A raw and riveting rallying cry that turns the audience into activists.
In today’s world, fear is everywhere—amplified by headlines soaked in violence, misinformation spread by those in power, and the furious noise of intolerant voices scapegoating the vulnerable. It’s easy to feel overwhelmed, even paralysed, by the relentless waves of chaos and blame. We’re fed fear to keep us compliant, distracted, and silent. But some voices cut through the noise—voices that remind us of our collective power. Uproar is one of those voices: bold, defiant, and moving. It invites us to stomp our feet, shake our sonajas, raise our fists, and remember that real change has always come from below. Solo el pueblo salva al pueblo—only the people can save the people.
Uproar is an interdisciplinary performance born from the political crisis in Peru during 2022–2023, following the deaths of civilians during protests against the government of President Dina Boluarte and the Peruvian Congress. The piece raises awareness of the ongoing crisis and invites audiences to “sound together in a collective call for social justice,” fostering empathy and solidarity in facing global injustices. Created by the Rieckhof-Silva Collective—Peruvian artists Carolina Rieckhof (costume and prop designer) and Moyra Silva (director, performer, and movement thinker)—Uproar is a quiet, layered riot. It doesn’t just make you want to fight; it makes you want to learn, connect, and stand up for the stories we’re not being told.
The show explores its themes through a rich blend of movement, sound, and projection, creating a space that feels both contemplative and electric. Silva, performing almost entirely solo, commands the stage with nuance and power. She moves effortlessly between tragedy and absurdity, carrying moments of levity without ever diminishing the gravity of the subject. Her physicality is expansive and intimate—a journey that reveals the impact of systemic violence from the collective to the deeply personal.
From a grotesque parody of Boluarte—portrayed with a stripper-like, money-wasting flair and a giant demonic piñata head (to the audience’s glee, filled with sweets)—to the haunting resurrection of fallen protestors as neon condors, Silva leaves no stone unturned. Her body becomes a vessel for grief, satire, rage, and resistance.
Rieckhof’s costumes and props create a visual language steeped in symbolism and cultural memory. They don’t merely dress the show—they are the show. Costumes become percussion instruments. Audience members join in, shaking their pallares—strips of black cloth with Lima beans—alongside Silva’s movements. At one point, she pulls fabric masks bearing the faces of victims from a black cloth on the ground, wrapping them over her own face as recordings of grieving families fill the space. Textiles shimmer, shift, transform into landscapes—every object feels charged with meaning. Rieckhof’s designs are not only visually striking; they are essential to the piece’s soul.
Audience participation is one of Uproar’s most powerful tools, turning passive spectators into active participants. Whether shaking pallares, raiding Dina’s piñata head, singing with Silva, or dancing onstage in a final act of joy and protest, the audience is not just watching—they are with the artists. These moments go beyond empathy, sparking political solidarity. We weren’t merely witnessing injustice—we were implicated, activated. And as the piece unfolded, reflection stretched far beyond Peru to the wider world—and our place within it.
Uproar is a potent reminder of our agency and our responsibility to protest injustice. Urgent, layered, and unforgettable, it’s a piece that will stay with its audiences long after the final note fades.