Mario Banushi: “The Balkans aren’t just one thing; they’re many things.”

Over the last few years Mario Banushi has made a name for himself on both the Greek and international scenes. Following the premiere of his new show, MAMI at Onassis Stegi in Athens, he talks to Nick Verginis about his creative process and the Balkan influences in his work.

Nick Verginis: How would you describe your new show MAMI?

Mario Banushi: MAMI is a performance, another creation of mine, another “experiment,” a personal artistic exploration. Maybe it’s also a continuation of my previous works. That’s why it might connect to the previous ones and ultimately form a tetralogy rather than just a trilogy. It’s my continuation—myself in another phase, evolving and moving forward.

NV: I imagine it’s both an honour and a pressure that so much attention has been paid to you and your work lately. Did you feel a sense of pressure from all that?

MB: I didn’t feel pressure, but I did realize that the attention shifted toward me and that people want to know what I’ll do next, what I’m preparing, who I’ll collaborate with, etc. I understand there’s curiosity. How you handle that curiosity is what matters. It could feel like a burden, but sometimes it can also be amusing. Honestly, it doesn’t weigh me down—the pressure is more artistic than about what people will say. It’s not like I’m part of the showbiz scene, being chased by the media.

NV: Where would you place your work in Greek theatre at the moment?

MB: Honestly, I’ve never really thought about that. I’d say “new.” Something new, something fresh. Maybe because I’m young—both in age and artistically—since I’ve only been doing this for a short time, with just three productions so far. So, I’d place it under ‘New Greek theater’. New Greek, new Balkan, new global—I’m not sure, but definitely new.

NV: It feels like there are a lot of Greek creators right now who have something meaningful to say, and their work deserves to travel abroad more. What does this new generation from Greece have to say?

MB: I don’t know exactly what it has to say, but it definitely wants to declare its presence and show that it, too, is part of the theater world. Greece, like all countries, can belong to global theatre, tour internationally, and attract interest from audiences. That’s what this moment in Athens and its new directors can signify.

NV: Regarding the Balkans, have you explored what’s happening there in your work? Do you feel like you’re part of it?

MB: Artistically, I don’t know many directors and artists from the Balkans, though I try to learn and explore. But I do understand that what I do belongs to this movement—it’s quite Balkan in nature because my references, my colours, my scents are very Balkan. This element is strong in my work, so I’m definitely connected to it, even if I’m not fully aware of what’s happening across the region. The Balkans aren’t just one thing; they’re many things. It’s like an entire world. Since I was born in another country—Albania—I understand what the Balkans mean in Greece, what they mean in Albania, and it’s interesting to see how each country perceives them differently.

NV: Have you returned there with your theater work?

MB: I’ve travelled in the Balkans [with Goodbye Lindita], to Serbia, but unfortunately not to Albania or other countries. The economic situation in the Balkans, especially regarding theater and culture, makes it difficult. It’s not easy to tour with productions that have budgets, sets, or large casts. So, I would love to bring my work to more places in the Balkans. That would be very interesting for me. To meet artists from there. I could collaborate with them, but mainly, I’d love to just meet people. That would interest me a lot.

NV: From your tours around the world, what have you observed about how people perceive the Balkans? How is it received in Central Europe or Australia?

MB: There’s a general perception of the Balkans—mainly the music and tradition. That seems to dominate the common understanding. Tradition: traditional music, traditional dances, costumes. And, of course, the association with poverty—poorer countries where families, jobs, and lives are different. For us, a house or a room like the one in Goodbye Lindita, with all its objects, its little window, its small door, feels familiar. But for Germans, for example, that wasn’t familiar. They related to different things. It’s not something they often see—unless it’s in films by famous directors, like Emir Kusturica.

NV: How do you decide on these details that bring out something from collective memory?

MB: The truth is, I don’t consciously choose everything that goes into my performances. I might have some specific references that I want to include, but most things come naturally. They emerge from the images and memories I carry, so it’s not always a calculated decision. I don’t deliberately say, “I’ll add traditional music, a clarinet, or something Balkan.” It happens on its own.

NV: Does the work develop collaboratively, in a way? Or do you bring elements first and then you decide all together?

MB: Most of it—90%—comes from me, especially when it comes to imagery. Even though there’s an element of improvisation in rehearsals, I don’t like to restrict actors; I let them breathe within the ideas I propose. But I will introduce those ideas gradually. [For example, if I want two actors to go under a veil, I won’t tell them directly. I’ll ask the set designer to bring me a 2×3 meter white veil. Then, I’ll tell the actors to play with it. Then I’ll add some lighting.] Gradually, I’ll guide them toward the final image I had envisioned, something I might have drawn or imagined before rehearsals even started.

This was interesting in Goodbye Lindita because, during the set model presentation—before we even started rehearsing—we “played” the entire performance using figurines. There’s even a video of it. People asked, “Oh, is the performance already finished?” And this was before rehearsals had even begun.

NV: Do you feel that just as you don’t impose a rigid concept on actors, the result remains open-ended for the audience? That people can interpret it in their own way, based on what resonates with them?

MB: I think the audience remains open, yes. After Goodbye Lindita and Taverna Miresia, people who came to MAMI had different reactions. Some might have been puzzled or said, “I understood it this way,” but they realized there’s no right or wrong interpretation. Whatever you take away is valid. It’s like looking at a painting—one person might feel something and be moved to tears, and I wouldn’t say, “No, this is supposed to make you laugh—laugh!”

NV: Seeing your work, I felt like I was seeing influences from painters, choreographers, dancers, filmmakers. Do you have any specific creators in mind who have inspired you?

MB: I don’t work much with references. It’s really interesting for me to hear which artists people think I’ve drawn references from. I’m genuinely curious. For example, with Goodbye Lindita and Taverna Miresia, I had never even heard of Dimitris Papaioannou. But with MAMI, people mentioned him. And I understand why they did, because of certain specific scenes and movements. Otherwise, my work has nothing to do with his—though I wish it did. But as soon as an audience in Greece sees a beautiful male body doing something slightly more dance-like—like walking backwards instead of forward—they immediately think of Papaioannou, because that’s what they know.

They wouldn’t imagine that, for me, the backward walking of a naked man was a direct reference to a Bosch painting, where a naked man is walking that way. Or to Sardanapalus walking like that. Or to how Satan is often depicted walking backwards. That’s why I find it so interesting—because what people see in my work might be completely different from what I had in mind.

For instance, people have mentioned Edward Hopper or Parajanov. They referenced Parajanov a lot in Goodbye Lindita and Taverna Miresia, and I had never seen any of his films. When I finally watched one, I was like, “Oh my God, now I get it.” I don’t have any Hopper books at home, but somehow, his imagery has made its way into my work.

I don’t really work with direct references. I try to focus on what I feel like painting in my mind. Of course, I’ve definitely been influenced by other artists—by paintings, by museums I visit. I think I’m more influenced by painters, photographers, and filmmakers than by theatre directors or plays. That’s what has shaped me the most, because I love visual theatre and the visual arts. Also, because of time constraints, I don’t go to the theatre very often. I don’t watch that many plays, but whenever I travel, visiting museums and photography or painting galleries is a must for me. So that has definitely influenced me more.

NV: So you expose yourself to art in general, rather than going specifically to look for ideas for your performances?

MB: Exactly. I’ve never done that—like, “I’m going to seek inspiration for my show.” During rehearsals, there are 450,000 ideas swirling around, and I have to manage them, eliminate almost all of them, and keep just 10. Then I have to mix those 10 together in a way that makes sense. Since—like everyone—my imagination runs wild, and I constantly picture images, moments, or atmospheres, my challenge is to tame them.

That’s why I don’t deliberately go out to seek inspiration—it would only confuse me more. How would I even fit something new into what I’ve already imagined? But I won’t deny that sometimes, something I see can influence me. Like, if I visit a museum in Spain and see a Christian painting where something is flowing, I might think, “Oh! That idea I had about tears flowing—maybe I should do it like this?” So yes, things can influence me that way.

NV: How did you decide to observe motherhood – and your mother?

MB: To be honest, I never decided to observe her. It was a constant observation. I’ve always watched my mother, ever since I was a child. It wasn’t something I did just for this project. I didn’t say, “I’m going to make a performance about my mother—let’s see what I can do.” It was more like I already had all this material, and I thought, “What should I do with it? A performance.” So it wasn’t an intentional act of observation—I had been observing her all along. 

In the end, MAMI isn’t just a performance about the mother. It touches on many things. That’s its foundation, but it also deals a lot with the passage of time and human relationships. It’s not a show that focuses solely on the mother figure. Also, it doesn’t depict just one specific mother. It shows different aspects: the elderly mother, the young mother, the mother giving birth, the woman who never became a mother, the woman who is none of these things. I hope it represents various female figures—it’s not meant to portray just one woman.

NV: Do you think we ever truly detach ourselves from our mothers? Or is it a myth that life moves forward, yet we remain connected?

MB: That’s the question, isn’t it? I honestly wonder about that too. Even when a mother passes away—what happens then? The mother is such a powerful figure, I think. Even if you haven’t grown up with her, her absence is still strong. It’s interesting how often we hear stories about mothers, even from people who didn’t grow up with one, yet were still marked by her absence. [They’ll say, “I didn’t grow up with a mother.” She’s always a strong presence—whether she’s a loving mother, a strict mother, an absent mother, or a mother they never knew.]

NV: How do you feel now regarding all of this? You’ve addressed it on stage. Has your perspective changed?

MB: No, nothing has changed. I can’t hide from you, though, that it seems like this play has affected my relationship with my mother, even though that was not its intention at all. It’s as though we’ve become a little closer, for some strange reason. We’ve always been close, but with this play, it feels like we’ve gotten even closer. I don’t know. It was interesting when the play ended because my mother asked me, “Will you miss MAMI?” and I said, “Yes.” And she said, “I’ll miss it too.” She hadn’t mentioned that about the other plays. 

So, in the end, this play has affected me in some way. Certainly in the way I see a maternal figure. Or how I look at babies when I hear about births. It gives a different perspective after this play.

Main image credit: Andreas Simopoulos

For more information, visit: Onassis.org

Further reading: review of MAMI

Further reading: review of Goodbye Lindita