Sugar

(Teatro de los Insurgentes, 26 October 2019)

In her "Walking Together" paper, Margaret Gilbert examines collective intentionality. What does it mean for two individuals to take a walk together, rather than to happen to be walking side by side? Without getting lost in epistemology, the behavioural definition must be that, while focusing on the execution of his or her own part, each individual is also conscious of the collective's overall goal, and adjusts his or her behaviour to correct for others' failings to work towards that goal.

In "Collective Intentions and Actions," John Searle gives an example that illustrates collective intentionality well. Adam Smith's "invisible hand" argument maintains that (under appropriate conditions) Alice's selfish behaviour advances efficiency. So does Bob's. Yet Alice and Bob do not collectively pursue efficiency as they pursue self interest. Indeed, should Bob fail to maximise his profit, Alice need not rush to mitigate the inefficiency of his error. Alice's behaviour is more primitive than that, which need not be morally wrong but may be boring to watch, at least onstage. Certain complexity is gratifying to the eye and the mind, which is one of the reasons cities fascinate and soothe so.

In Sugar, the cast do not just perform, they play, driven by a collective intention that makes the whole greater than the sum of its components. The collective goal is, perhaps, the most noble one of them all: to entertain and, in the process, to be entertained. (While the musical is meticulously directed and choreographed, one cannot shake off the feeling that the cast jam.) By contrast to Broadway and West End productions, which seek to minimise risk by maximising the resemblance of theatre actors to the stars in the movie on which the production is based, Sugar projects confidence by simply casting the actors who are suited well for the part.

Each member of the cast is indispensable and insuperable in their ability to inhabit the character. Clearly enjoying herself and (rightly) secure in her skills, Cassandra Sanchez Navarro betrays a smile, twice, in a nod to the power of the production. Ariel Miramontes underscores that the way to live one's life is to make the most of---to inhabit to the fullest---the character(s) one has been dealt to play. (Why choose?) Arath de la Torre's first teaches and then learns this lesson, too. And then there is the rest of the cast, and the many members of the company (including in the orchestra pit) who make appearance in the programme but do not make it onstage.

The piece is refreshingly apolitical. (Once sufficiently remote in time, traces of politics morph into history, which bifurcates into a story and a tool for national indoctrination, of which only one is a poison.) It sets the priorities right by beaming humanism.