In her childhood, Mara Lea Brown came to live in a coastal town in Andalucía, at a time when el duende, that stubborn flamenco spirit, was emerging victorious against Franco’s folklorismo, only to commence another battle against the flamenquista turmoil that anticipated a wave of tourists thirsty to know our roots.
We do not know when or how Mara became possessed by el duende who led her to contort herself on the flamenco stage, but ever since then she has been unable to extricate herself from him. So much so that now el duende, in his current battle to survive new changes that raze his land, has used her as a medium to reveal a fragment of his own history, which is the history of flamenco.
Soleá narrates the daily life of a town in which el duende acted as owner and master of the souls that called to him to celebrate memorable spontaneous juergas. But time passes, and many of those who used to let themselves go in the frenzy, now spend their days planning some choreography down to the most minimal movement of the little finger on their left hand. Others, simply do not dance, do not sing, do not play, overwhelmed by their daily responsibilities, their schedules and money. El duende does not have patience for such things. He begins to fear that his Toñi, one of the few remaining individuals who still know how to call to him, will never dance again, and if he wants to survive, he will have to find someone who will again let him express himself. |
