The Brotherhood is Carolina Bianchi and Cara de Cavalo’s second piece in the Cadela Força trilogy.It is simultaneously nuanced, vulnerable, and strong. The piece about the patriarchy behind sexual violence can be experienced at HAU from 30 October to 1 November.
The page in front of me is blank. I don’t really know what I should write about. And yet I have a lot of notes and am overflowing with memorable moments, rousing monologues, and humorous choreography by The Brotherhood. The piece said everything and I am struck by the precision of what has been said. Sexual violence is addressed from the past and present perspective of the art scene. I feel at once in the midst of the action, as if at any moment my own story might be told, and also far removed as a voyeuristic observer.
The first part of the evening is filled with humor, the dialogue is exaggerated. The group of men, the dancers, appear almost like a caricature. When taken out of context, individual dialogues are almost funny – if not for the bitter reality that these and similar incidents happen often, repeatedly, somewhere even now at this moment in one form or another – in all sorts of forms.
Bianchi and de Cavalo expose the misogyny behind artistic genius and with it a collective illusion. In an almost radical tone, a director speaks with eloquence, but disparagingly. Ultimately, anything goes in art. Beforehand Carolina Bianchi masturbates to the interview of another great artist. You have to love the European classics and the men behind them. Seven dancers pose to Alphaville’s A Victory Of Love, seizing the entire stage with their (performative) masculinity. They come together through synchronicity, finding a mutual language, playfully boxing and doing what men do. The scene is almost like a pop music video, only the lead singer is missing. She’s also busy doing other things…
After the brilliant director commits suicide, the brotherhood mourns as one, robotically and in lockstep, arms outstretched and mouths agape. Then, merged into a still image reminiscent of old photos, they present their joint pact: support, friendship, and, above all, protection. Gentle movements break the stillness like a whisper, a rumor – who will the new master be? Thus begins the big presentation. First, a solo with elaborate patterns and quick leg movements. Applause from the group. Then, an acrobatically executed cartwheel. Cheers. Finally, a dramatic finger snap is enough to thrill the brothers. During the initiation ritual, multiple voices sing Let A Boy Cry in celebration of male vulnerability as a strength. The scene is beautiful, poignant. I teeter between understanding, pity, envy, and aversion.
During the last part of the piece, the men read excerpts of the 500-page research paper by Bianchi. They refer to Till Lindemann, Gisèle Pelicot, the Bukkake Gang, artistic stagings of violations. They read diary entries. There is a brief glimpse into their own ranks: “It might be hard to believe, but many of our brothers have committed rape.”
Violence takes many forms. Loud and quiet, direct and between the lines. So why are our screams only heard when… and sometimes not even then? Talking about sexual violence isn’t easy, let alone competently bringing it to the stage. The Brotherhood is captivating and nuanced and leaves me with new perspectives on masculinity. Bianchi passes judgment on the men on stage, but most of all on us, the society that supports and empowers those like them.
“Shame must change sides!”. Because even my tears are pure stone.
English translation by Melissa Maldonado
The Brotherhood, by Carolina Bianchi and Cara de Cavalo was shown from October 30 to November 1, 2025 at HAU.
