About the show
Utopía is a club located at kilometre 5.2 of the industrial estate road where many voices can be heard. They go in and they never come out. Those who are no one do not exist — like ghosts. The body of Niara, a Nigerian woman, was thrown into the sea, but her companion Alika has fire and matches. In the ashes lies an invisible hope.
Utopía en llamas is the chronicle of a tragedy told in twenty photographs. A collage-portrait of victims and perpetrators. A fragmented journey, racing between the rawness of cynicism and the poetry of brutality.
Author’s note
Utopía en llamas speaks of an intermittent tragedy. It is a fable of terror, where reality turns into literature and falsehood takes hold to confront us with yet another example of human atrocity.
By the absurd and arbitrary luck of having been born in a certain place, with a certain skin colour, gender or accent — does poverty strip us of our humanity? Could it be that poverty drives us millions of miles away from empathy?
Spain ranks third in the world—and first in Europe—in demand for paid sex. Around 80% of the women and girls involved in prostitution are victims of human trafficking, a modern form of slavery and a grave violation of human rights. Between 20% and 40% of Spanish men have paid for sex at least once. We continue to place the stigma and focus on the women. But who is truly contributing to the regulation and social normalisation of this practice? It is thought-provoking.
Alda Lozano
Note from the directors
Utopía en llamas will be a performative show — dynamic, surprising, vital, festive, poetic and chilling, terrifying. Where bodies, images, sounds and silences will speak as much as, if not more than, words. It will appeal to the gut — NOT to rational discourse, NOT verbally explicit, yet irrevocable for the soul. NOT naturalistic, NOT hyperrealistic, but visceral and sensorial.
And it must be so, because at kilometre 5.2 of the road through too many industrial estates, buried in ashes, women and girls—with different accents, different skin tones, different gods—are crying out, begging us not to look away.
To tell this story, to hear this story, is a necessity. A mission. A responsibility. It is also pain, confusion, horror… And that is why, once again, we need theatre — to speak, to tell, to pause, to listen, to make visible, to care, so that someone finally pays attention to the truth.
Concha Delgado and Sandra Ferrús