Cuba. Or ‘Coo-ba’, if you’re saying it right. Marissa Chibas’ one-woman show is all about Coo-ba. But it’s also about ‘recuerdos’ (memories). This production is a story, told with the utmost energy and vigour, all about what it is like to be the daughter of a Cuban revolutionary (if you hadn’t figured that out yet).You can see straight away that this is Chibas’ story. With a transfixing gaze, the play opens as she tells of how she is drowning, how her life is flashing before her eyes. ‘Me acuerdo!’ she cries, remembering her father, or her mother, or how she first visited her motherland of Cuba. We are told all about parties she attended, her first dance lesson, her father’s death, her mother’s manner. These are precious memories, and they are told with a passion that never falters, remarkable as this is a show that has been running on-and-off for over five years.Chibas is a natural actor and she has a remarkable ability to take on the physicality and voices of many people from these memories, instantly becoming a parent, or a distant relative, or a complete stranger. She has conversations with herself, and conversations with people who aren’t there. You’d be forgiven for forgetting that this is a one-woman show, forgetting that there aren’t a whole list of actors filling the fairly bare stage with her.There are moments when the pace lulls, but they are only temporary. I found myself, for the first time this Fringe, not even checking my watch. This daughter of a Cuban tells the story of the revolution - as it rose and as it fell. She is easy to follow. She is historically accurate. What were most memorable for me, however, were the moments of joy. Rather than building a happy wall to be subverted and broken down, Chibas leaves these recollections happy. A party when she had her first dance lesson was just that, it isn’t poignant or sad. It is what it is.And that, quite simply, is what Chibas’ performance is. It is what it is and what it is is captivating and utterly transfixing. A job - no, a vocation - well done.
