Literary and Cinematic Examples:

La Casa de Bernarda Alba, by Federico García Lorca By Jürgen Kramer

As a child, poet and playwright Federico García Lorca secretly listened to the conversations of the elders at Frasquita Alba's house, and the things he overheard inspired La Casa de Bernarda Alba. The dark reality behind the drama haunted Lorca for years before he finally turned it into a three-act play. His last dramatic creation was completed in June 1936, a few months before his assassination. Premiered in Buenos Aires in 1945, it was not allowed to be exhibited in Francoist Spain until 1964. Lorca was a socially progressive and left-wing

creator who sympathized with the marginalized and the underprivileged, such as the Roma, people of color, and women. His homosexuality and sympathy for the Republican cause made him a target for conservatives. In August 1936, he was executed on the outskirts of his hometown, Granada, shortly after the start of the Spanish Civil War. Despite recent attempts to locate the mass grave where his remains lie, his body has never been found, a fate shared by thousands of victims from the losing side of the Civil War. Lorca is probably the most prominent of these disappeared victims. For this reason, he cannot be venerated as openly as the famous Persian poet Hafez, whose admirers honor his memory by kissing his hand and placing it on his tomb in the beautiful garden of Shiraz.

The Play

Over several days, we witness the tense relationship among the nine individuals who live in the house where the play takes place: the dominant matriarch and owner, Bernarda, her five unmarried daughters Angustias, Magdalena, Amelia, Martirio, Adela, and Bernarda's unstable mother, María Josefa, as well as the maid, La Poncia, and another unnamed maid... No men appear on stage, but they are constantly present through the women's conversations. La Casa de Bernarda Alba was written during a period of great political and social instability in Spain. The conflicts and disputes that existed within Spanish society during the Second Republic, and that preceded the Spanish Civil War, are reflected in the drama. The play is set in a small Andalusian rural community. This geographical setting influences social norms, cultural traditions, and the sense of confinement within a very close-knit community.

The Strict Social Conventions and Gender Roles imposed by the conservative Spanish society of the early 20th century provide the backdrop for the drama. Its political context captures the repressive atmosphere of the time. Socioeconomic aspects of a wealthy family of landowners are examined. The status of the characters and their desire to preserve their reputation and social position strongly influence their behavior. The norms and cultural traditions of rural Spain, centered on the concept of honor, the patriarchal suppression of women by men, and the complicated dynamics within a family, form part of the plot. The play highlights the conflict between social norms and individual desires.

Characters

• Bernarda: The name Bernarda means "strong and brave bear." Her last name, Alba, refers to her obsession with cleanliness, both of the house and the family's honor,

which she personifies in the "honor" of her daughters. Bernarda is authoritarian, violent, domineering, classist, hypocritical, uncompromising, and repressive. She is described as "bossy" and "dominant," as well as the "tyrant of everyone around her." She controls her daughters and symbolizes her power with the cane she always carries. Her two deceased husbands gave her only female offspring, perhaps due to Bernarda's dominance over men. Meanwhile, she fiercely fulfills her maternal role, saying, "A daughter who disobeys ceases to be a daughter and becomes an enemy." In her role as a dominant matriarch, Bernarda represents the repressive social conventions of patriarchy and stifles her daughters' aspirations. She demands respect for tradition, which includes that "a woman's place is at home." She is convinced that no one in the village is worthy of marrying her daughters, but they argue and gossip like teenagers. The idyllic "peace at home" that Bernarda strives for simply does not exist. Bernarda lives almost in denial. Her maid Poncia tells the other maid: "There's a storm waiting in every room. The day it bursts, it will sweep us all away."

• The Daughters: The names of Bernarda's daughters give clues about their characters.

○Angustias (anguished), ○Amelia (laborious in Latin, and "for love of God" in Hebrew), ○Martirio (martyred), ○Magdalena (referencing Mary Magdalene). Bernarda demands that tradition be respected, including the belief that "a woman's place is at home." She is convinced that no man in the village is worthy of marrying her daughters, yet her daughters argue and gossip as teenagers do. The idyllic "peace at home" for which Bernarda strives simply does not exist.

In this society, women are judged by their beauty and social status. Bernarda, as the matriarch, is the worst of all and tells her eldest daughter that she must never ask about the problems of Pepe, her fiancé: "Definitely not when you're married. You speak when he speaks. You look at him if he looks at you. That way, you won’t fall." She knows the gossip of every person in the village and plays with that "information" aggressively. The neighbors fear her, while she obsessively focuses on appearances and maintaining a cloak of silence that prevents criticism. "Everyone knows what they think inside. I don’t meddle in hearts, but I want a good facade and family harmony. Do you understand?" Bernarda tries to be more than what she is and wishes to appear of aristocratic dignity while suppressing her daughters' desires to live. Her compulsive concern with appearances reaches its peak, and

she is obsessed with silence, cleanliness, and mourning. She imposes eight years of mourning in black on her daughters, with no exceptions.

Symbolism of Bernarda's Cane

The cane she carries is not only a physical object that allows her to issue commands but also represents masculinity. Ultimately, it solidifies her control over her household. The cane becomes a manifestation of her virility, providing her with the means to maintain power and uphold the "good facade" she so cares about.

• Adela: The youngest daughter, 20 years old, the only beautiful daughter and the most disobedient.

Adela personifies fervor, rebellion, and the thirst for freedom within the constricting framework of the family home. She is the only daughter who willingly mocks Bernarda's restrictions and declares her true individuality, thus becoming the tragic heroine of the play. Angustias, Bernarda’s eldest daughter from her first marriage, is simple and less loved by her mother. Due to her inherited wealth, she becomes the center of the family's attention, provoking the envy of her sisters. Martirio is resentful and bitter. She is one of the four daughters from Bernarda's second marriage. Her jealousy leads to a fatal outcome, as she harbors an unrequited love for Pepe el Romano, who is promised to her sister Angustias. Magdalena, Amelia, and Adela are the other sisters, each representing different facets of societal expectations and repression. They struggle with their needs, restrictions, and connection to Adela, the youngest. La Poncia (referencing Pontius Pilate) is Bernarda's 60-year-old maid and lifelong confidante. She is forced to watch over what happens in the house, but since her objections fall on deaf ears, she does little about it. Poncia’s comments and insights about what happens in the house offer a counterpoint to Bernarda's dominant personality and provide a window into the characters' thoughts and intentions. María Josefa, Bernarda’s senile and elderly mother, is also one of the eight residents of the house, and defends women's liberation and the repressed aspirations of women.

Pepe el Romano, though never appearing on stage, plays a vital role in the play. He is engaged to Angustias but attracts the attention and passion of Martirio and Adela, causing a bitter rivalry and a tragic outcome.

Synopsis

Lorca's drama begins amidst the funeral of Bernarda Alba's second husband. The interior of Bernarda's house is a very white room, and at the beginning of the play, the bells toll. The

play opens with the maid's words, "I already have double those bells ringing in my head," which reflects the oppressive atmosphere, and soon her interlocutor tells her that priests from all the villages have arrived. We quickly learn that Bernarda’s husband has died, and with the ceremony today, a long period of mourning begins, during which the house's windows will be sealed. Among the maids, Bernarda is criticized as bossy, and one of them says, "I wish that, since she doesn’t eat, we would all die of hunger." Another says, "Clean everything well, if Bernarda doesn’t see things shining, she will pull out the few hairs I have left." "She’s capable of sitting on your heart and watching you die for a year without that cold smile leaving her damn face" (this smile of the most dominant angry ones is characteristic, and it distinguishes them from the more controlled). "She, the most decent, she, the highest." When the women enter the room, Bernarda appears with her five daughters. She is supported by her cane, and her first word is: "Silence." "Less shouting and more work, you should have made sure everything was cleaner to receive the mourners, go, this isn’t your place." "The poor are like animals," she says immediately, revealing one of the traits that has caused the most suffering in the world. When a woman dares to say, "The poor also feel their sorrows," she replies, "But they forget them in front of a plate of chickpeas." A shy girl observes that eating is necessary to live. But Bernarda tells her not to speak like that in front of older people. Later, when Bernarda complains about the heat, she asks a servant for a fan, and her daughter Adela offers her a round one with red and green flowers; Bernarda throws it to the ground, protesting, "Is this the fan given to a widow? Give me a black one, learn to respect your father's mourning." Once the mourners leave the house, Bernarda announces to her five daughters that the traditional mourning period of eight years will be strictly followed. The house will be shut and the daughters sealed inside, as was done in her father’s time. Angustias, the eldest daughter from Bernarda’s first marriage, receives most of the inheritance, so only she has enough of a dowry to marry a man of her class. Ironically, at 39 years old and not being very beautiful, she is the least marriageable of the daughters. The situation becomes even more ridiculous with the revelation that her future fiancé, Pepe el Romano, a handsome young man, is only 25 years old. The sisters resign themselves to live without men, except for the youngest, Adela. She openly declares that she will not lock herself in a prison or let her youth fade away. The other daughters' acquiescence to their mother's tyrannical orders masks their inner desperation and frustration. The act ends with the appearance of María Josefa, Bernarda’s octogenarian mother, who has momentarily escaped her confinement and pleads with Bernarda to let her go to the seaside to marry a handsome young man and be happy. The pace quickens in the second act with the revelation that Pepe is playing a double game of courtship, visiting both Angustias and someone else. Halfway through this act, Angustias bursts in to ask who took a photo of Pepe. Bernarda orders Poncia, her main maid, to search the girls' rooms to find it. She finds it among the sheets of Martirio’s bed. Martirio convinces her mother that it was just a joke, but not her sisters or Poncia. Soon after, a heated conversation between Martirio and Adela reveals that Adela is the object of Pepe’s morning

visits and Martirio’s bitter jealousy and hatred toward her sister. Martirio’s futile passion for Pepe has twisted her mind so intensely that she threatens to tear Adela from Pepe’s arms or kill her if necessary to stop her: "I will break your embraces." "Martirio, let me!" "No way!" "He wants me for his house!"

"I saw how he hugged you!" "I didn’t want to. I was like dragged by a rope." "First dead!" When Adela sneaks away to meet Pepe in the barn, Martirio detects her and initially calls her sister softly, then loudly. Adela reappears, her hair in disarray. During another tense and passionate argument, Adela reveals the love Pepe feels for her and the love she feels for him. She declares at length that she is willing to degrade herself and to be denounced by the town, becoming his lover after he marries Angustias. Martirio tells her that she loves him too, and Adela won’t have him while there’s a drop of blood in her body. When Pepe whistles, Adela runs towards the door. Martirio blocks her way, shouting for their mother to come. Martirio points to Adela’s misfortune, showing the straw in her petticoats as proof: "She was with him! Look at those petticoats full of wheat straw!" Bernarda then shouts: "That’s the bed of the ill-born!" Adela stands in front of her mother, informing her that her confinement has just ended, breaking Bernarda’s cane in two, and announces that she will only follow Pepe’s orders: "Here, the prisoner's orders end! This is what I do with the dominator’s staff. Don’t take another step. No one commands me but Pepe!" Bernarda asks for her gun; she runs after Pepe, accompanied by Martirio. A shot is heard. The two women sense that Pepe is dead. Adela runs out of the room before Martirio can explain to Poncia that Pepe actually escaped on his horse. A moment later, a muffled sound emanates from Adela’s room, drawing the women there. Bernarda demands that Adela open the door. When she doesn’t, Poncia breaks it down and discovers that Adela has hanged herself. Bernarda immediately takes charge of the situation, declaring that her daughter died a virgin; she orders silence and another period of mourning. Adela has committed suicide, but not out of shame—she’s deceived by her envious sister Martirio into believing that Pepe died from Bernarda’s shot. Adela dies without regret, and now it’s up to Bernarda to cover up the disgrace that has fallen upon the family. She demands silence from the family on the matter and insists on Adela’s virginity. With the family’s honor threatened by Adela’s "shameful behavior" and suicide, Bernarda finds herself in a situation she once condemned in others and hurriedly tries to manage the "damage control." She demands silence and creates an honorable lie. Bernarda’s last words (and the last words of the play) are: "I don’t want tears. Death must be faced head-on. Silence! I said silence! Tears when you’re alone! We’ll all drown in a sea of mourning!" "Did you hear me? Silence, I said silence! Silence!" Pepe el Romano’s escape without consequences for him confirms Adela’s earlier observation that men get away with their transgressions. "They’re forgiven everything." Amelia reflects, "Being born a woman is the greatest punishment." The issue is that men are not punished for their transgressions. They have freedom of movement and are free

from punishment for their bad behavior. Women, on the other hand, are trapped in their social role.

The symbolic freedom of men is conveyed through their access to the outside world, especially to the fields: the harvesters come from the mountains, carefree, and some of them had paid for a young exotic woman from afar to accompany them to an olive grove. Pepe el Romano in the play is, in fact, an example of all men’s behavior. He wants a docile, modest wife, and at the same time, he has an affair. Poncia gives a slight twist: "A man, after fifteen days of marriage, leaves the bed for the table and leaves the table for the tavern. And the one who doesn’t conform rots crying in a corner." Which is the same as saying that men do whatever they want. But why does Bernarda forbid men from entering her house? Simply because men are a threat to the family’s honor, and Bernarda is obsessed with honor, cleanliness, appearances, the reputation of her family in the village, and the importance given to status. To defend this absurd honor, she is determined to use any form of violence. Bernarda is cold in action but hot-blooded, as she constantly demonstrates, cane or gun in hand. Traditionally, the family’s honor was embodied by the women... especially wives and daughters, and with five unmarried daughters, Bernarda has a lot of work ahead of her. Nevertheless, determined to defend her family’s honor, Bernarda forbids, as expected, that men enter her house, even those who attended the burial of her second husband: "I don’t want them passing through here," she informs Poncia. With her cold, authoritarian, resentful, jealous, and vehement attitude, Bernarda sows disaster in her family, condemning her daughters to an unhappy fate. The death of the youngest doesn’t even make her realize her mistake; instead, she digs herself deeper into her defense mechanisms, relational violence, authoritarianism, and control. Bernarda is a woman, but she embodies all the values of the patriarchy and all its shadows.

The theater of Lorca and feminism Although homosexuality was finally removed from the Spanish Penal Code in 1932, Lorca’s perspective as a homosexual man in a heavily masculinized society may have led him to understand the condition of women and empathize with them, or even project his own personal dilemma onto his female characters. Certainly, Lorca’s plays align with the feminist discourse of his time, and some of his female characters reflect the problems Spanish women faced in a highly misogynistic environment. Lorca was an incredibly sensitive writer who was inspired by his surroundings, his vast readings, his musical knowledge, and his talent. The feminist discourse and modern women he befriended were an important part of Lorca’s world when writing plays in the 1920s and 1930s. Lorca perfectly understood that during his years in Madrid, modern women with partners and professional lives before and/or after marriage were the exception, not the rule. Perhaps Lorca’s greatest gift to the chained women of his time was the eloquent poetic voice he gave them. While many other contemporary male writers created silent female characters or, at best, tasteless or shrill voices, Lorca invested his best poetic talent in writing leading roles for women in which their subjectivity manifested in all its

complexity. It was time for women to speak, and Lorca gave them the opportunity to do so. In the socio-historical context in which Lorca wrote, that was pure feminism.

Cinematic Example: Jep Gambardella in The Great Beauty (2013) by Paolo Sorrentino

By Jürgen Kramer

The journalist Jep Gambardella, the central character among the many eccentric figures in The Great Beauty, is a libertine who is overly self-aware, too honest to fall into self-deception or pride, and too generous to be completely cynical. He is someone with highly controlled emotions, always in charge of the situation and profoundly free, while his desires oscillate between the wish to create something meaningful and beautiful, and a deep yearning for perfection and idealism.

Jep is vehement in his expression: when he speaks, he is precise and maintains elegance, but his strength and aggression are unstoppable. At his age, he has great sexual energy, and one could say he is in touch with his instincts and with life, even though he is going through a moment of loss of meaning. He is a believable and likable character—vital, bohemian, and a man who truly lives life. His life has been easy (his friends are rich, he has a large apartment with views of the Colosseum, and women are still attracted to him), but that has been part of his problem: Jep hasn’t had to push himself too hard. A man with mostly nocturnal habits, a womanizer, and an intellectual known for his lavish parties and a single book published in his youth, Jep has lived in Rome since he was 26, when he came from Naples with the intention of becoming the kind of man who is not just invited to parties, but who possesses "the power to make them fail." Since then, he has become "the king of mundanity," which itself indicates his zeal, his condition as an excited animal capable of conditioning the environment with every gesture or word.

The problem is that, as the years have passed, Jep has become discontented: nothing seems enough to him—not the drink, not the parties, not the sex, not the friends, not the art... And this is another condition of his character. Jep is rich, and he is also a skeptic and a nihilist who, it seems, has opted for a privileged life in which he really only manages to survive. To make matters worse, he prides himself on this: he boasts of his infamous superficial condition in a sick world and lives a life of excess that has robbed him of any semblance of serenity (which is precisely the virtue of E1). In a decadent and splendid Rome, Jep and his friends seek intensity that ends up being vulgar, as Jep is defeated by boredom and the artificiality of the life he leads, surrounded by drugs, alcohol, and material whims, wasting his money on collagen injections and attending absurd artist performances. His education, however, does not allow him to fall into mere depression: he is dandy, exquisite, and educated... His manners, style, and aristocratic bearing are above all of that.

Tired of the life he leads, and after his lavish and scandalous 65th birthday party set to the rhythm of Raffaella Carrà, he looks inward and realizes that he is lacking meaning, purpose, and a reason to exist. He is no longer content with living a sensual, rich, and indulgent life; he seeks meaning. He wants the fragmented pieces of beauty he has accumulated in his memory to become worthy of a great work of art. After forty years of indulgence and waste, confronted with the inevitability of aging and death, he finally begins to reconstruct himself in a narrative that reflects the necessary faith in life’s enduring things: truth, beauty, friendship, and art... Finally, at an older age, he begins a movement of awareness, from ontological darkness to the realization that he is a prisoner of his "unconsciousness of unconsciousness," embarking on an introspective and transformative journey that will bring him into closer contact with emotion and, therefore, with life. Now more conscious of his flaws and the superficial world around him, Jep discovers the death of his first love, Elisa, with whom he had an intense romance more than 40 years ago.

At the time, Jep was 18 and Elisa was 20. They loved each other on the beaches of Naples. Elisa broke up with Jep without giving him any explanation. One day, Alfredo, the man Elisa chose to marry, visits Jep to inform him of her death. He explains that, although he was married to her for 35 years, it was Jep who appeared at the center of her existence in the diary she left behind. Alfredo was nothing more than "a good companion." "I’m a writer, and believe me, when we write, we let loose our fantasies, imaginations, and lies," Jep lies to Alfredo condescendingly, trying to comfort him. In typical Jep fashion, he has a casual sexual encounter with an attractive, wealthy, and charming woman, though she’s somewhat self-centered. However, after conquering her, he leaves without saying goodbye, choosing not to stay and have her show him her art—selfies she sticks in an album. That’s beneath his standards; he doesn't have time to waste, nor is he inclined to give attention to just anyone. Jep feels free to act however he pleases, refusing to betray himself or his high standards. He is not willing to answer to anyone; his will is all that matters. Additionally, he places his desires above social conventions, such as the need to say goodbye when leaving. Then, there’s the typical erotic intensity of this character, with his compulsive search for sexual intimacy, which often fades away because it is frequently fleeting, marked by this personality's emotionally detached attitude.

The film contains a tense scene where Jep confronts a friend, Stefania: a mature communist writer who insists that she, unlike the rest of their circle of friends, is committed to causes greater than her pleasure. Stefania boasts of her civic vocation and argues that a socially committed writer is more valuable than a novelist who focuses solely on evoking emotions. Dying for a cause, apparently, is the greatest honor an artist can achieve. Jep, of course, disagrees, and he swiftly dismantles her lies in a blunt and raw manner. The dialogue is worth reproducing:

Stefania: I see you're no longer arguing, finally.

Jep: I was drinking. Because we love you, we don't want to embarrass you. In short, all this boasting, all this serious display, all this ego... all the "I... I... I... I," these disparaging judgments, sharp as vinegar, conceal your fragility, a feeling of discomfort, and above all, a certain set of falsehoods. We love you and we know you. Of course, we also know your falsehoods, but precisely because of this difference, we end up saying nonsense, gossiping, precisely because we have no intention of measuring ourselves against our pettiness.

Stefania: But what falsehoods? Everything I've said is true, and how I am, and what I believe!

Jep: Please, let me be a gentleman, don’t destroy the only certainty I have!

Stefania: No, no, now you’ll tell me what my lies are, my weaknesses! I’m a woman with guts, speak, tell me!

Jep: A woman with guts would be too much for any gentleman. Alright, Stefania, you’ve asked for it! No particular order: Your civic vocation from your university days is not remembered by anyone. Many, on the other hand, personally remember another vocation of yours that was expressed in the university bathrooms. You wrote the official history of the party because you were the lover of the party leader. And your novels were from a small publishing house funded by the party, reviewed by small newspapers close to the party. They’re irrelevant novels. Everyone says that. I’m not saying my novel was better. I agree with you on that. Your relationship with Eusebio—what relationship? Eusebio is Giordano’s lover, everyone knows that. They have lunch every day at Arnaldo’s house, at the Pantheon, under the coat rack, like two lovers under the oak tree. Everyone knows and pretends not to know. The education of the children you direct with sacrifice, minute by minute. You work all week, leave on Mondays when even the drug dealers are absent.

Stefania: You have the long vacations you allow yourself, without your children. And, on top of that, you have a butler, a waiter, a cook, a chauffeur who takes the children to school, and three nannies. Where and when does your sacrifice manifest itself? I’m referring to your falsehoods and weaknesses.

Jep: Stefania, mother and woman, you're 53 years old and have a life as devastated as everyone else's. So, instead of acting with superiority and treating us with disdain, looking at us with animosity, you should look at us with affection. We're all on the edge of despair, with no other choice but to face each other, keep each other company, and maybe even laugh a little. Or not? It’s a brutal moment, but I speak the truth. Not out of love, but out of a peculiar kind of genius resentment, though filled with the aggressive passion of a vehement

character. It seems to me that, for you, Stefania, the problem isn't making mistakes. The only unforgivable sin is not learning wisdom from your own shallowness, from your own mistakes.

Later that evening, Jep is dancing with Stefania.

Jep (to Stefania): I think it’s a shame we’ve never slept together.

Stefania (laughing lightly): Really? You think so?

Her tolerant amusement and good humor show either that she has forgiven Jep for the earlier defamation, or that nothing in this trivial existence is important enough to leave a permanent mark.

Jep then visits a nightclub once owned by a seventy-year-old friend of his, a loquacious, vigorous, white-haired heroin addict. The man has a beautiful, older daughter named Ramona, a sophisticated stripper who needs money for her medical treatments.

Jep (talking to Ramona): This party is glamorous and dreadful at the same time. Full of greed, snobbery, and brilliance.

Jep takes Ramona to an art party, which strikes a balance between glamour and grotesque excess.

Jep (to Ramona at a dinner in a fashionable Roman restaurant): Having so many friends doesn’t guarantee happiness.

Ramona: It must be wonderful to know so many people.

Jep: It’s actually a guarantee of unhappiness. Cicero said that someone with many friends has none.

Jep doesn’t accuse people of disappointing him; instead, he admits that he’s the one who has disappointed others. But soon, Ramona dies suddenly from her illness. Jep seems condemned to lose everything he loves.

In his search for inner peace, Jep walks through convents and observes the religious rituals of nuns and their young pupils dressed in white tunics. This search intensifies when he

meets Cardinal Bellucci, who is next in line for the papal throne but is unable to answer Jep’s questions about faith and the depth of the soul.

Jep (to the Cardinal): "Why do you care so much about your recipe for Ligurian rabbit when the soul’s depth is at stake?"

The Cardinal represents the very social spectacle Jep rejects, and his concern is only with superficial matters. Jep’s views on religious experience completely change when he meets Sister Maria, a saintly figure who, much like Mother Teresa, has renounced all material wealth for her devotion to faith and goodness.

Sister Maria (to Jep): Roots are important. They connect us to our origins, our memories, our identity, and our experiences.

Sister Maria’s extreme devotion leads Jep to visit Giglio Island, where he once experienced his first love. He recalls meeting Elisa, his inspiration for writing, and realizes that she may have left him because she sensed his search for beauty went beyond what she could offer.

At the end of the movie, Jep finally speaks about his own experience.

Jep: Beyond what lies ahead... I don’t concern myself with it. So… let this novel begin. After all, it's just a trick.

Jep’s reflection leads to the realization that life and its beauty—nature, art, love—may lack meaning. The life he’s lived has been "a trick" all along, and the answers he’s been searching for are hidden under the "blah, blah, blah" of everyday life. Unlike Nasrudin, who looks for his lost key where there's light, Jep searches for his key where he lost it: in the dark well of his own consciousness.