I had the profound experience of watching Mariposa, a dance theatre production choreographed by Carlos Pons Guerra and presented by DeNada Dance. The performance was a gripping, emotionally resonant, and visually stunning reinterpretation of Puccini’s Madame Butterfly, reimagined in a way that resonated with me.

What stood out most about Mariposa was its audacious portrayal of queer love within the realm of contemporary dance a sphere that remains Eurocentric and heteronormative in its narratives and representation. Carlos Pons Guerra’s adaptation of Madame Butterfly, a work often criticized for its orientalist portrayal of Japanese culture, is both an act of reclamation and reinvention. Rather than merely retelling the original narrative, Mariposa situates the story in a new context: 1970s-1980s Cuba, exploring the intricate intersections of Spanish colonialism, Westernization, racial identity, and queerness. It was moving to witness such diversity on stage, particularly the representation of a black queer trans woman. This is a rarity in the world of dance, making it an especially powerful and impactful statement. As a mixed-race black woman, it deeply resonated with me on a personal level, as it is uncommon to see someone who reflects my own identity represented on stage.

The cultural milieu of Cuba, coupled with Caribbean influences was captivating. The costumes and set designs, richly infused with the aesthetics of Havana, created an immersive, evocative atmosphere. The backdrop, adorned with a subtle butterfly motif, evoked notions of fragility and resilience, mirroring the characters’ journey and the fluctuating dynamics of identity and love portrayed on stage. One of the most compelling visual moments was the portrayal of Mariposa enveloped in red fabric. This striking image conveys both vulnerability and metamorphosis. This visual evokes the essence of a caterpillar undergoing metamorphosis, encapsulating the character’s emotional struggle. The vibrant red fabric stood in stark contrast against the low lighting on stage, embodying themes of sacrifice and rebirth that were woven throughout the narrative.

Equally compelling was the visual of the dancers adorned in elaborate hats and dark glasses, the positioning that was striking to me was how one of the dancers had their foot assertively placed on the chest of Mariposa who was lying beneath. This tableau vividly illustrated the power dynamics at play, reflecting the underlying themes of Spanish colonialism and Western oppression. The juxtaposition of her elegance with his vulnerable posture encapsulated the complex interplay between the lingering effects of Spanish colonial power and the influence of American intervention.

Carlos Pons Guerra’s choreography excelled in its narrative clarity. Mariposa swept the audience through a whirlwind of emotions, from anguish to hope. The lighting and mise-en-scène were crucial to this emotional journey, creating moments of profound intimacy and vivid theatricality. Mariposa skillfully fuses Cuban and Caribbean music and culture with echoes of Puccini’s original musical motifs, which enhanced the storytelling, bridging past and present to create something entirely novel.

Mariposa is an evocative, powerful work of dance theatre that not only breathes new life into a classic narrative but also challenges the conventional stories often presented on stage. Its nuanced exploration of colonialism, queerness, and the sacrifices made for love felt deeply pertinent. DeNada Dance Theatre has crafted an experience that transcends mere performance; it is an assertion of marginalized voices, a reclamation of space, and a bold statement of artistic identity. For those with an interest in dance, opera, or the power of a well-told queer narrative, Mariposa is a performance not to be missed.

Mariposa is a beautifully choreographed and poignant story exploring queer sexuality and oppression through two characters in incomparably different situations, who find an unexpected safety within each other to explore their identities on their own terms. Though an adaptation of Puccini’s opera Madame Butterfly, Mariposa is thoroughly rooted in its setting of 1970s-80s Cuba and draws on the culture and history of that place in the music, dancing, and incorporation of the religion of Santería into the piece, inspired by choreographer Carlos Pons Guerra’s own experiences in his home of the Canary Islands, and the years he worked in the Caribbean. The piece was performed by only five spectacular dancers, who brought such life and personality to their characters while impeccably embodying every movement.

Before the show had even begun, two dancers loitered on the stage, lit as if by starlight from behind the beach-printed strip curtain that comprised the entire set of the piece. Quickly it was made poignantly clear that the titular Mariposa was unable to leave the stage through this curtain with the same freedom and agency that every other character held, his continual presence onstage informing the audience of how he was trapped both physically in Cuba, and emotionally in the objectification of his career as a sex worker,  disrespected and used. One agonising scene showed Mariposa moving through various compromising positions with tourists to the abrasive music of gunshots, giving the immensely sympathetic audience a sense of the violence and pain of such constant and careless degradation for Mariposa, made even more emotional by the story’s basis in reality.

The first meeting of Mariposa and Preston, a western sailor, was charged with an intensely predatory energy, as the dancers warily circled each other, and each risked approach was fractiously rejected on both sides. Yet they seemed almost magnetically drawn together, as the slow-paced reluctancy in their initial movements gradually developed, in later interactions, to a harmonious and intimately vulnerable unity. Both the simultaneous movements and the regular shifting of physical levels created a sense of complete equality and trust between the two men, rather than one taking power over the other, in defiance of the many barriers and prejudices around them. The animalism of their dance persisted as the two crawled towards each other, cat-like, Preston arching his back intermittently as a clear communicator of his fear to explore this facet of his identity; the choreography openly exploring queer sexuality as multi-faceted and individual through the two men’s varying relationships with their own sexualities and bodies.

A key image of the show was that of the pointe shoe as symbolic of an idealised performance of femininity. The shoe first appeared worn by Holly Saw, dancing behind the curtain and appearing to the crowd as a shadow so inhumanly graceful and ethereal that my eyes, much like Preston’s, were riveted to her. However, when taking in the rest of the stage, the entire audience was heartbroken by the desperation of Mariposa, suddenly ignored by all, trying futilely to recreate her dance and retain the attention of the only person in the show to treat him with any amount of humanity and care.

From the rebirth that begun the second act, Mariposa was trapped in pointe shoes that he stumbled in, imprisoned by the painfully rigid binary of masculine and feminine that refused him space to explore and learn his own identity and preferred expression of gender. The skill of the dancer, Miles Kearly, in these scenes of tripping and wobbling was unbelievable – so many times I nearly gasped aloud for fear that he was genuinely injured, and the realism of this made the tragedy of Mariposa so much more profound. He was treated throughout this act as broken and subhuman, as though he had fallen through the bounds of personhood by daring to reject convention. Yet, despite the constant ostracisation and abandonment that the experienced, the performance ended beautifully (if tearfully) with Mariposa passing to the Santerían afterlife and finally being allowed the freedom and support to embrace all aspects of his subversive and unique identity, dancing en pointe with all the graceful elegance of a butterfly.

True to its animal namesake, Puccini’s Madame Butterfly has taken on many forms. Its tragic themes have resonated in the Vietnam war, Weezer’s second studio album and more recently, in Mariposa: Carlos Pons Guerra’s queer reimagining. Set in Post-Revolution Cuba, this dance-drama recently came to Lakeside Arts and is an evocative transformation of Puccini’s work. Here’s why.

In the backstreets of Havana, the eponymous Mariposa, a Cuban sex worker, falls in love with a Western sailor named Preston. The ensuing tragedy speaks volumes about gender, Havana during the AIDS epidemic, and the flotsam population washed up on its shore.

In Mariposa, there is a porous connection between the audience and performers. As we take our seats, the dancers wander the stage. When the house lights go down, we experience a similar transformation to Mariposa. In the interval, it is the audience who exit the auditorium rather than the dancers, leaving Mariposa (or ‘Butterfly’ in Spanish) cocooned in a ritual shell of metamorphosis.

In Judith Butler’s words, ‘gender is performative.’ Thus, dance, performance, would be the purest and most effective space to explore it. Onstage, the dancers construct and deconstruct gender – in one poignant scene, Mariposa attempts to imitate the technically perfect dancing of Preston’s wife, on pointe. Yet, as they conform, the convulsions of Mariposa’s body highlights how they’re trying to fit into boxes that can’t hold them.

As I left the theatre, I kept returning to the image of these pointe shoes. I love how Guerra uses an epitome of Western femininity to symbolise trans identity. Ballet is such a stereotypically gendered art, making it a refreshing and subversive medium to tell queer narratives. Watching different characters tenderly help Mariposa en pointe gave me shivers and highlighted how, now more than ever, we need to help trans people to dance on their own.

Yet within the queer narrative, Mariposa’s themes of love, betrayal and hope are universal. As someone who hadn’t engaged with dance before, I was initially apprehensive. But Mariposa passionately demonstrates that dance is the purest way to tell a story. Even if the narrative arc is sometimes challenging, the poetic meaning always shines through.

Before the show, I had the opportunity to speak with its choreographer, Carlos Pons Guerra, who highlighted the importance of stage design. The minimal set was ingeniously used, notably a plastic screen like the PVC curtain of butcher’s shops, which trapped Mariposa on stage, akin to contemporary Cuban restrictions of movement. The screen was painted with a butterfly which could have also been a palm tree, a splatter of sick, a blood stain. All elements of the story.

The most rewarding part of Mariposa is the ending. Inspired by Cuban religious ritual and magic, Mariposa finally reaches the space beyond the curtain where Preston’s wife, amongst others, previously danced. I appreciated Guerra challenging queer pain narratives and the frustrations of Puccini’s original opera; it’s hard not to feel joy at this spiritual enlightenment.

At its heart, Guerra’s performance is about transformation. Metamorphosis. The continual rebirth of queer identity. To the sounds of seagulls, foghorns and even EDM drumbeats, threaded with opera of its origin, the rise and fall of Mariposa is not something to be missed.

Approaching Mariposa I was uncertain of what to expect, as it presented a form of expression and performance that I am unfamiliar with – the art of dance. However, it did not take long for me to be completely immersed in the story, the beauty of dance in performance and the implied emotion behind the dancer’s movements.

Act 1 saw our main character, Mariposa, meet and experience true love for the first time, within the confines of the brothel where they work. A poignant moment that stuck with me was when Mariposa’s lover was distracted by a feminine figure, whose movements exaggerated by the use of lighting to cast her shadow upon the stage’s backdrop. Whilst she was illuminated in a soft, attractive glow, Mariposa heartbreakingly mimicked the actions by dancing disjointedly in the dark. His movements became short and sharp, his body language communicating a sense of desperation through the varying tempo. I found it impossible not to sympathise with Mariposa’s isolation, the loss of a loved one resonating as a universal experience which was now laid bare on stage.

Following this, a striking parallel to earlier sequences was created, as Mariposa remained still, staring off into the distance, as others manipulated his body and recreated moments we had already seen. This juxtaposing dynamic, of Mariposa occupying the same space as before, but this time remaining removed from the ensemble movement, is what clearly highlighted the narrative development. I could see the effects of heartbreak on the character, and was moved by the sentiment conjured by movement, or in this case the lack of it.

Act 2 began with Mariposa emerging like a butterfly from a blanket cocoon, with subtle changes to his appearance demonstrating an embodiment of more typically feminine characteristics, including red lipstick and most significantly pointe shoes. Mariposa’s lover plays a key role in Mariposa finally mastering these shoes, in that we see the physical support offered. The resulting closeness of their bodies onstage reaffirms their connection established in Act 1 – their isolation onstage also acting to eliminate any possible distractions from their love story. Moreover, the pointe shoes emphasise how we are encouraged to see gender as a societal construct, something that can be transformed, with Mariposa demonstrating how love can be a catalyst for transformation. By the end of the piece, Mariposa’s dancing has become the epitome of grace, until it is abruptly brought to a literal stand still as he is abandoned yet again. We are left aggrieved as our newly transformed butterfly is devastated by a loss of love, and in awe of how dance has beautifully portrayed the complexities of human emotion.

On Tuesday I had the pleasure of going to see Mariposa at Lakeside Arts. Choreographed by Carlos Pons Guerra, the dance show is a queer retelling of Puccini’s opera Madame Butterfly that draws attention to the sacrifices queer people have to make in a world that is not always that welcoming to them. It was a beautiful showcase of love, sacrifice, art, and passion, and the story was incredibly moving. The adaptation gave a new life to the original opera, where Carlos said himself that as a queer man, he has resonated with the tragic heroes of many impossible love stories, and wanted to give space to this on stage, exploring an avenue of the story in such a way that it converses with the problematics of other adaptations that present heterosexual and colonial ideals. Instead, Carlos focused on showcasing the beauty of queer existence, whilst also drawing light on the fact that it can be coupled with tragedy in a world that is slowly becoming more accepting.

I must confess that this is the first time that I have watched an entire dance narrative, and I was slightly worried that the storytelling would become lost to me, as someone who hasn’t danced since she was around 9 years old, but I had absolutely nothing to be worried about. The story was alive in the movements of the dancers on stage, and their bodies became the words, which created a piece so imaginative and intimate that it made for a very captivating watch. I loved something that Carlos said to us when we met him before the show, about how no dance can be truly abstract, because we all come to the theatre to watch a show with our own lived experiences, and we unconsciously apply this to the text on stage, and I found that in this case, where the dance creates the meaning, it means that we get to connect to the story personally and more emotionally than if the story had been spelled out for us with dialogue, because it allows us – in a way – to watch ourselves and our experiences spelled out on stage through the movement.

I found the entire dance absolutely gorgeous – a real spectacle of talent, passion, and desire that is hard to communicate in such a short review, but part that stands out to me the most having pondered over it for the last couple of days would be the tension and confusion that was established between Mariposa, the protagonist, his lover Preston, and his lover Kate. All three dancers on stage during the second act were so clearly drawn together and forced apart in equal measure, which could be seen in the choreography, each individual movement, and the acting and emotion on their faces. The complex push and pull that each character felt for one another was so clearly communicated, in such a way that I felt for all three characters individually, which I think would have been hard if dialogue had been used to tell the same story, as words – when in conflict – can become clunky, and it can be easy to establish a villain. Instead, the raw emotion from each character as they interacted across the space of the stage was conveyed in each kinaesthetic interaction between them. The dance, along with the hauntingly beautiful music, allowed each character the full space of the stage to simply feel, and the characters didn’t have to hold back their emotions; each response was valid in its own right, and I really enjoyed how cathartic and raw this was.

Thank you, Carlos, and the rest of DeNada Dance Company for such an emotional and beautiful piece of theatre. I cannot wait to see what you do next.

The Mariposa was a captivating and compelling performance that told its story beautifully through the art of dance. All performers were able to tell the story effortlessly and emotionally, allowing the audience to connect and feel the piece in whatever way they interpreted it.

One moment that struck me as an audience member was when the two men were sleeping together, and a warm white light lit the strip curtains to reveal a female dancer moving in a smooth, elegant manner. One of the men awoke and emphasized his lure to the woman, interpretively moving towards her and crawling. Meanwhile, the other man, watching this, chose to attempt to imitate the woman, only his movements were sharper and more desperate. This moment on its own could speak to many people, as the feeling inhabiting the scene of not being enough for them or not being the conventional choice for them cuts deep. It not only tells the gripping story of the Mariposa but equally allows the audience to feel seen within the performance. The audience can relate to the Mariposa in a way that is so important and crucial. Representation of queer people is still, in a modern world, scarce. To see queerness represented in such a careful and meticulous manner is, for young people, truly inspiring.

From another perspective, the movements and dance throughout the performance as a standalone were able to equally evoke thoughts and insight for an audience. One aspect noted would be the sequence at the beginning of the performance after the interval. This is where the Mariposa releases himself from a cocoon configuration and begins to attempt to walk and move with new limitations that are preventing his ease of movement. This, to me, was striking as it had clear reference to the adapted play of The Metamorphosis, which was able to evoke more of an emotional response. This being able to capture the struggle from a literal and metaphorical sense of being trapped in something so unfamiliar that you must work from the ground up and take time to solve the problems at hand.

Can a story be told solely through physicality, without dialogue? This question lingered in my mind as I headed into Mariposa at Lakeside Arts on Tuesday, 26 November. An adaptation of Puccini’s Madame Buttery, choreographed by Carlos Pons Guerra, the performance promised a queer love story set during the Cuban blockade – told entirely through dance.

My question was quickly answered – by making every element of the show beautifully expressive. Carlos’ vision was so clear and skilfully achieved through the use of so many carefully crafted elements. This was not only the dance and movement which was incredibly evocative and impressive, but also the use of costumes, set, lighting and above all, music. Carlos said to us before the show that many people think that dancers dance to music, but in reality they very much dance with music, and this really came through in their performance to this original score.

Another element of the production that I thought was absolutely fascinating was the use of set, namely the curtain that represented the Cuban blockade, with everyone being able to leave except the main character – the ‘Madame Buttery’ who longs for freedom but is trapped.

The representation of queer love stories through dance was another element that was so thoughtfully explored. The eponymous ‘Madame Buttery’ was played by a queer male actor, and he spoke after the show about how not only the actors, but the cast themselves, were very queer and how that was important to authentically tell queer stories onstage. Mariposa also explored gender in an interesting way, for example as one of the characters was a trans woman, and the actor spoke after the show about how she felt she could fully express her trans identity on the stage.

Something which I thought was particularly interesting was the way that Mariposa physicalised the idea of a performance of gender by having the titular male character rise on pointe shoes that are typically reserved for female characters and experiment with different costumes as the show continued, wearing a skirt and other garments that are traditionally considered feminine.

Overall, I completely stopped thinking about the lack of dialogue and got caught up in the story that was being conveyed to me so beautifully, and every one of my senses were immersed in this world, the characters and the story. I would thoroughly recommend this show as I came away with so much to think about – the themes of identity that were explored, how so many elements of a performance can be used so creatively, and how dance is an art form that can captivate an audience through its uniquely profound impact.