THEATRE
PREVIEW
MARGA
GOMEZ “MEMORY TRICKS”
Published
in KPBS On Air Magazine August 1992
Marga Gomez
doesn't forget anything. In
"Memory Tricks," her autobiographical performance monologue, she
remembers every nuance, gesture and intonation from her past. Gomez is recreating her childhood and, in
infinite detail, recalling her mother, who started out as a flashy Puerto Rican
mambo and belly dancer, and wound up a victim of Alzheimer's disease.
The piece is
very funny and deeply touching. With
wide eyes and high energy, Gomez slips easily among colorful
characterizations: from a sleazeball at
a corner bodega to her seven year-old self, to her accented, femme fatale of a
mother.
She calls
herself a counterculture comedian, or a "performance ham," who's been
doing standup comedy for years. She
came by that naturally: her father was
a Cuban standup comic and songwriter who worked the Latino nightclubs. As a child growing up in 1960s
This is deeply
personal stuff for Gomez. And, like the
piece itself, she swings recklessly in conversation from hilarious one-liners
to piercing sarcasm to gut-wrenching observations on grief and illness.
Watching her
mother in decline, Gomez became "paranoid that I would start forgetting
stuff." When, late in 1990, she
was contacted by the UCSD Contemporary Black Arts Program to perform at its
national conference on "Cultural Diversity in the American Theatre,"
she found the perfect impetus to write the cathartic piece. Of course, when she was called, she told
them she had a show all ready to go; as an inveterate procrastinator, she
didn't put the piece together (with the help of director David Ford) until two
weeks before the performance date.
"Memory Tricks" ultimately played in
The work has
been very well received. Gomez has been
cited particularly for her depth and clarity of character development. She's never had any formal acting training,
but she was a member of the San Francisco Mime Troupe and Lilith, a feminist
Gomez feels it,
all right. There are times in the piece
when you sense that she has to fight back real tears. These are very intimate
moments and memories for her, especially in the second half, when the humor
turns to anguish, as she transforms herself into a mother who is losing speech
and coherence.
"It will
never be easy to do," Gomez confesses.
"But one of the nice things about it is it's like I'm channeling my
mother. It's a way for me to be with
her, to bring her back... Before she
got sick, our relationship really wasn't good.
I had a lot of anger and resentment.
I felt ripped off as a kid and as a teenager. I wanted more from her.
Then I'd get mad at her, lose my patience: 'Why do I have to deal with this? You hardly dealt with me.' But gradually, I came to understand that she
can't control herself now, and there's no recovery... Now, our only communication is I try to express the love that's
in my heart. It's hard to know what
she's thinking. I believe she
understands, just on another plane of reality."
Not long ago,
Gomez went to see her mother in a convalescent home in
In her younger,
more flamboyant days, Gomez' mother (AKA "Margo the Exotic") used to
get annoyed with her daughter about the appropriateness of her behavior,
especially her lack of femininity. She
was strict in her belief that every female should walk, talk and act like a
lady. Gomez, a lesbian feminist,
"never could fit that image."
But she's come around, to a degree.
"I'm very much into androgyny," she admits. "But right
now, I'm enjoying a feminine stage. I
actually own three dresses, though I'm still not very comfortable in
heels. My mother could not walk in
flats; her feet could only accommodate high heels." Gomez prefers Doc Martin boots, but she's
open to compromise. She's still sorting
out her feelings, coming to terms with her mother, the illness, her grief. "Memory Tricks" is a small,
subjective piece, but it resonates strongly with parents and children and
anyone who's dealt closely with terminal illness.
"It's
about the mother-daughter bond," she says. "And it's about loss, and finding somebody when you lose
them... I always wanted to have a
clearing with my mother, to say just what I felt about my childhood. But I was always too cowardly to do it. Now it's too late. I had to forgive her on my own.
And it's worked."
©1992 Patté
Productions Inc.