Teatri Kombetar Eksperimental “Kujtim Spahivogli”, Tirana, premiere 22nd May 2024
Aleksander Moisiu was a major star of 20th-century European theatre who, after being forgotten for some time, was reinvented as a “people’s artist” in communist Albania, in 1960. Moisiu continues to be admired in Albania as one of the country’s best actors (despite the fact he was born in Italy, spent only a few years of his childhood in Albania, and held no true ties to Albania or Albanian theatre). Several schools and institutions bear his name, including the University of Durrës, the Durrës Theatre, and the Moisiu Theatre Festival.
This show, by Bruch’ and Klaudia Piroli, tries to explore these layers of national identity and the position of the artist. The production takes place on the stage of the Experimental Theatre, which has been converted into a more intimate studio. The actors perform in front of a plain white rectangle and the only scenography is in the form of the costume design and lighting. For a long time, the only lighting was a neon light shining down on their heads.
In the play Moisiu is deported from fascist Germany and sent to England, who deport him to Rwanda. He then goes to Italy and eventually arrives in Albania. He enters Albania as an immigrant covered in a quilt (my mother has one just like it at home) and a wig, walking slowly to the centre of the stage. Some people in the audience laugh at this, but, to me, it seems to be a very strong image with many layers (characteristic of the images used throughout the show).
By choosing Aleksander Moisiu as the main character, this question of national identity has been blurred. There are eagle symbols on the actors’ clothes, textiles with popular and traditional motifs, and traditional dance are incorporated into the performance. In this way, it examines how this identity stands and the impact it has, what this identity is and what we do with it.
Moisiu meets two young people, Rexhina and Matia, also actors, who are struggling to get roles. But because we love foreigners in Albania (when they are westerners, of course), they realise they can use Aleksander to help them raise funds (he just has to hide that he knows Albanian or that he is Albanian) to put on a show.
Moisiu’s relationship with the two young people is sincere; they try to understand each other, and any minor communication issues appear to be easily resolved; Moisiu sometimes forgets their names, but despite their annoyance, they forgive him quickly.
The actors perform scenes from Samson Agonistes on stage. Was some ironic comment intended about the selection of plays staged in Albania? Samson Agonistes is performed in three acts, each featuring traditional dances and folk-inspired costumes. The National Theater’s identity therefore appears to be classical, traditional, local, patriotic and folkloric. When one of the actors says “Shumë lart” (slang in Albanian for when something is truly good), the irony seems to end and the actor seems to be happy, but not Moisiu, the artist.
The actors crawl onto the stage, leaving their clothes behind (not all of them), like a snake shedding its skin. They discuss sexual freedom. (Some people in the audience found this scene too much, and left) So, excited as they are, the three actors decide to channel their energy in a different direction, to get involved in politics.
“I will engage in politics and dress strangely to impress the youth,” states Moisiu, as he puts on sneakers and a colourful collar (but no pants), clothing which is characteristic of Albania’s Prime Minister, Edi Rama.
The insertion of politics into the play appears to be a shot in the dark, without an obvious target. While the characters are precise and historical, Moisiu dresses up as Rama, becomes a king like King Zog, is threatened with the title “people’s hero” by a zealous communist, and is seduced by Giorgia Meloni, even though the events are somewhat inaccurate; King Zog’s car (the famous Mercedes), which in the show comes as a preliminary “reward” for the request to build concentration camps in Albania, was actually a wedding gift from the Kaiser of Germany (Adolf Hitler in this case). Hitler had done the same thing before, at the coronation of the King of Egypt; offering the German industrial wonder of the time.
The Queens of the Nigh Club
Mentioning that Moisiu was given the title “People’s Hero” doesn’t really shed light on the role of art and the artist during the communist dictatorship. On the other hand, the Meloni-Rama agreement for building camps (which really means prisons) for Italian refugees in Albania, is not a European Union criterion for Albania, as portrayed in the show, but rather a political bargain (or not even a political but personal one) between a politician described as a far-right nationalist, and an autocrat who considers the state as his personal property with which he can do whatever he wants.
Despite the fact that the show (and art in general) has no obligation to stay faithful to the truth; the paradox of witnessing and at the same time not witnessing reality is confusing, and the purpose seems uncleae, to the point where you have the right to doubt his very existence. The show’s political engagement is developed in way that seems strange, and if not wholly inaccurate, than superficial.
The show is entirely contemporary. The actors also handle the lighting, sound, and other aspects of the production, making them an essential component of the show, more than just performers. The quality of the acting was also a pleasant surprise. Paolo Kadillari, who plays Moisiu, does a good job of being the focal point while also communicating effectively with the other two actors, Rexhina Ibro and Matia Llupa, both of whom also give strong performances. This is a new form of acting in Albania, and they pull it off naturally and skilfully.
The last part of The Queens of the Nightclub takes place under the bombardment of lights and electronic music, along with the introduction of a fourth actor, Ina Kollcaku, but the final Faustian act of Moisiu selling his soul to her, is unjustified.
Wrapped in strong images and with many layers, the narrative has a dropdown chart until it ends in the realm of hedonism where the soul of the artist is sold for almost nothing, under the clutches of the Queen of the Night Club, or the Queen of Dreams as she calls herself. I saw the show twice, but still, I do not understand why Moisiu sold his soul. What did he get in return?
The production is slow paced but in a way that is engaging and, up until halfway through it, I was enjoying it. The first half of the play is promising and interesting, with Moisiu and two young local artists creating a bond that carries the show along. However the emotional intensity starts to decline after this point, and the narrative, events, and symbolism begin to lose their impact and dissolve into fog.
The show closes with the same image that opens it: three young people sitting and eating seeds, a stereotype often associated with Albanians enjoying leisure time. It feels like the closing of a parenthesis, leaving you with the impression that everything said during the performance remains sealed within. As you leave the theater, you’re left with the image of an emotional mosaic; feeling aesthetically satisfied but somehow untouched.
Credits
Created by: Bruch‘- and Klaudja Piroli//Contributions: KUNTHUG, Lorenza Longhi, Valentin Masé.
Cast: Rexhina Ibro, Matia Llupa, Paolo Kadillari, Ina Kollçaku.
Flamur Dardeshi is a freelance writer based in Tirana. He has contributed in the areas of translation, analysis, and poetry. His main fields of interest are literature, cinematography, and theatre.
