Frida, Remedios, & the Crocodile
By Benjamin Gavarre
GAVARREUNAM@GMAIL.COM
FRIDA, REMEDIOS & THE CROCODILE. © 2026 by BENJAMIN GAVARRE is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0
🌀 INTRODUCTORY NOTE (For the Director and Actresses)
This is not a historical play; it is a mental
labyrinth with a pop-surrealist aesthetic. The tone should oscillate between
the floating mysticism of Remedios Varo and absurd physical comedy. Although
the text repeats fragments due to the time loops, the physical action must
never repeat in the same way. In the first loop, the movement is agile and
hysterical; in the second, it is heavy and clumsy, as if the actresses' clothes
were soaked in molasses.
The cheekiness lies not in vulgarity, but in physical
freedom: they are three brilliant women stripped of museum modesty. The
audience should feel like they are spying on an eternal slumber party of three
goddesses trapped in the purgatory of the art market.
🦎 THE ALEBRIJE (Props and Space Stage Directions)
The alebrije [Mexican spirit animal carving] on
the floor is not a decoration: it is the totem that anchors time. It is a giant
iguana with monarch butterfly wings and rooster legs, painted in neon pink,
fuchsia, and phosphorescent yellow tones. It must be broken exactly
in half.
- The front half (head and claws) rests on its back, like a drunk
lizard.
- The back half (the spiked carved wooden tail) must be sturdy and
stylized enough for Frida to wield it as if it were an Aztec dagger or a
mystical dildo, depending on the level of tension.
- Scattered around the toy are shiny pieces of debris that the
actresses will kick or use obsessively throughout the play.
Act I: Hunger and Rage
(The dense interior of a 1940s apartment. Behind the
immense window, Mexico City rains in strict black and white, watched over by a
monumental stone archer goddess aiming her arrow at infinity. The window
divides the universe: outside is gray and flat; inside is a hyper-saturated
painting of color, with the exception of Frida).
(On the floor, the alebrije torn in half glows with an
insulting fuchsia. Crumpled brochures cover the parquet floor. In the darkness,
the voices of the women are heard overlapping like a murmur of ghosts in an
elevator).
REMEDIOS: Did you hear that?
LEONORA: The crack?
FRIDA: It was as if the whole world broke apart. Or maybe just my head.
REMEDIOS: It wasn't the world. It was just a toy. A toy with too much life for
this place.
LEONORA: It was so vibrant.
(The lights come up subtly. Leonora is slumped in a
bourgeois armchair, an unlit cigarette between her lips. Remedios is on her
knees on the floor, blowing dust off one of the wings of the broken alebrije
with almost sacred devotion. Frida is in a corner, stiff as a wax statue on a
small stool, dressed in an impeccable Tehuana dress [traditional indigenous
Mexican attire] but in strict black and white, as if cut from an old
newspaper).
FRIDA: Vibrant. Like dreams. And dreams always break when you try to bring
them into the morning light.
REMEDIOS: (Runs a finger over the phosphorescent back of the iguana and then
licks it curiously). How long has it been raining out there?
LEONORA: It has always rained. Or maybe it has never rained. Time stops when you
are in color.
REMEDIOS: (Stands up, arching her back like a cat, and peeks out the glass).
That statue... is so colossal. It looks like it's watching us.
FRIDA: (Without moving a single muscle in her face, only her lips). It
isn't watching us. It's watching nothing. Or what we used to be.
LEONORA: (Spins upside down in the armchair, leaving her legs suspended over
the backrest, revealing messy Victorian stockings). Why are you in black
and white?
FRIDA: I am a whisper. A memory without a voice.
REMEDIOS: (Tiptoes around the alebrije, as if dancing ballet). She is so
small. So confined.
LEONORA: We are as confined as she is. Except our dresses are heavier. (Drops
to the floor from the armchair with a dramatic, inelegant groan, adjusting her
petticoats).
REMEDIOS: Can we pick up the pieces?
FRIDA: There is no glue for the soul. Only fragments remain. Fragments of
black and white.
(The echo of the word "white" hangs in the
air. Absolute silence. A mute flash of lightning illuminates the window and the
silhouette of the colossal stone archer).
(Suddenly, an old record player starts up with a
melancholic danzón [slow Cuban-Mexican dance]. The record is scratched and the
needle gets stuck on the same beat absurdly: "Chachán... chachán...
chachán...". The room is tinted in a heavy, hot sepia tone).
(Leonora strikes a match against the wood of the
broken alebrije with a quick, cheeky motion. The flame illuminates her face as
she takes a deep drag of the cigarette. The record player stops with a sharp
screech).
LEONORA: (Blowing a thick stream of smoke right into Remedios's face). I
dream of crocodiles...
REMEDIOS: (Unfazed, uses the floating smoke to trace imaginary circles with
her finger). I've seen them. They are flashy, in plain sight of everyone...
And you are a foreigner, right?
LEONORA: (Winks at Remedios, scratching her calf brazenly). We are all
foreigners. Even the little brunette in the corner.
FRIDA: (Lets out a dry, sandpaper laugh, without moving from the stool).
Overrated, right? If they knew how much this crown weighs. I became a sticker.
LEONORA: (Approaches Frida like a predator on a hunt, examining her like an
insect). It's like from Alsace, or Lorraine... it's so old.
REMEDIOS: We are all like reptiles, Leonora. More than old, we are legendary. You
were English...
LEONORA: (Stretches like a mare waking up). I have been so many things...
I've had lovers... I am crazy. No, that's saying too much. Your images are
formidable, Remedios.
REMEDIOS: We are all crazy and all our images are... incomprehensible. That's
what images are for, for when the precise word can't be found. (Pats Frida
softly on the cheek, as if she were a porcelain doll). She had a very
special condition...
LEONORA: Darling, we all have special conditions. I don't know much about you,
Remedios... Foreigner too, right?
REMEDIOS: (Sits cross-legged in lotus position next to the head of the
alebrije). At this point, we are all Mexicans.
LEONORA: I don't know, it's true and it's false... I would never have been with
a fat toad-face. I was with Max Ernst... my facts get mixed up... I am like a
mirage. I am a rarity. After being in the crème de la crème, in the very
best of French surrealism, look, I ended up staying in this... picturesque
country.
REMEDIOS: You adore it, admit it. (Tosses a small piece of wood from the
alebrije into Leonora's cleavage playfully). You married a Hungarian... or
a Pole... or a ghost with a camera... what do I know... Oh, look, in that I am
related to the one in black and white. She looks like Betty Boop.
LEONORA: (Lets out a loud guffaw and slaps the piece of wood out of her
cleavage). Don't be rude!... she's an icon of herself... so overexposed
that nobody even looks at her paintings anymore, they had already seen them
before seeing them.
(Frida violently breaks her static pose. She slides
off the stool with feline and threatening agility, limping but with an imposing
force).
FRIDA: Leave my toad alone! You have no idea what the hunger of a toad that
size is like. It swallows you, chews you alive, and spits you out turned into
colors!
LEONORA: (Jumps up, defiant, turning venomous). A monumental toad
crushing everything in its path!
FRIDA: You bitch!
(Frida ducks suddenly. Instead of just grabbing the
wood, she drags the back half of the alebrije—the phosphorescent tail with
wooden spikes—lifting it with both hands as if it were a ritual club, and
lunges at Leonora. Leonora screams and trips over the hem of her own Victorian
dress, falling on her bottom onto the armchair. Remedios steps in, putting her
hands out, but Frida swings a lateral blow with the alebrije's tail, sending
the brochures flying).
(All three fall to the floor in a ridiculous and
chaotic tangle of skirts, crossed legs, loose hair, and lace. Groans, blind
slaps, and muffled laughter are heard).
(Outside, the horn of an antique car lets out a
distorted, high-pitched, and extremely long metallic roar that vibrates in the
audience's seats. Pitch black).
LOOP 1
(The lights return with the violent flicker of an old
lightbulb. The sound of rain is deafening and brutal for three seconds, as if
falling right on top of them, and then cuts dead to absolute silence).
(LEONORA appears standing in the center, her Victorian
dress completely messy, one strap down and a wild look in her eyes,
chain-smoking cigarettes with fast, robotic movements. REMEDIOS, sitting on the
floor with her wool sweater on backward, traces imaginary circles with her
finger on the table so fast it looks like she is polishing wood. FRIDA is back
on her small stool, stiff in her strict black and white, but now breathing
heavily, her chest rising and falling).
REMEDIOS: (Looking at the ceiling with a stiff neck, letting out a sharp groan
of an empty stomach). Can't we eat something in this limbo? Oysters...
ladyfingers... I don't know.
LEONORA: (Takes a frantic drag of her cigarette and deliberately flicks the
ash near Remedios's foot). Oysters? You're in a bourgeois apartment
floating in nothingness, Remedios. How about I whip up a lasagna for you girls.
REMEDIOS: (Slams her palm on the table, frustrated). I'm not joking,
Leonora. I feel an empty pit in my stomach. And a terrible cold. (Clumsily
reaches into her pocket, pulls out three crumpled Maria cookies, and tosses
them right at Leonora's face with total cheek). Now I'll share some little
cookies I've kept since... since I don't even know when!
FRIDA: (Without moving a single muscle in her corner, with an icy voice
that cuts the air). Keep your little asylum crumbs. There is no hunger
here, only boredom. And you two have me fed up with your disgraced aristocrat
airs.
LEONORA: (Lets out a sarcastic laugh, plucks a cookie crumb out of her hair
and spits it out). Oh, the Aztec goddess came down from her pedestal.
FRIDA: (Frida's fists clench so tight her joints crack. Her monochromatic
skin seems to stretch). Don't you talk to me like that, rich girl. I
actually busted my ass in this land. You came here to seek refuge. Deep down
you're still just an English girl. Pretty soon you'll feel like the Virginia
Woolf of Coyoacán, looking for a river with stones in your pockets.
LEONORA: (Stands up with a dramatic stomp that makes the brochures on the
floor jump). We had to do it, Frida! It was an odyssey you couldn't even
imagine. (Starts pacing in circles around the table, gesturing exaggeratedly
with her lit cigarette). I would be as famous as you if I hadn't had to
come here, fleeing from bombs, losing everything. Max and André got stranded in
Marseille, and I ended up lost in Lisbon! (Stops in front of Frida, leaning
towards her, invading her personal space in a cheeky and threatening way). Chasing
a fake passport with the breath of the Nazis down my neck and a Mexican
diplomat under my arm... let's see if that makes you stop looking down on us.
FRIDA: (Hops down from the stool in a clean jump, landing with all her
weight on her good leg, stopping millimeters from Leonora's nose). Don't
come at me with your European spy stories. Real art is made with your own
blood, not running from someone else's. And no one is going to come belittle me
in my own country. Especially when they have the audacity to speak ill of
Diego.
LEONORA: (Lets out a loud, insolent cackle right in her face). Diego!
Please. A monumental toad painting giant, ugly communist murals for the
government.
FRIDA: (Shoves Leonora in the chest with both hands). Don't you
mistreat my fat man! Listen to me well, little boarding-school English girl. He
is bigger than the two of you combined. He is the history of this country.
LEONORA: (Adjusts her dress with absolute aristocratic disdain). Ah,
well, that's clear to us. Especially when he weighed three hundred pounds and
crushed everything in his path. (Looks Frida up and down maliciously).
Including you.
FRIDA: (Lets out a primal scream, almost a roar). You bitch!
(Frida ducks with a speed that defies her limp. She
grabs the front half of the alebrije—the neon iguana's head—and bowls it at
Leonora's feet. Leonora dodges it with a ridiculous jump of a frightened
gazelle).
(Frida takes advantage of the stumble, grips the
spiked wooden tail and charges at her. Remedios scrambles into the middle,
crawling frantically to save her cookies from the floor, and Frida's blind
swing smashes right into her backside or hip with a dry thud. Whack! Remedios
lets out a scandalous scream).
(Leonora, enraged by the attack on her friend, tackles
Frida by the collar of her dress. The three actresses tangle in a choreography
of surreal and clumsy pro-wrestling: they roll across the parquet floor among
the brochures, pulling braids, getting tangled in neon petticoats and the
Victorian dress, clashing violently against Frida's black-and-white stillness).
(From the street, the old car horn lets out an
endless, high-pitched, completely distorted beep, like an audio tape melting in
a bonfire. Sudden pitch black).
INTERCUT SCENE 1
(The lights slowly come up to a surreal cantina
atmosphere. Leonora is sitting on the floor, leaning against the armchair,
lazily swirling the ice in her whiskey glass with her index finger. Remedios is
lying on her back on the table, one leg dangling, exhaling cigarette smoke
toward the ceiling, exhausted. Frida has returned to her stool, motionless in
her black and white, but with her braided hairdo completely crooked).
LEONORA: (Clinking the ice). Did you hear that? It was as if the whole
world broke apart. Or maybe just my head. Again.
REMEDIOS: (Blows a smoke ring toward a lamp). It wasn't the world,
darling. It was just that... magical lizard. A toy with too much life for this
place. So vibrant. Like dreams that break when they crash against the asphalt.
LEONORA: (Rubs the freezing glass across her cleavage and neck to cool down,
letting out a cheeky sigh). How long has it been raining out there? That
giant stone woman with her bow is colossal... looks like she's watching us. If
she looked us straight in the eye, there'd be nothing left but feathers,
scales, and blood vessels. And us sitting here like Guanajuato mummies [stiff
as corpses]. I, who have been so many things... Celtic princess, wild mare...
They tell me I was crazy, but that's saying too much. My images, ours, are
simply incomprehensible.
REMEDIOS: (Sits up suddenly on the table, gracefully dusting off her
petticoats). We are all a little broken, Leonora. I wasn't born here, you
know that. When I arrived in this picturesque country I was already a grown
woman. I came fleeing bombs, crossing the ocean with my heart in my throat
after escaping the war in Europe. From rubbing elbows with the cream of the
crop of surrealism in Parisian cafes, I ended up selling little drawings. And
look at us, from exiles to legends. At this point, we are all Mexicans.
LEONORA: (Takes a long sip of her whiskey, making a face of satisfaction).
We are. Although the noise still overwhelms me. And don't get me started on the
giant murals... those colossal muralists hogging the walls with their heavy
speeches.
REMEDIOS: (Slides off the table with a playful jump and takes a swig straight
from Leonora's bottle). Oh, the giant murals... And the
little Frenchmen. That André
guy who came to say that Mexico was naturally surreal. They were so stuck-up,
so arrogant! Pontificating about the unconscious from their desks, while we
painted from our guts. Surrealism is a communicating vessel, yes, but we are
living proof that it cooks better on a slow fire, in exile.
LEONORA: (Shamelessly points her toe toward Frida's corner). And then
there's her... the one in black and white.
(Frida, motionless on her stool, subtly clenches her
fists and raises a single finger on her hand in an unmistakable, subtle
middle-finger flip. Only the audience notices).
REMEDIOS: (Gives Leonora a playful slap to make her lower her foot). Don't
be rude. She's an icon. So overexposed that nobody even looks at her paintings
anymore; people swear they've seen them before they've even seen them.
LEONORA: (Drags herself across the floor until she's at Frida's feet, looking
up at her with admiration and mockery). It's just that... I would never
have been with a fat toad-face. I was with a Max... Max Ernst, and I even lost
my mind for him and ended up in an asylum in Santander. But her... turned into
mugs, socks, banknotes, and handbags. The sovereign of overexposed suffering.
(Frida suddenly breaks her statue posture. She grabs
the neon alebrije head from the floor and makes a dramatic motion of throwing
it at Leonora's head. Leonora doesn't flinch, just smiles and raises her
eyebrows. Frida sighs with hilarious exhaustion and hugs the alebrije head like
a teddy bear).
FRIDA: (With a raspy voice, dragging her words with a tired sensuality).
Throw one more stone at me and I'll smash the whiskey bottle over both your
heads. Think you're so smart? If you knew how nauseous it makes me to see
myself stamped on gringa t-shirts in Coyoacán, you'd choke laughing. I didn't
ask to be a circus. I painted my reality because it was the only thing I knew
well: confinement, the corset, the nails.
REMEDIOS: (Winks at Frida and raises her teacup in a toast, elbowing Leonora).
We know. Forgive Leonora, sometimes the crocodile inside her slips out. Deep
down, she's jealous she's not on the five-hundred peso bills.
LEONORA: (Lets out a huge laugh and throws a crumpled brochure at Remedios).
Never! My crocodiles float on boats, they don't fit in bankers' wallets. But
you're right, Frida... Your good fame isn't your fault. You would have taken a
slingshot to that whole crowd lining up to get into your museum today.
FRIDA: (Hops down from the stool, visibly limping, walks over to Leonora,
snatches the whiskey glass from her hand, takes a generous swig, wipes her
mouth with her sleeve, imitating Leonora's phlegm, and then breaks out in a
very Mexican swagger). I'd have filled them full of lead, that's what. (Walks
toward the large window). That immense woman with the bow is watching us.
And look... down there the cars move slowly, like metal beetles in their own
funeral procession.
REMEDIOS: (Stands behind Frida, resting her chin on her shoulder with
affectionate shyness). Are they coming for us? Or is it my subconscious
chatting with yours?
LEONORA: (Stands up from the floor swaying slightly, joins them, and puts her
arms around their waists). Let's hope it's not your toad-faced husband. If
so, I'd rather turn into stardust right now. On the count of one...
REMEDIOS: Colors of our sister palettes... two...
FRIDA: (Gives Leonora a playful pinch on the waist, making her jump, and
smiles with tremendous complicity). And three, you badasses.
(Fast Curtain. Total darkness, save for a faint glow
of phosphorescent dust falling from the ceiling onto the neon remains of the
alebrije on the forestage).
LOOP 2: The Echo of the Asphalt
(The lights return suddenly with an annoying
electrical buzz. A mute flash of lightning illuminates the stone archer through
the glass. Everything is exactly the same as at the beginning: the shattered
alebrije, Leonora on the floor, Remedios with her tea, and Frida on the stool.
But this time, the actresses move as if their bodies weigh twice as much).
REMEDIOS: (Looks at the ceiling with a slack neck, delivering the line with a
thread of a voice and a slight tremble, unconsciously rubbing her right cheek
as if aching from a phantom blow from the previous scene). Can't we eat
something in this limbo? Oysters... ladyfingers... (Stops dead, confused).
LEONORA: (Looks at her unlit cigarette with deep disgust and strangeness).
I can whip up a delicious Roast Beef, I make it just as well as lasagna...
Although... (Touches her lips, running her tongue over them). I feel
like I already said this. Or I said pizza. I have the taste of blood in my
mouth.
FRIDA: (Stares at her hands in black and white, trying to rub them as if
trying to wash off the monochrome. Her expression hardens). Keep your
crumbs. (Stops, drops her shoulders with a sigh of total exhaustion).
No. I'm craving a little mezcal more, really… something drinkable and smokable,
but not your crappy cigarettes, something to lift me up... Ugh... I feel like
we've been in this room for centuries.
REMEDIOS: (Reaches into her pocket, dragging her fingers. Pulls out some
cookies, but as she opens them, a shower of dust falls on her own legs; they
are completely pulverized). They are broken. Everything here is broken.
Like in Europe. When that diplomat got us those fake papers in Lisbon... I was
shaking so much I tore my own photograph. I thought I was suffocating. And look
at us, we crossed the ocean to end up locked in an interrogation room.
LEONORA: (Stretches out on the floor on her side, resting her head on her
hand in a cheekily tragic pose). It's more like a cell. It's a psychiatric
ward. Like the one in Santander. They tied me to the bed with leather straps,
you know? (Makes the gesture of shaking her body). They gave me
Cardiazol to induce convulsions. They told me my mind was a swamp. And now we
are here, repeating words, waiting for the giant stone woman out there to shoot
her damn arrow.
FRIDA: (Slides off the stool very slowly, dragging her feet and limping
obviously, without any of the aggression of the first act). It's Artemis.
The big Diana, bigger than the one on the avenue. She's a warrior, like me...
like us... She's made of stone. But she never, never shoots. The original
doesn't have an arrow, you know, just a bow. Never, never shoots...
LEONORA: (Kicks a brochure listlessly toward the ceiling). Just like your
Diego. Lots of revolution on the walls, but in the end...
FRIDA: (Raises a single hand, firm, cutting the air). Don't mention
him. Not this time. If you mention him, I'm going to kill you. Or I'd want to.
And I'm too tired to fight on the floor again. My bones hurt too much already.
REMEDIOS: (Sits on the floor and slowly crouches next to the remains of the
alebrije, stroking the wood). We fought, didn't we? In a time that is no
longer here. I was going to offer you these cookies and you... you took this
piece of wood.
(Remedios lifts the spiked tail of the neon iguana
with both hands and offers it to Frida solemnly, almost as if handing her a
crown or a mystical scepter. Frida takes it slowly, weighing it. The black and
white of her hand contrasts brutally with the fuchsia and phosphorescent yellow
colors of the wood).
FRIDA: (Strokes one of the wooden spikes). I was furious. I'm always
furious. Or in pain. That's what they expect of me, isn't it? The rabid,
passionate cripple. Always hurting. The one who vomits flowers and blood and
weed so the intellectuals will clap. (Drops the alebrije piece
half-heartedly; it hits the parquet with a dry, metallic echo). I don't
want to defend anyone anymore. Not my fat man, not my country, not my
paintings.
LEONORA: (Stretches her arm toward the table, grabs the whiskey bottle
without getting off the floor and pours it straight into her glass, making the
liquid resound). That's the most sensible thing you've said in a hundred
years, Frida. We were all devoured. The myth of the crazy muse swallowed me.
The myth of martyrdom swallowed you. And you, Remedios... (Shoots her a
knowing look) ...the perfection of your own technique swallowed you. You
were so meticulous that you became invisible behind your paintings.
REMEDIOS: (Lies flat on her back on the floor, stretching her arms out as if
she were one of her own floating figures). I was an exile. Exile makes you
transparent. I didn't want to make noise, Leonora. I wanted to understand the
gears of the universe. I wanted to know how a cat connects to a star through a
thread of light. And I ended up... illustrating the walls of this limbo.
FRIDA: (Walks heavily toward the large window, pressing her forehead
suddenly against the cold glass, leaving a mark of breath). Do you think
there's anyone out there watching us? Someone in a dark seat, repeating this
play over and over again.
LEONORA: (Takes a long drag of her glass, staring out at the audience with
half-closed eyes). If there is someone out there... I'd tell them to turn
off the light. We've put on enough of a show.
(From the street, the distant horn of old cars
resonates again down on the avenue, like a cyclical echo drawing near. The
windows vibrate slightly. Through the window, raindrops begin to slide upward
magically).
REMEDIOS: (Raises a finger, following the rhythm of the horn). Here comes
the sound. Again. The same song.
FRIDA: (Turns to them from the glass, offering them a resigned smile, tired
but deeply tender). Fasten your seatbelts, aristocrats. See you in the next
round.
(Immediate pitch black. A second later, in absolute
darkness, the dry, intimate, and resounding click of Leonora's lighter is
heard).
INTERCUT SCENE 2
(The lights come up with the warm tone of a cantina at
the end of the night. Leonora is sprawled in the armchair with bare feet on the
table, shaking her whiskey glass. Remedios is sitting on the floor, leaning
back against Leonora's legs, holding her cold cup of tea).
(Frida is standing in her corner, in strict black and
white, but now her arms are crossed, resting her hip brazenly against the wall
with a defiant attitude).
REMEDIOS: (Exhales a deep sigh, looking at the ceiling). Everything is so
fragile, right?... Right? Everything, so fragile.
LEONORA: (Lets out a giggle, giving Remedios a little nudge with her foot).
Right?... Right? You remind me of that terrible boy. The one from the Zona
Rosa. The one who thought he was the great hope of the breaking generation.
FRIDA: (Without moving, but dragging her words with contempt). José
Luis. With his delusions of a giant. Drawing unreason from his arrogance, all
day with his unbearable crutch-word, "Right?" And in the end,
"right," who reached greater heights? Him, or his monsters?
LEONORA: (Flicks an ice cube from her glass at Frida with bullseye accuracy).
You're absolutely right, little Frida, catch this.
FRIDA: (Pushes off the wall with a fierce step and limps proudly toward
them). You want to play? But you gotta take it. Let's see, my Victorian
sprites. I'm not going to throw little ice cubes at you. Let's see, catch
this... (Kicks the neon iguana's head from the floor, sending it rolling).
REMEDIOS: (Puts the teacup down with a thud on the parquet and stands up).
No, Frida. Don't kick your own history. And you, Leonora... don't go picking
fights with Samson.
FRIDA: (Puts her hands on her hips, defiant). Hah! Samson? Even all
messed up like this I'll kick your asses, just so you know, you Roma
neighborhood tourists.
REMEDIOS: (Dusts off her petticoats in a floating, indignant manner). I
wasn't a "tourist". Remedios Varo, look what a great painter you
were, they told me, but not everyone knows you... Of course, because I wasn't
parading my surgeries around. I was like an apparition of light working for
humans, long before holograms existed. Illustrating brochures to earn my daily
bread. A virtual image trapped in a coat.
FRIDA: (Lets out a raspy laugh, walks up to Remedios and gives her a
playful nudge with her shoulder). Oh, right. The walking mystery. Rumors of
you doing witchcraft in the kitchen, praying to cats, that you were nothing but
smoke. In the end, you died young and bitter. Not like the English lady here...
(Points at Leonora with her toe). Who at a hundred years old was still
making sculptures.
LEONORA: (Takes a sip of her whiskey and sticks her tongue out at Frida).
That doesn't matter. A hundred years, two hundred. One never dies, at least not
us. Memory persists. Or gets overexposed, right, Frida? You're a whole
franchise.
FRIDA: (Makes a face of authentic physical nausea, sticking her finger in
her mouth as if to vomit). What do you think, my queen... Don't you envy
me? Two hundred and fifty thousand little plays. Three hundred movies where I
cry screaming. I dressed as a man so they wouldn't swallow me alive, I wore
heavy necklaces to look made of stone, like Coatlicue [the Aztec earth mother
goddess]... My ancestors are from Hungary, but they made me a Mexican sticker.
A whole souvenir for the damn gringos, that's what I am now.
REMEDIOS: (Approaches Frida and pats her back comfortingly, smiling
maliciously). I... I've also had some significant diffusion... one of my
works reached a figure at the New York auction that...
LEONORA: (Interrupts Remedios giving her a "blah blah" sign with
her hand). Bitch, please. No one cares about the cash register of the dead.
If we talk about earthly greatness, think of that guy from Oaxaca. The one with
the bats and the grasshoppers.
FRIDA: Toledo.
LEONORA: That one. With his calling to go unnoticed, to look poor walking in
sandals down the street. But his telluric roots pierced the earth all the way
to the core. Pure magic and suffering without showing off. Or that other one,
Rufino, with his watermelons and his dogs howling at the blood moon. Pain
doesn't always have to be in a plaster corset, Frida. Sometimes it's in the
gums of a wolf.
REMEDIOS: (Softening her tone, sits on the edge of the table crossing her
ankles flirtatiously). Or on a little circus horse. Like poor María
Izquierdo's. They really shut the doors on her, suffocated her so the giant
murals of the men wouldn't have competition. What was she left with? Silence
and her painting. Or Juan Soriano... chasing moons and birds like a perpetual
child.
FRIDA: (Looks at her black-and-white body, then looks at her companions'
colorful dresses. Her gaze softens). Pure freaks. All of us. Some drawing
unreason to feel big, others flying kites so as not to forget the disappeared.
And the three of us, here. Two foreigners who painted labyrinths of the
subconscious and a cripple with a pyramid complex.
LEONORA: (Stands up and raises her glass, clinking it against Remedios's
bottle). To the health of freaks. Let the old cars or the hearses come. In
the end, the paintings outlived us all.
REMEDIOS: (Crouches nimbly, picks up the shiny piece of the alebrije's tail,
and hoists it like a trophy). And the chaneques [mythical Mexican
forest sprites] too.
(Frida laughs, a raspy, free, and expansive laugh. The
light in the room begins to change radically, turning the color of a ripe
tangerine, warm, juicy, and profoundly surreal).
LOOP 3: Stardust
(The lights return with a subtle burst. A mute flash
of lightning. The alebrije lies shattered on the floor. The rain falls normally
outside, but inside the atmosphere feels different. There is no longer
murderous tension or heaviness; there is a lucid, amused, and free exhaustion.
All three actresses are standing together, facing the audience).
REMEDIOS: (Looks at the ceiling, reciting the line lazily, dragging the words
as if reading a boring script). Can't we eat something in this limbo...?
LEONORA: (Slams the whiskey glass on the table with a dry, sharp thud).
Enough. I am not going to offer you oysters, or lasagna, or pizza. I refuse to
repeat this script one more time.
FRIDA: (Takes a step forward from her stool, stretching her arms). And
I'm tired of being furious. I'm bored of being in black and white.
REMEDIOS: (Walks decisively toward the window, pressing both palms against the
glass). The cycle is breaking. Look outside. The monumental woman just
turned to look at us. It gives me shivers.
LEONORA: (Stands next to her). She looks colossal to me. If she looked us
straight in the eye, there'd be nothing left but feathers, scales, and blood
vessels. The black-and-white cars down there... it's as if our psyche were
stuck in that traffic.
FRIDA: (Gets between the two of them, putting her arms around their
shoulders in front of the large window). Of course. Stuck in those cars, my
unconscious is chatting with yours. And if all that is out there... what are we
in here? The conscience?
LEONORA: No, not at all. We are the subconscious commenting on the other half of
the universe. The other half, the one out there, is gray.
REMEDIOS: (Rests her head on Frida's shoulder). Mhhh. I dream in color.
LEONORA: Sure. And you think I don't? I live in reverie. My reveries are always
in color, didn't I tell you I'm crazy? Let's imagine our true stories, before
they come to collect for fame. I'd be a Sumerian princess...
REMEDIOS: And you... a blonde Byzantine. And her... (Looks at Frida sideways
with admiration) ...like a totem, right, like Coatlicue, but skinny, or
maybe an Incan princess...
LEONORA: Why go so far south? Let her be the priestess of Huitzilopochtli. Mmm,
I don't know... better yet, queen, sovereign. Seeing as how she's become the
most iconic of all... she's even on the banknotes.
REMEDIOS: (Lets out a comical snort). Yeah, just like the nun... But not
us. We are not Mexican icons. The whole being blonde thing, I suppose.
(The record player in the corner starts on its own
with a squeak. The melancholic danzón from the first act begins, but after
three seconds the music slows down drastically: "Chachááán...
chachááán...". The sound distorts heavily until it becomes a thick,
industrial, deafening, and violent electronic loop. It sounds exactly like the
rhythmic, deafening, and mechanical blow of a wrecking ball against the walls
of the building. The stage floor physically vibrates. A rain of white dust
falls from the ceiling).
LEONORA: (Looks up, hugging her glass so it doesn't shake). They've come
for us.
REMEDIOS: (Dusts off her hair). Is it judgment day, or is it the museum
board?
FRIDA: (Spits on the floor with comical rage). It's the curators.
They're coming to knock down the wall to make room for the fucking gift shop.
LEONORA: How vulgar! They're going to sell mugs with my sprites' faces on them.
REMEDIOS: And umbrellas with my owls. (A stronger industrial blow shakes the
window. More dust falls). We're running out of time, aristocrats. Look
down... that old car stopped. As long as it isn't your toad-faced husband...
LEONORA: Worse. It's the head curator. They've come to take us to the
retrospective.
FRIDA: (Eyes locked on the audience). They want us to cry for the
entrance photo.
REMEDIOS: Ah, in an old museum car. There's no other type of transport for us.
Wouldn't they have a carriage, a crocodile boat, a flying sprite?
LEONORA: (The demolition noise is deafening. She grabs Remedios and Frida by
the hands). I know how to escape their display cases! Let's become
stardust. Sure, I like that... on the count of one... two... Hey, what about
her? (Points to Frida).
REMEDIOS: I don't know, they'll come up for her, I guarantee you that. She's sick
of signing autographs and her house is already a market where they don't let
her sleep. But back to business: stardust, colors of our sister palettes...
(Frida subtly breaks free, turns her back to the
window, and faces Leonora and Remedios head-on. Suddenly, visual magic happens:
the black and white of Frida's skin and dress begins to "light up",
absorbing the vibrant colors of the environment. The entire stage is flooded
with that intense, tangerine color, warm, electric, and absolute, completely
winning the battle against the gray lighting).
FRIDA: (With a huge, free, cheeky, and monumental smile). Nobody's
sending me back to a fucking postcard.
(Frida extends her arms forcefully, takes Remedios's
hand and Leonora's shoulder. The three smile in complicity, immense, united in
a single block of color, while the roar of the demolition is about to shatter
the glass).
FRIDA: And three, you badasses.
(The car horn below sounds crazed, merging with the
industrial collapse. A burst of lights and surreal music floods the hall.
Blinding blackout. Absolute silence in a flash).
(Only a dim spotlight remains on the forestage,
revealing the bright, phosphorescent dust floating in the air and falling
slowly over the neon remains of the winged iguana).
FINAL CURTAIN.
PRESENTATION DOSSIER: FRIDA, REMEDIOS, AND THE
CROCODILE
By Benjamin Gavarre
📋 CONCEPTUAL SYNOPSIS
In the dense interior of a 1940s Mexico City
apartment, time has broken. Trapped in a cyclical and surreal limbo, Frida
Kahlo, Remedios Varo, and Leonora Carrington find themselves confined under the
gaze of a monumental stone archer deity. Outside, the city rains in strict
black and white; inside, the space is saturated with phosphorescent colors
triggered by the shattered remains of a totemic alebrije that functions
as the anchor of their doom.
Through three progressively warping time loops, the
three iconic creators face off in a hilarious, cheeky, and irreverent ping-pong
of historical reproaches, shared drunks, and naked truths. From the myth of
martyrdom and the crushing shadow of the giant murals, to the savage
commercialization of their memories on t-shirts, mugs, and modern immersive
exhibitions, the play abandons the solemnity of museums to transform into a
physical comedy of the absurd. In the end, faced with the threat of having their
intimacy demolished by the curators of the art market, the three painters will
decide to fuse their palettes to escape the captivity of souvenir postcards and
claim their right to be, eternally, a block of indomitable freaks.
🎨 NOTES FOR STAGING AND DIRECTION
- Metatheatrical Structure: The play advances through loops. Although the
text repeats fragments, the choreography and energy of the bodies evolve
drastically in each repetition: from the physical hysteria and combat of
the first act, through the lethargy and lucid hangover of the second, to
the absolute complicity and dark humor of the finale.
- The Chromatic Trick: Frida inhabits the space in a strict and immutable black and white
(both in her skin and her costume). Leonora and Remedios overflow with
color. At the end, in a visual and lighting explosion, Frida absorbs the
tangerine warmth of the environment, breaking her own monochrome for the
climax.
- The Physical Trigger: The alebrije (a neon iguana with wings) torn in half on the
forestage functions as the mystical toy that detonates and restarts the
repetitions of time every time it is attacked or kicked. The physical
humor of the actresses surrounding this prop is the dynamic engine of the
staging.
