From Argentina, the same folks who created the long-running show De La Guarda have brought Fuerza Bruta, meaning brute force, an hour-long sensory delight. If you're over forty, you may need your cranial collar because you have to stand up the whole time, craning your neck to see the action. A white-suited man on a treadmill begins the show, walking faster, faster, running against the foggy wind like a shoulder-harnessed angel, zipping past others who fall out of view. He runs against white boxes that he smashes into and that smash into you. They burst like piñatas, leaving trails of confetti to trip on on the dark, damp floor. Gunshots ring out, theatrical blood spurts, your kishkas are in your throat. Even if you follow the directions of the stagehands, you still could get toppled by the stage that rolls out at you. But if you can let yourself relax and trust that you'll survive, you'll feel, at moments, as if you're in a primal dream.
A tinfoil curtain was lowered and women, harnessed to do aerial stunts, chased each other along the perimeter of the room near the ceiling. The best was when a shallow pool of clear Mylar descended from above and women performers splashed around in it like mermaids. As the Mylar pool lowered, the women got frisky with the taller guys. Some guys copped Mylar feels, but the women played along, grinning.
There were reviews that said that this show was for club-goers or people who wished they weren't too old to be in clubs. Me, I didn't worry about anything like that. I boogied with a couple of members of the cast, a guy first, then a young woman. And when I told the young woman that I was a grandmother of four, she threw her wet arms around me. You're only too old to go to Fuerza Bruta if you think you are.
All ages welome!
Fuerza Bruta
Daryl Roth Theater
101 East 15th St.