El Orgullo de quererte
Madrid romance in three acts

(Teatros del Canal, Madrid, September 19 2025)

reviewed by Enrique Mejías García

Going to see a ‘contemporary zarzuela’ always makes me a little nervous. Recent experience, especially at Teatro de la Zarzuela, has been marred by the results of ministerial commissions, closer to institutional experimentalism than to the popular spirit that historically defined this theatrical pattern. That is why – I admit it – I arrived warily to witness El Orgullo de quererte (‘The Pride of Loving You’) at the Teatros del Canal. But I was in for a huge surprise: Javier Carmena’s music breathes a spontaneity and love for the best traditions that distances it from any sense of academic artifice.

In their programme notes the composer and his librettist Felipe Nieto declare that they shared the desire – in now-distant 2010 – to ‘create a large-scale zarzuela that respected the structures and spirit of the traditional genre’. Such a vague formulation actually tells us very little about shape or size: Jugar con fuego is a zarzuela, just like El bateo, La corte de Faraón, El caserío, Benamor and Los sobrinos del capitán Grant. Happily, the results on stage go far beyond predictable pastiche, and what comes across from El Orgullo de quererte is deep knowledge – and even better, sincere love – for the zarzuelas of that epigonal stage starring Torroba, Sorozábal, Serrano, Guerrero and Alonso. This aesthetic affiliation is precisely what gives Carmena’s score its truth and freshness.

In the course of its three acts, tiny hidden quotes can be heard – melodic turns, rhythmic motifs in the accompaniments – that function as challenges thrown at the knowledgeable listener. Are they conscious winks? Or are they natural solutions from a composer steeped in the style? Those of us who enjoy such works as Golondrina de Madrid, Me llaman la presumida, El canastillo de fresas, María Manuela and Don Manolito are put on our mettle, made accomplices of a composer who – fortunately – does not deal in banal intellectualisms.

So El Orgullo de quererte links up with the tradition of romantic ‘comedia lírica’ inaugurated by Doña Francisquita. As in that pattern, we find memorable supporting characters, vibrant choruses, an air of elegance, and a lyricism reserved for the leading lights. There’s no explicit political debate here. Some critics have regretted this, but it was unnecessary: El Orgullo de quererte does not aspire to be a new Gran Vía, but rather a new Luisa Fernanda. From this perspective its nostalgic and sentimental denouement makes absolute sense, crowning the work with the tristesse of amorous elegy.

Having said which, it is never a good idea to sink into a sort of lukewarm prissiness. Zarzuela has always been able to call a spade a spade, and it’s only fair to highlight a serious point of criticism for the libretto: the character of Alonso is presented as suffering from ‘the disease’, a euphemistic allusion to HIV. In 2025 this is unjustifiable, and only serves to perpetuates a stigma. HIV is not a ‘disease’ but a controllable virus that only leads to AIDS in some cases. Talking about it through evasions and silences does not contribute to the emotion, but does contribute to the taboo.

Another point: the libretto was devised for a semi-staged version in 2022, and as a consequence the role of P. J. (played by Enrique Viana) as narrator or master of ceremonies is clunky now, at times even redundant. A revision to integrate it more organically with the action would surely enrich the whole. Nor do the sung lyrics always have the desired brilliance: sometimes it is obvious that some lines have been retrofitted over existing tunes, with rather forced results.

The staging by Albert Boadella and Martina Cabanas makes play with the contrast between the festive and the nostalgic, locating the action in the Chueca neighbourhood and juggling with symbols of celebratory memory. The singers were sound, from the fresh, vocal expressiveness of the tenor Santiago Ballerini (Tadeo) to the lyricism of Berna Perles (La Petri). Less secure – perhaps because he only sang this one performance – was the baritone Enrique Sánchez-Ramos (Alonso), who in any case delivered on the acting front. The trio of ‘fag hags’ (María Rey-Joly, Mar Morán and Andrea Rey) were stupendous, their last-act foxtrot rightly receiving the night’s biggest ovation. The Orchestra and Chorus of the Community of Madrid were conducted by Alondra de la Parra – except for this performance, where I saw the baton wielded with passion and precision by the young José Luis López Antón.

The reception was tremendous, the auditorium filled to the rafters by a motley crowd, all apparently of one mind, laughing out loud at the comedy, moved by the songs, and applauding with real passion at the end of each number. This climate of intergenerational diversity points to perhaps the show’s greatest triumph: to demonstrate that this style of music theatre can continue to be a popular event in the best sense, capable of uniting varied audiences through shared emotions. And the fact remains that El Orgullo de quererte is not a ‘commissioned’ zarzuela designed to please a Ministry of Culture committee, but a real work written with sincerity, humour, tenderness and with a deep knowledge of its ancestry. Its creators were proved right in their declaration of intent – and the best praise of all is that I am looking forward to seeing it again, if it is revived in the future – or better yet, to attend more premieres from ‘Carmena y Nieto’.

© Enrique Mejías García, 2025

Cast: Tadeo – Santiago Ballerini; Alonso – Enrique Sánchez-Ramos; P. J. – Enrique Viana; La Petri – Berna Perles; Mari Cruz – María Rey-Joly; Mari Trini – Mar Morán; Mari Paz – Andrea Rey; Mariquitas – Gerardo López, Jesús Cantolla y Daniel González. Orquesta y Coro de la Comunidad de Madrid; Albert Boadella y Martina Cabanas (d.); Sara Cano (choreo.); Ricardo Sánchez Cuerda (des.); Bernat Jansà (light.); Gabriela Salaverri (cost.); José Luis López Antón (c.)

en español
2022 semi-staged production (songs only)
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23/IX/2025