I wanted to take some time to let my thoughts marinate a bit before this write-up (which, really, is going to be more quick thoughts than full on commentaries since I saw…a lot this year). Generally, I feel like I “did” Avignon better this year, both in terms of scheduling + accommodation (the difference between actually staying in Avignon vs across the river is palpable) as well as in just how much theatre I was able to see. Other than the first evening I was there, I saw 3 shows/day, for a final tally of 10, though I honestly could have squeezed in one or two more in there (goal for next year).
In terms of overall assessment, what I saw fell more in the “fine” to “rather good” end of the spectrum. No outright disasters (thankfully – though, I will be the first to admit I do like to see a big swing and a miss sometimes), but with the exception of two propositions (technically 3 since one of the two is part of a diptych), nothing really blew me away, aesthetically speaking.
With that, let’s get to it.
Hécube, pas Hécube, dir. Tiago Rodrigues
Full disclosure (though it shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone who knows me), Tiago Rodrigues is one of my favorite playwrights / directors working now. That being said, this piece – an adaptation of Euripides’ Hecuba, and Rodrigues’ first collaboration with the Comédie Française – is not one of my favorites of his. Similar to The Way She Dies (based onAnna Karenina, in collaboration with TG-Stan), here Rodrigues takes Euripides’ text as a base from which to craft not a true adaptation but rather a transversal reading that extrapolates the themes of the piece into an extra-theatrical context. In this case (and because Rodrigues loves a “layered” text), the piece opens on a troupe wrapping up a table read for an upcoming production of Hecuba. However, as several members of the troupe make it clear via direct addresses to the audience (much like a classical chorus…) the rehearsals, and consequently the production as a whole, are teetering on the edge of derailing due to some personal issues involving the lead actress who is about to file a lawsuit against the care facility her autistic son lives in, accusing them of abuse and neglect.
I think one of my main gripes with this piece is that unlike The Way She Dies, there was not much subtlety here in terms of what Rodrigues is trying to do. Though overall the performances were very good, and there were some moments of intimacy (a sequence in which all the actors put on helmets to bop around to Otis Redding’s “Try A Little Tenderness” was quite beautiful, particularly as the music started getting more distorted, and the distortions also “infected” the actors’ movements) that balanced out the larger ensemble tableaus, the kind of “classical piece – contemporary resonance” commentary Rodrigues was trying to develop was, unfortunately, very obvious. Yes, there is somewhat of an evolution of Euripides’s text “bleeding” into the lead actress’s real life, but this evolution loses potential potency when it is made blatantly clear from the beginning that each character in Euripides’s original text has its contemporary equivalent. In contrast, while The Way She Dies does interact with Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina (indeed, the physical book plays a pivotal role in the piece), it considers not just the potential of the text beyond theatrical adaptability, but also the very question of interaction with a text, of the personal relationship of engagement/interpretation that is intimately developed between it and its various readers. And here I also missed some of that subtle flirtation with the various boundaries of the “real” that Rodrigues also played with not just in The Way She Dies, but also in Bovary, Sopro, and (probably my absolute favorite of his works) Catarina et la beauté de tuer les fascists.
Bref, I don’t like being hand-held and ‘so obvious if you miss it you’re blind’ signposting.
Anyway, this last bit maybe sounds like I hated it, but I really didn’t. It was fine. Not my favorite, but fine.
Though I will make one last gripe.
This piece was staged at the Carrière Boulbon (basically a former quarry), but rather than take full advantage of the available space, the staging remained largely concentrated down / center stage. In contrast, the sound and lighting design were much ‘bigger’, or at the very least seemed (in terms of volume and mixing for the former and contrast for the latter) to be more conscientious of the scope of the venue. The piece is coming to Epidaurus at the end of this month (though I won’t be seeing it), and I am really curious to find out how a piece whose staging suggests a more fixed indoor space does in one of the largest venues I at least have ever attended a performance at.
Les Feluettes de Michel Marc Bouchard
This was the first of the four “Off” shows I saw this year (aka a 400% increase from last year’s total of zero. Progress), and while I do have a preference for original work, this adaptation of Bouchard’s 1987 play seemed intriguing enough, so I figured, why not.
And maybe this is just my own research/academic background + biases talking here, but when I see a piece that 1: takes place in a prison; 2: centers on homosexuality; 3: engages directly with notions of theatricality, the first thing that comes to mind is Genet (the fact that this piece also directly involves a priest / the homoerotic nature of Catholic iconography just adds to the connection). And when I think of Genet, I think of a highly stylized, precise, ritualized, eroticized, in short kind of a bitch to pull off but when it works it works, theatre. It’s a kind of theatre that really leans into the ritual element of the form as well as its potential to blur established lines of social demarcations, particularly when it comes to distribution of power, and this is also what makes it so intriguing to watch – again, when it works.
Again, as with Hécube, this piece was overall fine, but in general, I feel as though it may have been played a bit too loose, that is, lacking the poetry and precision of the theatrical gesture that would have given it that…edge…it needed. And it’s a shame too because a piece whose central conceit involves the use of theatre as a means through which to extract a confession of a past wrong (aka, the Hamlet method) needs that level of precision that pushes against realism to move towards an overwhelming artifice and thus unleash a cathartic response that itself reveals a certain “truth”. What I saw here was a tad too safe in terms of performance choices, but as with Hécube, there were a couple actors (namely the actor playing the prisoner who played the victim’s mother who seemed to be one of the few to understand what kind of piece they were in) who kept the energy up enough to keep things moving well.
Los días afuera, dir. Lola Arias
This year, Spanish was the invited language at the festival, and this was the first of the three Spanish-language shows I saw this year as part of the “On”. While overall the show was nothing groundbreaking in terms of general staging, the overall political potential – particularly when it comes to the cast and the manner in which their stories are presented here – shot this show close to the top of my list of favorites.
The piece is a cross between a documentary theatre and music hall revue, with the cast being made up of former incarcerated individuals in one of Argentina’s women’s prisons (I say individuals in part because one of the performers is FtM trans, though they do specify their reasoning for not insisting on being incarcerated with those who share their gender identity). However, while the piece does acknowledge the realities of the prison system and – more globally – the challenges that come once one has to “re-integrate” back into society, it does not dwell on this longer than it needs to (in any case, as these are the dominant narratives when it comes to prison literature and art, to focus just on them would arguably have been a bit redundant and reductive). Instead, the piece allows each of the individuals to speak more of their lives outside, what they’re doing now, what they want to do in the future, their passions, etc. In short, it’s a piece that works to give back full subjectivity to its performers, and I think for the most part it works because Arias doesn’t use actors to tell these stories.
And I don’t think it should go unsaid that this group was able to get visas for everyone to leave the country to tour with this show because, if nothing else, it brings attention not just to the level of privilege required to simply get on a stage but also the number of stories and perspectives that are still shut out because of restrictions on movement and spatial access.
Anyway, the show is coming to Paris for the Festival d’Automne. I might end up seeing it again.
Qui som ? dir Camille Decourtye and Blaï Mateu Trias
You know that feeling when something is so engrossing visually/aesthetically and then just…throws that away in the third act?
This was that.
This was less a pure text-based theatre piece and more a mix of theatre, dance, circus and performance art, and up until the “surprise” at the end, I was living for it. The basic conceit of the piece is an examination of notions of community – moments of confluence but also of dissonance and the consistent, fluid navigation between the two – particularly in relation to questions of ecology. This latter element also extended to the stage design, the central set piece being a large curtain made of what looked to be strips of black trash bags. Towards the end of the piece this curtain, which was previously draped over…something…evoking some kind of craggy rock formation, was fully raised and began oscillating first gently, then more violently evoking a tidal wave. And while it was oscillating, some performers emerged, first climbing through the wave, then getting periodically “washed up” and “pulled back” as the wave became more violent. The sequence concluded with the wave almost vomiting a glut of used plastic bottles, the latter invading the stage to the point where the performers could not simply move but rather had to trudge across the stage afterwards. The visual commentary on the necessity for ecologically minded action, as well as the open discourse on the possibility of (re)imagining notions of community that closed the piece were striking (though, like with many eco-minded pieces, the central argument delocalized the center of responsibility from larger multinationals to the communities of everyday individuals).
And then the post-show happened.
I should note here that the piece was advertised as running 2.5 hours, so when the curtain call arrived after about 1h45, I was a tad suspicious. Had the show been cut since its premier?
No.
It turns out that the extended run time takes into account the post-show “spectacle”, during which the troupe, all of whom play instruments, comes out, and motions for the audience to follow them out in an almost carnivalesque parade. This ends in the courtyard of the venue, where the audience are greeted with a small bar and…
A gift shop.
Yeah, it was about this time that I remembered I had seen one of this group’s other performances at Bobigny a few years back, and it also ended similarly.
And I don’t want to begrudge a troupe who – like most artistic troupes and especially in this time of more insane budget cuts by the French government (because god forbid we raise taxes on the rich…the horror) – is likely only selling the “pay what you can”, screen print to order posters (and also pottery which…fine) to make a bit of extra cash to get by, but there is something about this final nudge to consume that left a bad taste in my mouth. And it’s a shame because, had it not been for this, the show likely would have made it into my top for this summer.
Alas.
Promesse, text: Anne Rehbinder, dir: Antoine Colnot
Get ready because this is going to be a short one.
The second of the “Off” shows I saw, this one was a theatre/dance piece that centered on the question of what it means to be a woman / feminist.
It was…fine. The discourse seemed a bit predictable and safe, but fine.
Moving on.
Mothers, A Song for Wartime, dir Marta Górnicka
This was the piece I saw at the Cour d’Honneur at the Palais des Papes this year and the first on my shortlist of favorites from this summer. The show ran just one hour, but it was one of the more intense hours I can remember spending at the theatre (honestly, I think the last time I felt this tied in from the beginning of a performance was when I saw Prometheusat Epidaurus a couple years ago).
The cast, as the title of the piece suggests, is comprised entirely of women – most either mothers or grandmothers, though there were a couple of 20-somethings and one young girl among them – the majority of which are refugees from Ukraine or Belarus, along with a couple of Polish women who had opened up their homes once Russia’s invasion of Ukraine broke out. These women form a collective choir (the entire piece is sung / chanted through with one notable exception), while in the audience Górnicka spiritedly conducts them.
And from the opener, it was as though a wall of sound was pushed out, engulfing the house, amplified by the acoustics in the space, grasping us unrelentingly and holding its grip until the end. The songs ranged from a mix of Ukrainian folk songs to pre-Christianization songs sung around/about war, but the central question at the heart of the piece concerned women, particularly the systemic use of violence against women during times of war. Periodically, while the women were singing, on the back and side walls of the Cour d’Honneur were projected various (and I’m guessing periodically updated) statistics regarding instances of rape/assault in the occupied territories, with lettering so big that, like the singing, it could not be ignored.
The piece is unapologetically political and, given the urgency and immediacy of the situation it is addressing, arguably rightly so. And it oscillates between depictions of collective versus individual trauma quite poignantly in the process, showing how these women (among others) are, unfortunately, connected, while still granting space for individual perspectives to avoid the risk of clichéd reductionism.
In what is arguably the piece’s most powerful sequence – the Mothers’ Monologues – the women all sit down on the stage and then one by one stand and tell their stories. None of these are particularly graphic in detail. Rather, it is in the unsaid that the personal tragedy / trauma is most effectively communicated. And it, like the precision in the choreography and the sheer vocal power of the collective chorus, leaves no room for mixed interpretation, even in – and arguably especially due to – its vulnerability. The voices that are often ignored or silenced in times of conflict are now the loudest in the room.
The show is also coming to Paris in the fall (at the Rond Point), but, as with Hécube, I do wonder what this change to an indoor venue do to its potential impact (really, I cannot overstate how pivotal the acoustics were here).
Les Meutes, dir. Éloïse Mercier
Another one for the “Off”, again about the state of womanhood, though this time concerning heterosexual relationships. Again, nothing too ground-breaking, but I will say that the stage design for this piece (particularly the lighting design) were quite well done.
Other than that, the basic conceit: sometimes, women can be “wild”, lone wolfs, etc. And men, while they can start off sympathizing with this – maybe even going to far as to being a co-conspirator in their wildness – will inevitably try to “tame” these women, to the ultimate destruction of the latter.
Moving on.
Wayqeycuna and Soliloquio, dir. Tiziano Cruz
I’m grouping these two pieces (which collectively make up the second item on my aforementioned favorites shortlist) together in part because they are actually two parts of what is normally a triptych, though the third piece (which I believe is the first in the sequence) was not programmed for this year’s festival. In short, both pieces address questions of art (and the market surrounding art), representation, (de)colonization, and reparations/social justice. Cruz, an indigenous artist from Northern Argentina, was originally trained in classical, Aristotelian theatre technique, yet, following the death of his sister (largely due to systemic state negligence of indigenous populations), he began to question both his estrangement from his roots, as well as the dominance of Western forms of artistic expression at the expense (and commodification) of those it deems “Other” or “Alternative”.
Ultimately, while I am not entirely sure Cruz makes a full break from Aristotelian codes in either of the two pieces (though he himself also acknowledges the difficulty in this endeavor), I did find his unapologetic stance and criticism against the ways art is produced and consumed now to be very refreshing – particularly in the degree in which his approach does not spare those of us in the house and more or less implores a certain introspection regarding our own manners of consuming art.
While Wayqecuna – a purely solo piece, the last in the series, but the first of the two I saw – was a more reconciliatory piece, exploring final stages of personal grief relative to a reconnection with identity and, finally, a possibility towards moving to new ways of thinking about art and one’s relationship with it, Sololiquio was more openly militant. The piece opened with a 45-minute pre-show “walk” / “manif” led by Cruz along with members of several local organizations, including those representing the Latin American community in the region, as well as a group advocating for and primarily composed of local traveler / Roma communities. In the accompanying manifesto to the program (and which was read aloud in both Spanish and French), Cruz details how part of his ethos involves actively choosing to work with marginalized groups / communities, bringing their attention to the center, as well as to the systems put in place to keep them on the margins. It is in approach that, much like Arias’s Los días afuera, directly engages with the question of who gets to represent themselves on stage and on whose terms, though Cruz arguably demands more from his audiences (and rightly so, I’d argue). Further, in both pieces, there is very little hand holding done (except when absolutely necessary) when it comes to Cruz’s integration of certain signs and symbols whose meanings “we” as the Western “center” are not necessarily privy to. These moments of deliberate alienation are, I would argue, when Cruz most clearly articulates his ethos. We cannot expect, after all, to move towards a true decolonization of art if the art we produce continues to use the semiotics of the colonizer, or at least attempts to fit indigenous signs and symbols into these pre-determined “neutral” molds.
In the end though, what better way to encompass why we need more theatre that pushes against established modes of representation and discourse than the following reactions from some patrons at both shows who apparently missed the point:
- Putting hands in prayer pose and bowing to Cruz while exiting the theatre (both shows end in about the same way, with music and with Cruz downstage bidding everyone farewell) because this has become a universal symbol for “spirituality”
- Commenting on how this reminds you of that one holiday you took in Peru once where you met an indigenous family during your tour and my wasn’t it wonderful that you were able to experience an “authentic” culture first-hand?
- (Upon leaving Soliloquio specifically) Confused at why the piece was so angry/pessimistic after the pre-show preamble and hoping the sequel piece will at least be a bit happier.
Anyway, you can’t expect art – even and especially political art – to impact everyone the same way, if at all.
Dear Jason, Dear Andrew, dir. Sébastien Barrier
The last show I saw both in the “Off” program as well as for the festival.
It was supposed to only run 1h15. It ended up running closer to 1h40, and this is not including the fact that it started fifteen minutes late.
But it was…actually quite fun. Particularly in how self-deprecating Barrier was to himself (it was a one-man show).
In brief, this piece, which is somewhat autobiographical and (one would hope) fictional (though the Facebook messages Barrier frequently referred to looked pretty authentic) chronicles Barrier’s discovery and love of the British post-punk band Sleaford Mods, and the somewhat obsessional parasocial relationship he developed with them. In a series of Facebook messages projected onto the screen dating back to (supposedly) 2017, Barrier attempts (rather awkwardly – though also hilariously) to build a connection with the band, claiming he would like their permission to use some of their music for an artistic project he was working on (oh look…meta).
The band, of course, does not respond.
Barrier gets increasingly desperate.
His obsession with Sleaford Mods also begins to invade his personal life in other ways, notably in his own group’s playing of their music during various not even remotely related to punk events in his town in Brittany. And yes, he has videos of those. Which he shows. It is secondhand embarrassment at times, but also it speaks to a vulnerability, a willingness to laugh at and question oneself, to recognize one’s own limits while at the same time engaging with the question of the meaning art can bring to our understanding of ourselves.
It really was a shame then that at one point, one of the managers of the theater had to come in and tell him to hurry up and get on with it because he was running over time (the show was supposed to end just after midnight…it was close to 1am). So, yeah, the ending was a bit rushed (pity), but overall, I am glad that this was the show I ended things on this year.So, there it is. The round up for Avignon 2024. Next year the goal is to do 4 shows/day (in roughly the same amount of time…or maybe stay one day longer).
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