A performance that begins as a dirty cabaret, turns into the room of a bullfighter who is far too gentle, and ends in a deserted arena of victory.

At five in the afternoon, a wondrous hour arrives—an hour that makes the heart tremble. Slivers of light still linger from the day that has passed, yet everything prepares itself for the approaching darkness. This is the hour of the possessed. From the folds of the curtains emerges a woman who has lost her beauty, ready to sacrifice everything for one more glimpse of glory. Beside her, a matador prepares for battle, where once again he will be required to do the hardest thing of all.

In the arena, in a struggle of passion, there will appear a woman and a man, beast and human, the dominant and the frail, the loved and the forgotten. Hybrid creatures bound by relations of lust and defeat will erase any trace of self-respect. The path to stardom is paved with applause, but sometimes the glittering matador is just a boy full of shame, and the despised woman is the ultimate star.

It was five in the afternoon. 

It was just five in the afternoon. 

Silent crowds on corners 

at five in the afternoon. 

When the snow-sweat appeared 

at five in the afternoon. 

When the arena was splashed with iodine 

at five in the afternoon. 

Death laid its eggs in the wound 

at five in the afternoon. 

(Federico García Lorca’s masterpiece “Lament for Ignacio Sánchez Mejías”)