moments, a key confession tries to tie the Spanish Civil War with modern-day Colombian social uprisal, an assault of a young woman and a poet immortalised in a statue. Thematically it struggles to connect it with its title, even as the scenes prior already say something profound.
If you can get past the title and are willing to learn more about Spanish history through the fascinating interior lives of its key players, Song of First Desire is a truly transformative show that will change how we think of modern-day Spain, the generational trauma from secrets and lies, and the social impact of not reckoning with the past.
