A Night in the Theatre: Owl and the Memory That Fades
Eight o’clock in the evening. The theatre hums with occupancy. An observer rises to scan the audience, looking for gaps, only to find none. Seats are filled, and extend into the background with people standing, absorbed by the moment. The crowd gathers to witness Búho, a new work by Paco Merino with Diego Lorca in the cast, and a vision that does not pretend to be simple entertainment. The title speaks plainly, Owl, yet the show carries weight beyond its name.
Moments later the stage falls into darkness. Silence stretches before the music begins, soft at first, then swelling. A figure appears, pacing and then halting as if drawn to something just beyond reach. He is a forensic anthropologist who lives and works in a stark, almost deserted space beneath the surface, a place that mirrors the emptiness he carries inside.
What follows unsettles perception. The man grapples with a memory that has unravelled after a stroke. His life, his identity, even his direction—lost in a sudden lapse of blood flow to the brain. He speaks sparingly, insisting that memory is not a passive record but a construct of lived moments. Ernesto Sabato’s voice lingers in the room with a reminder that living is about forging future memories.
Doctors step in with methods that blend science and stagecraft. They manipulate light and shadow, arrange objects with intention, and treat each prop as a memory lever rather than mere decoration. Everything on stage has a purpose, even when it seems merely symbolic, inviting the audience to question what memory truly preserves and what it erases.
Aging memory becomes a shared journey rather than a private ache. Búho steers clear of hollow dialogue; it is rooted in an exacting sense of composition, aiming to pull the audience deeper into personal recollections. The piece confronts a history that lingers like a hot iron, etched into the mind. It recalls a woman who vanished into fog, a figure from the past who still echoes in the present. It touches family ties and the strands that shape identity.
The play suggests that memory resides not in mere scenes but in the material absence that marks what has passed. Darkness and earthiness mingle to illuminate a path toward understanding, encouraging viewers to see the incomprehensible through a clear, intimate analogy.
There is a striking comparison. A conductor known as Clive is described as someone whose memory is reduced to seven seconds at a time, a condition that, in reality, would be nearly impossible to endure for decades. Yet Merino and Lorca stage the impossibility with a convincing immediacy, inviting the audience to witness memory in motion rather than in theory.
Behind the scenes, a dedicated team of explorers worked for months. They delved into the city’s underground world, exploring sewers and tunnels alongside professionals from the police’s underground unit. They consulted neuropsychologists and researchers at medical centers to build a convincing framework for the play. The collaboration yielded a rich, credible portrayal that respects the complexities of memory and the human mind.
After days and days of preparation, Búho emerged with a title written in bold letters that announces its ambition. The production has toured racks of theatres across Spain and Central America, and it seems poised to continue expanding its reach. The poster boards that adorn billboards around town hint at future performances beyond the current city limits.
Don’t miss it. Performances take place at the Arniches theatre in Alicante on Friday, February 10 at 8:30 p.m., inviting audiences to step into a night that binds memory to meaning and memory to the self, in a space that feels both intimate and expansive. It is a show that lingers long after the final bow, inviting reflection on how memory defines identity and how identity shapes memory. The experience is not a mere recounting but a journey inward that resonates with anyone who has faced loss, remembrance, and the fragile continuity of self.