Every year Bitef Teatar showcases the best of Serbia’s diverse independent scene. Mirela Gračanac explores this year’s programme and three shows that critique the systems within which live.
The Month of the Independent Scene, which takes place every year at the Bitef Theater in Belgrade, showcases the work created outside the frame of the country’s theatre institutions, work free from the creative restrictions that can entail. The programme is diverse in genre, includes everything from student productions to work by some of the most prominent figures in the Serbian theatre industry, and frequently deal with current societal issues. This variety is encapsulated in three plays I saw, which ranged from a student production of The Caucasian Chalk Circle to a adaption of Svetlana Aleksejevič’s Chernobyl Prayer directed by Jasna Đuričić. Despite their different approaches, each performance in its own way explored the social systems within which we live.
The Caucasian Chalk Circle
The first of these, The Caucasian Chalk Circle (Kavkaski krug kredom) is a student performance, created via a process of improvisation and directed by Marija Milenković, that brings together the dominant themes of Bertolt Brecht’s work. Central to this play is the theme of motherhood, which becomes the basis for wider questions of humanity and togetherness, as well as resistance to the ruling system. Crucially, the production asks the question of how is it possible to remain human in a world gripped by war and on the verge of collapse.
Milenković also designed the scenography, which consists of scaffolding-like structures made of wooden boards and metal poles. The aesthetic is relatively minimalist and the actors are mainly costumed in black.
In a typically Brechtian manner, the narrator opens the play with a speech introducing us to the time period and the place where the action takes place – the war between Georgia and Persia – and the main characters of the play. The main narrative begins at Easter with the rich governor Georgi Agashvili contemptuously looking at the poor begging in front of the church. From the very beginning, it is clear to us that this story will be a conflict between the rich and the poor, the weak and the powerful, in the shadow of the war that was itself caused by the decisions of those in power.
The power that the Agashvili and his ilk possess is evoked in several ways: they insult their servants, they deny the possibility that war is coming leaving people unprepared for the coming conflict. The peak of this violence is conveyed in a scene where the governor’s wife attaches the servants to reins, scolding them, shouting at them and beating them, saving herself along with the governor and leaving everything behind. However, the power they possess completely blinds them, which manifests in their nonchalance at the news of the beginning of the war, as well as the their need to return several times for their valuables – though they forgot their own son, leaving him behind. The way that Milenković directs this draws out the comedy of the scene.
As everyone runs to save themselves, they realize that the heir has been left in the cradle – however none of the servants want to take him. Even though the opposing army is looking for boy in order to kill him, the maid Gruša eventually decides to take him – and to take all the maternal responsibilities upon herself. In each segment of the play a different actress takes on the role of Gruša, emphasising the universality of the role of the mother. Faced with hunger and a harsh climate, in search of a roof over their head, they wander through the mountains and meet many people on the way begging them for help. These scenes serve to illustrate the way that war makes beasts of people.
The play ends with a trial scene that shows up the cruelty of the system, but also the possibility of goodness winning out, all of which is solidly conveyed by Milenković’s production. She has opened up the play in interesting ways. Though, as a whole, this piece has moments of predictability – the ending, although positive, seems like a kind of deus ex machina – some parts encapsulate the important questions that each of us must ask ourselves.
Nina Perge in 4.48 Psychosis
4.48 Psychosis
Nemanja Mijović’s production of Sarah Kane’s last play 4.48 Psychosis caused a large part of the audience to leave the theatre in tears. Mijović seated the audience on the stage, making them part of the play. In Kane’s text, written during a period of mental distress and premiering after her death by suicide, a young girl is staying in a mental hospital trying to fight her demons and understand her purpose in this world. in Mijović’s production, the protagonist (Nina Perge) becomes close to the doctor who is treating her, but as the treatment progresses, he also moves away from her, losing hope in her healing.
One of the most striking elements of the production, which has stayed in my mind since I saw it, the sound that played non-stop in the background. It is like the aural equivalent of a flashing neon light; at times it feels like this sound is merging with the mind of the protagonist.
The stage is surrounded by a plastic curtain, a setting which is doubly effective. The use of the curtain and the hospital bed creates an institutional atmosphere. In this way the audience participates in the mental drama that the main character is going through, while remaining passive observers. The way in which the play is presented really serves to develop the audience’s empathy with the mental illness of the main character. While the doctor reads the patient a long list of the medications that he believes are her only chance for life, the audience stands around the bed on which Perge lies in pain and it palpable to us that her suffering cannot be treated with medication only. The audience realizes that there is nothing they can do for her.
Perge is required to go through a wide range of emotions in the role and she does an incredible job. It is a performance of intensity, but also stillness. There are moments when she sits frozen in the corner of the stage, her gaze fixed on one point, speaking in a flat tone, with her facial expression completely empty. Later, she throws herself around the stage in a graphic representation of her soul, crying and laughing at the same time. It’s the kind of performance that doesn’t allow the audience to relax even for a moment.
While Mijović’s production lasts only fifty minutes, its impact lasts a lot longer.
Chernobyl Prayer
Chernobyl Prayer
Jasna Đuričić’s Chernobyl Prayer (Černobiljska molitva) opens with a loud explosion that sends shivers through the audience. The stage is covered with ash. As the play progresses, the audience almost begins to feel the weight of that ash in their lungs. This play is an adaptation of Svetlana Aleksejevič’s “novel of voices” about the nuclear disaster. The action does not take place directly on stage but is communicated to us by the characters in the form of confessions. All of them in one way or another experienced the consequences of the nuclear disaster that took place on 26th April, 1986, in a small town in Ukraine.
Their shared suffering is seen in the scenes between the dialogue where Đuričić’s well-marshalled cast sing sentimental songs together that remind them of the time before the accident, but their bent bodies and gloomy facial expressions tell us that there is no going back. The people sharing their stories of the disaster in Chernobyl are from different backgrounds. There are the children who realize on the way to school that this would not be an ordinary day, the physicists who tried with difficulty to point out the inadequacies of the system, the wives whose husbands were mobilized by the army, and who did not return with their health intact, and even those who, as representatives of the state, coordinated events, but still could not – or perhaps did not want to – take action.
Throughout the play you can hear droplets of water falling from the uniforms being washed by women whose hands are blistered because the water they used to wash the uniforms was polluted. That image and that sound haunt Đuričić’s production. This one powerful image highlights the fact that the irresponsibility of those in positions of power can have terrible consequences at every level of society.
Đuričić’s production is particularly resonant in Serbia, a country where so many livelihoods depend on agriculture, a country whose inhabitants and environment suffer as a result of the irresponsible decisions of the government. Our rivers are polluted, as is our air and soil. It is a “silent killer,” slowly destroying everything that is valuable in this country. We also have a mental health crisis. It is estimated that 770 people died by suicide in 2022 and the situation is getting worse. In this, and so many ways, Serbia is a country that needs changes. Which brings us back to Brecht and the question posed by The Caucasian Chalk Circle. Can we change this world of ours?
Further reading: Ecocide is Everywhere in Serbia, but Eco-Theatre Remains on the Fringes
Mirela is a student of comparative literature at the University of Belgrade. Since 2020, she has been writing literary criticism for the Bookvica.net. She is a lover of books, theatre and rainy fall days.
