Darauf haben alle gewartet: Das FORUM JUNGER THEATERKRITIKER hat sich entschieden. In einem komplexen Punktesystem und geheimer Abstimmung wurden von insgesamt 12 kritischen Köpfen aus 24 eingeladenen Biennale-Produktionen die Favoriten auserkoren. Der eindeutige Gewinner des leider gar nicht dotierten, aber höchst prestigeträchtigen Kritikerpreises kommt aus Albanien. Deutschland, als Gastgeber fix im Rennen, ging auch diesmal wieder leer aus. (more…)
Archive for June, 2010
A fateful nursery rhyme: The protagonists in “The Ugly Human-ling” are eternal outsiders in society and their own homes.
Pfui! Ugly! Elif Ürse, Yelda Baskın and Gülce Uğurlu. Photo: Martin Kaufhold.
The outlines of bodies are painted on the back wall, as if marked off with chalk by the police after an accident. In the collective production by the Turkish off-theatre group oyun deposu, the outlines symbolize the profiles that three rather lively Turkish women – who are not the way other people think they should be – yearn to fit into. They are all young and beautiful girls who wish that these were the only reasons people notice them. In the beginning, they attempt to cram themselves into the outlines of their desired formats, gasping as they bend and stretch to fit. They are ultimately forced to give up trying.
Each of them has her own, fragmented story to tell. Though their narrative lines never cross, they do hold parallels. A few situations arise on stage that each of the women has to deal with. They have one thing in common: Each of them is an irritation, a nuisance to Turkish society caught between tradition and modern life. And they are all victims of discrimination. Woman A (Elif Ürse) conceals her hair with a headscarf as a way of carrying on her mother’s tradition. Memorizing prayers, that was child’s play for her. Then, all at once, wearing a headscarf at school was forbidden: Muslima or atheist, she doesn’t know what to believe anymore.
Woman B (Yelda Baskın) is equally divided. “Who am I, what am I?” she asks. Her father is Turkish, her mother has a Kurdish background. No one can tell this when they look at her siblings, but she stands out like a dirty stain on her family’s clean record. Her skin is too dark, her eyes pitch black. (more…)
Finnish director Kristian Smeds has succeeded in staging an impressive production about the painter Vilho Lampi. It is surprising and provoking – and lasts nearly four hours.
Finnish artist Vilho Lampi in "God Is Beauty". Photo: Martin Kaufhold
Splinters of wood fly through the air as the painter Vilho Lampi is seized by inspiration and thrashes an ax into a piece of timber. Sweat drips relentlessly, and it seems as though this man is drawn to his artworks with urgency, as though he has been kissed by desperation instead of a muse. Kristian Smeds’ “God Is Beauty” is based on the story of Vilho Lampi’s life, as recorded by the Finnish author Paavo Rintala in 1959. However, this is not a biography, but rather “a book about beauty,” Smeds quotes the author’s words shortly before the performance begins. True to this motto, the protagonist’s excruciating search for the divine and beauty pervades throughout Smeds’ staging of the artist’s biography, which begins in Vilho Lampi’s youth.
Painting for cows
This is depicted on stage through scenes of the young Lampi whipping a rope above his head, frantically dancing to klezmer music, speaking to imaginary people in matchboxes and attempting to reinvent art with his paintings. The role of the painter is divided among Kristian Smeds’ fantastic ensemble (Katja Kukkola, Tarja Heinula, Timo Tuominen, Taisto Reimaluoto, Tuomas Rinta-Panttila); Lampi is played by three men and two women. (more…)
In “Liebe Isländer” der Mindgroup geht es um Rechnungen und zwanghafte Gespräche über Banalitäten.
Die "Lieben Isländer" mit unbeglichenen Rechnungen. Foto: Martin Kaufhold
Einen Mojito kann man auf ganz unterschiedliche Arten zubereiten. Fehlt die Limette, kann man auch einen Mandarinenschnitz oder gar Schnittlauch nehmen. Der Isländer weiß, wie man improvisiert, denn seit dem Finanzgau ist Europas größte Insel nicht nur geografisch, sondern erst recht wirtschaftlich abgeschottet.
Der Staat ist bankrott. Allen Betroffenen schneien nur noch Rechnungen ins Haus. Ab jetzt muss jeder das Leben nehmen, wie es kommt. Das gilt auch für die sieben isländischen Staatsbürger, die in “Liebe Isländer” ganz abenteuerlich ausgebeulte Sportklamotten mit Lederjacken oder schickem Fummel kombinieren (Kostüme: Stefania Adolfsdóttir). Und dann sind sie auch noch in einem Käfig eingepfercht und reden über allerlei Belangloses.
Im Hintergrund laufen auf mehreren Bildschirmen synchron Bilder aus der Welt des Fernsehens und Internets. Das sind Fenster der Popkultur, durch die unzusammenhängende Sequenzen, wie Animationsfilme, Reality-Shows oder Werbungen für BHs zum Aufpumpen, zu den isolierten Isländern durchdringen. (more…)
Das FORUM DRAMATURGIE mit Prof. Dr. Kati Röttger aus Amsterdam erörterte die Rolle, die heute ein Dramaturg hat. Viele Antworten auf eine Frage…
He used his office in the ministry of culture as a writing studio: Albanian author Stefan Çapaliku speaks about his work as a playwright.
One who can explain "exterophily": Albanian playwright Stefan Çapaliku. Foto: Pesl
It was a matter of survival. You can’t make a living from being an author in Albania. Everyone in our artistic community is aware of the necessity of taking on a job in public service to make ends meet. To be honest, I mostly used my office for writing. The government did not inhibit my work. Otherwise I would have quit immediately.
Are actors able to make a living from their work?
Not freelance actors. They often go abroad and end up working in ordinary professions. They can never seem to get by as actors because there is so much competition, despite the fact that we have a good drama school. The national theatre and a few city theatres are the only ones with permanent ensembles, but I feel like they are detrimental to Albanian theatre as a whole. It doesn’t make sense for people to be paid to be on call. Young performers have no access to this self-contained system. I would rather see the market opened, the system reformed. If theatres and ensembles were separated, it would create a whole new reality. I frequently advocate this in articles and interviews.
What advantages do Albanian artists have?
Albania has been in a state of transition since the 1990s. So much is happening all at once. For an artist, such as an author, this can be very interesting. Anything is possible. Those who observe reality discover enough material for a great many dramas. Since 1992, I have spent a lot of time in western countries and have noticed that societal life is not as intense as it is in Albania. In our country, we constantly encounter strange situations, exactly the kinds of things that feed authors’ imaginations. (more…)
Visiting Mark Ravenhill at the Forum of Young European Playwrights
Some writers' legs... while writing. Foto: Valerie Kattenfeld
In and around the art club Nassauischer Kunstverein. Mark Ravenhill has instructed the emerging authors gathered here to pair off and spread out across the entire premises. Some sit on the hardwood floors of the building’s vast halls, some smoke on the balcony and some take a little walk. Heiđar Sumarliđason from Iceland, an athletic guy in shorts and with a full blond beard and a cup of coffee in his hand, tells the Vienna resident Dominic Oley of a traumatic theatre experience:
Heiđar: So it was two days before the premiere of my play, “Pieces,” and the director decided to cut fifteen minutes of it. There was nothing I could do. She said: “Just trust me.” But the performance was horrible. My words were there, but they no longer fit to what was happening. It was like I was trying to say something completely different than what I’d intended when I wrote it.
Dominic: And that’s why you stage your own plays now…
Heiđar: I have been focusing on directing recently, yes. I actually haven’t written anything in three years, but I’ve directed English and Polish plays. I’m even planning a college musical. I’d like to try my hand at all theatrical areas.
Dominic: How do you make it work financially?
Heiđar: It’s not easy. But after investing four years of my time and money in an artistic education, I wouldn’t want to work at any old day job.
Łukasz Witt-Michałowski inszeniert im Wiesbadener Malersaal “Der letzte Vater seiner Art“. Inspiriert ist Artur Pałygas Stück von Kafkas “Brief an den Vater”.
Ein Sohn und seine Väter. Fotos: Lena Obst
Es sind die Erinnerungen eines Sohnes an seinen allmächtigen Vater, der ihm den Mund verbietet, ihn demütigt und zum Schlafen auf den Balkon schickt; an einen grausamen Vater, der das Kleinkind füttert und dabei Horror-Hasen-Geschichten erzählt; an einen angstbringenden Vater, der selbst ausgemergelt im Totenbett noch die Aura eines unumstrittenen Familienoberhaupts ausstrahlt. In Artur Pałygas „Der letzte Vater seiner Art“ wird das Bild eines Vaters rekonstruiert, das scheinbar nicht wirklich sympathisch war, im Stück aber dennoch als besseres Vaterbild verhandelt wird.
Franjo wächst in ärmlichen Verhältnissen in einer kleinen Garnisonstadt im Grenzgebiet Polens auf. Drill, Hierarchie und Exzesse des Militärs werden vom Vater im Privatbereich fortgesetzt. Im Wiesbadener Malersaal ist diese karge Welt von der freien Lubliner Gruppe Scena InVitro ungewöhnlich phantasievoll in Szene gesetzt (Regie und Ausstattung: Łukasz Witt-Michałowski). Vier an Kirchenbänke erinnernde Zuschauerpodeste werden zwischen den einzelnen Episoden auf Rollen immer wieder auseinandergeschoben und neu platziert. Begleitet von Trompeten- und Trommelmusik entstehen so Formationen, die ständig neue Perspektiven auf das Bühnengeschehen ermöglichen.
Das Zentrum ist eine Lichtprojektion auf einer Seite des Werkstattraumes, die mal Schimmelfleck in der Wohnung der Familie, mal Kirchenkreuz ist. (more…)
Eine kleine Theatertierkunde.
Plustert sich gerne auf: Der Intendant. Hat zuletzt Henry IV inszeniert. Im Hintergrund der Oberspielleiter, inszeniert gerade Henry VI.
Das alte Ehepaar. Halten sich die Augen zu, weil sich gerade auf der Bühne wieder soviele nackte Männer mit Kartoffelbrei beschmieren.
Papier: Zum Mitschreiben im Dunkeln. Immer nötig. Auch wenn man das, was man fast blind irgendwo hingekritzelt hat, später ohnehin nicht mehr lesen kann.
Für Solidarisierung der Kritiker untereinander unablässig.
Eindeutigstes Erkennungsmerkmal.
Stift: Die Waffe des Kritikers. Immer im Zehnerpack dabei, damit eine Entwaffnung ausgeschlossen ist.
Büroklammer: Zur Gewährleistung der kritisch hochgezogenen Augenbraue. (more…)
RSS Feed
Facebook