“You just have to go,” our dinner companion proclaims.
“Um… so… what is it?” I ask even though I’m already convinced.
“Just go to Fuerza Bruta. Ps. You get soaked.”
Fuerza Bruta. Otherwise, known as Brute Force. Now what the f*&$ kind of crazy ass, rapey-sounding concept is that? Alas, we had nothing to go off of except for the above conversation with said new friend… which was over copious glasses of wine at a closed door restaurant. But once you throw around Fuerza Bruta out loud, Argentinians are quick to devilishly smile and push you toward a ticket venue. We were granted access to the show (oh, it’s a show?) the following night. It sure seems to help that it airs Wednesday through Sunday, with special DJ bonus shows Friday and Saturday nights. And it’s only $20… unheard of in pricey Argentina.
I soon learned that Fuerza Bruta is a Buenos Aires staple, a home-grown product straight out of 2005. It even has its own permanent structure in the Recoleta area of the city, a stone’s throw from the creepiest cemetery on Earth. Fuerza Bruta has since branched out to other international cities. Up until last year, it was a permanent fixture in New York City’s off-broadway scene, and ducks in and out of Tokyo on a regular basis. I stared at a few pictures online trying not to ruin the surprise for myself, but it seemed clear. This show would be like Stomp meets Cirque du Soleil meets hippie art installation. On acid. Me gusta.
We arrived to an EDM soundtrack and a crowd of mostly adults trying to get drunk in a hurry. The warnings were read. $10 drinks procured. And soon the cattle were prodded into a dark auditorium flashing with purple lights. No chairs. No elevated levels (I soon found out that I hate being a midget once again). But it’s a good thing my experience on crowded Tokyo trains and at those Ultra concerts had prepared me for pushy, pushy people. Now get your f*&$in GoPro off me, astounded Asian tourist.
The show was… odd. And perplexing. And utterly beautiful. I have no intention of spoiling it so watch the trailer below. But let’s just say there’s a freakin’ pool above your head at one point. With half naked girls sliding around in it, pressed against the plastic for rather apparent viewing pleasure. Visually, the pool dance was spectacularly unique, showcasing an angle that would otherwise lead to drowning. But all I saw was braless boobs. Contrary to the States, it’s perfectly okay to show nipples to an audience that includes young children. No one seemed to mind though…
Their star feature— besides young nipples— is definitely the audience participation. I watched two women get kidnapped up into the ceiling, Spiderman style. I had cardboard broken over my head. Just because. And we all touched a lot of each other thanks to the constant stream of movement encouraged by the performers. Not for those with claustrophobia. Or maybe boyfriends… ahem.
I neglected to leave my backpack at the coat check on purpose. Our new friend had warned us that we would get soaked, so like a good girl scout, I was prepared with a rain cover. Excitingly prepared. Seventy-five minutes into the 80 minute show I was still dry. And sorely disappointed. So it’s a good thing I bitched to myself cause that’s when it literally started pouring in the room. Like full on monsoon. And then we were invited to dance in it. So we did. I like this city.
If you are in Buenos Aires, this is where you buy your tickets. For a bit more history and tips about the show, read up on this blog by My Beautiful Air. For a few WTF moments from the show, check out this fun compilation of videos.