In
2005 a fascinating documentary about the life and work of Carmen Amaya
was released, but went nearly unnoticed amidst the flood of tributes,
re-releases and other products that came out to commemorate the 40th anniversary
of the legendary dancer’s passing.
This week, when it’s again the anniversary of that terrible loss,
it’s an opportune moment to take a look at “Granizo Sobre
los Cristales” by director David Prats, based on the memories of
Diego Amaya, Carmen Amaya’s nephew, who traveled for years with
the company as just another member of the numerous entourage. A narrator
says that Diego is the only living witness to the events, but in actual
fact, there are still many survivors, and at least one other documentary,
by director Jocelyn Ajami, with complementary information, also exists.
“Granizo Sobre los Cristales” is full of historical material,
photos, film sequences and several interviews, among others, with veteran
dancer Antonia Santiago “La Chana”, another Catalonian woman,
with a style that resembles Amaya’s, who points out that before
Carmen, women just didn’t dance like that. As happens with unique
artists in any given art form, we see these images and it’s easy
to think Carmen Amaya did little that hasn’t been done by other
dancers. But it was she who established this particular aesthetic, a different
style for women in an age when feminism hadn’t yet been invented.
She wasn’t the first female to dance flamenco in trousers, but certainly
the best-known.
With the raw voice of Carmen providing background music, there are images
of Barcelona at the turn of the century, and of the Somorrostro, the marginal
neighborhood where she spent her childhood at a time when flamenco was
a way of life there, just as it was in Triana, Santiago in Jerez and Santa
María in Cádiz. The documentary is edited in such a way
that it situates the historical ambience of Barcelona and its cafés
cantantes when flamenco was about to begin its relentless voyage towards
world fame.
The pure tension of her presence, and that
penetrating gaze between fierce, seductive and possessed.
The film is rich in biographical data about the dancer, from her early
days in the company of José Cepero, the Trío Amaya with
her aunt and cousin, the trip to Paris with Raquel Meller, Madrid, North
and South America… Generous musical excerpts from Carmen’s movies
are included, and a newspaper headline from Buenos Aires reflects a subtle
racism that would not be acceptable today: “Overcoming their ancestral
fear of the sea, Carmen Amaya’s gypsy family arrived in Buenos Aires”.
There is a magnificent segment with an amazingly young Sabicas, and other
famous faces appear as well. But the big star, the personality that dominates
everything, is always Carmen. The strength of her diminutive form, the
splendid dancer’s placement without ever having taken a class, the
abrupt head movemments, the impossible barrel turns, the pure tension
of her presence and that penetrating gaze between fierce, seductive and
possessed.
She seems to have been the dancer who popularized the carefully prepared
hair-do that progressively falls apart as the intensity of the dance increases,
and we have to admire her instinctive choreographic sense that makes everything
flamenco – even an orchestrated jota shines with her irresistible
internal light.
The jacket encrusted with gold and precious stones that was given her
by the White House, and the famous anecdote about how Carmen’s mother
cooked up a stew and even roasted sardines in a suite at New York’s
Waldorf Astoria hotel are legends confirmed by the nephew who saw it all,
and we hear the voice of Antonio Mairena expressing the profound admiration
he felt for the dancer: “The greatest genius of dance, an exemplary
gypsy woman, mystery, essence, nobility…if I fell in love with that
personality, I was even more enthralled with her inimitable art that we
will never again see”.
