Posted on Mon, Jul. 21, 2008

Laila Ripoll's El día más feliz de nuestra vida (The Happiest Day of Our Lives) examines the lives of triplet sisters at two meaningful points for the siblings and their country. Part of the ongoing tribute to Spain at the XXIII International Hispanic Theatre Festival, the play was presented in Spanish by the Alquibla Teatro of Murcia.

In a small town deep within the heart of Spain, two sisters who have long stayed single await both the day of their wedding and the arrival of their triplet sister Conchi, a rebel who left to live in Madrid.

It is the early 1980s, and one of the brides, Marijose, confesses her doubts. Should she really marry someone much older than herself, a man twice widowed whom she doesn't love? Her sister Amelia, reasonable and pragmatic, tries to erase such thoughts from Marijose's mind.

''Do you think I'm burning with passion?'' she asks. ``That doesn't happen except in songs!''

The arrival of the black sheep Conchi only adds more fuel to the fire. The triplets, given three thousand pesetas and a triple stroller as a gift from Gen. Francisco Franco when they were born, are sensible but think quite differently. Amelia and Conchi, especially, are polar opposites: Conchi lives the life of Madrid intensely, enjoying the liberties and excesses of the new democracy; Amelia defends moral ideas and behavior instilled in her as a child.

The first half of Ripoll's play offers caustic, spark-filled conversations that define the women's characters. Still, nothing very exceptional happens. But then the really good part arrives.

At the moment that Marijose is wrestling with accepting a marriage of convenience or changing the course of her life, time shifts. The plot returns to the early 1960s, and the sisters reappear on the eve of their first communion. They are 8 years old, and the three have been transformed into girls who share the same bed and the same fears of what will happen to them if they disobey what they learned in catechism class.

Prayers are uttered in one breath, then come comic discussions about what is and isn't a sin. Conchi and Amelia play inquisitors out to save the soul of the ''sinner.'' This look backward becomes an incendiary satire against repressive education, one filled with taboos that prospered during the Franco regime and whose scars are still felt. The text displays a profound understanding of the world of childhood, of ghosts and games.

Lola Martínez, Susi Espín and Esperanza Clares (Amelia, Marijose and Conchi, respectively) miraculously transform themselves into believable children, girls both innocent and monstrous, thanks to exquisite use of their voices and body language. What could have been played as caricature becomes a search for the essential, so it touches the hearts of audiences.

El día más feliz is a farce and a bitter comedy, but it isn't weighted down with messages or unadorned feminist theory. Ripoll, director Antonio Saura and three exceptionally talented comedic actresses make the audience laugh until it cries. And at the same time, they reflect on a generation that had to grow up thinking that everything was a sin.