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A TRAGEDY IN MOVEMENT
By Steffen Silvis
Prague Post
October 15th, 2008 issue
Czech Republic
Farm in the Cave stands poles apart from most Czech theater Stage
Review | Search restaurants | Archives
However closely related they may be, there is little that the Czechs
share with the Poles. And, while diving into generalizations is always
a shallow plunge, there are a few stark characterizations between
these two Slavic cousins that are immediately apparent even at a
cursory glance.The most telling differences are philosophical and
religious in nature, something even official population surveys and
polls bear out. While Czechs are proudly atheistic and agnostic, the
Poles still cling to Catholicism. Temperamentally, the Czechs strike
one as cool rationalists, the Poles emotional Romantics. Subsequently,
the Czechs are confirmed social liberals, making the Poles seem like
backward conservatives (one need only look at how vastly different
the two cultures' approach to homosexuality is).Yet, the very
Polish elements that make a confirmed liberal prefer life among
the Czechs nevertheless infuse Polish theater work with (for want
of a better term) a spiritual vitality that classic, technically
competent Czech theater lacks. That's why the work of the Czech
theater troupe Farma v jeskyni (Farm in the Cave) is so remarkable
and unique.After seeing Farm in the Cave's work, it isn't surprising
to learn that the company's founder and director, the Czech-trained
Slovak Viliam DoÄ~Molomanský, has ties to Jerzy Grotowski's center
in WrocÅ~Baw. He has also worked with one of Grotowski's great
disciples, Wlodzimierz Staniewski, the founder of the Gardzienice
Theater in Eastern Poland.Gardzienice, to quote Susan Sontag, is "one
of the few essential theater companies working anywhere in the world
today." No serious survey of contemporary European drama can avoid
Gardzienice, as it has had a major impact on both Continental and
North American theater.DoÄ~Molomanský's Farm in the Cave shares much
of Gardzienice's philosophy, one that springs from Staniewski's work
with Grotowski during the master's "Theater of Sources" period. It's a
theater that goes back to the very source springs of drama: dance and
song.Gardzienice's work starts with "expeditions," where the company,
walking and pulling wagons, searches the borderlands of Eastern Poland
for pockets and villages of traditional culture. There they absorb the
storytelling and rituals of the population they live among, and then,
in turn, present performances to their hosts utilizing the lessons
learned.Farm in the Cave also makes expeditions, and the piece they
will perform this week at their new space in Smíchov, Sclavi, is
primarily built from their experiences in eastern Slovakia, where they
searched for surviving centers of Ruthenian culture. The same cultural
richness one finds in the borderlands of eastern Poland exists in the
far corner of Slovakia, with its mix of Polish, Ukrainian, Slovak,
Ruthenian and Roma people, along with traces of lost Jewish and
Armenian presence.Farm's Sclavi is a tragedy in song and movement. The
story is of a migrant worker from the Slovak-Ruthenian region who
returns from years spent in America to discover that he's become
an outsider in his own land."Sclavi" is Latin for both "Slavs" and
"slaves," definitions that carried over into English: Slav(e). Sclavi:
The Song of an Emigrant, then, becomes a universal history of cultural
disruption, as people are forced to uproot themselves in search of
work.Through bruising choreography and a high-lonesome polyphonic
singing, the Farm troupe literally hits the stage in what is one of
the most powerful evenings of theater in Prague. In a bare space,
save for a Gypsy wagon, the company of eight (mostly Czech, with
one Korean and one French member) enact a gripping, painful ritual
of loss -- loss of place, of one's traditions and, thus, of one's
soul.The brutal physicality and plaintive songs of Sclavi have the
ability to tap into our own primitive fears of straying too far from
the campfire.With what was gathered on their expedition, Farm in the
Cave also weaves some text into Sclavi, primarily from actual letters
from Slovak and Ruthenian emigrants sent back home, but also using
elements from Karel Ä~Lapek's novel Hordubal. The performance is in a
mix of languages, but, as the piece is primarily movement and song,
language is no barrier, no matter what your native tongue.Sclavi is
something seldom encountered in the Czech theaterscape, but certainly
similar to what I've personally experienced after watching work by
Gardzienice, Bialystok's Teatr Wierszalin, and all the surviving film
clips of the great Grotowski at work. Lasting an hour, Sclavi still
feels, weeks later, like an event -- dare I say, a spiritual one.
--Boundary_(ID_2L1Y/QosNffvZziU8A0iiw)--
By Steffen Silvis
Prague Post
October 15th, 2008 issue
Czech Republic
Farm in the Cave stands poles apart from most Czech theater Stage
Review | Search restaurants | Archives
However closely related they may be, there is little that the Czechs
share with the Poles. And, while diving into generalizations is always
a shallow plunge, there are a few stark characterizations between
these two Slavic cousins that are immediately apparent even at a
cursory glance.The most telling differences are philosophical and
religious in nature, something even official population surveys and
polls bear out. While Czechs are proudly atheistic and agnostic, the
Poles still cling to Catholicism. Temperamentally, the Czechs strike
one as cool rationalists, the Poles emotional Romantics. Subsequently,
the Czechs are confirmed social liberals, making the Poles seem like
backward conservatives (one need only look at how vastly different
the two cultures' approach to homosexuality is).Yet, the very
Polish elements that make a confirmed liberal prefer life among
the Czechs nevertheless infuse Polish theater work with (for want
of a better term) a spiritual vitality that classic, technically
competent Czech theater lacks. That's why the work of the Czech
theater troupe Farma v jeskyni (Farm in the Cave) is so remarkable
and unique.After seeing Farm in the Cave's work, it isn't surprising
to learn that the company's founder and director, the Czech-trained
Slovak Viliam DoÄ~Molomanský, has ties to Jerzy Grotowski's center
in WrocÅ~Baw. He has also worked with one of Grotowski's great
disciples, Wlodzimierz Staniewski, the founder of the Gardzienice
Theater in Eastern Poland.Gardzienice, to quote Susan Sontag, is "one
of the few essential theater companies working anywhere in the world
today." No serious survey of contemporary European drama can avoid
Gardzienice, as it has had a major impact on both Continental and
North American theater.DoÄ~Molomanský's Farm in the Cave shares much
of Gardzienice's philosophy, one that springs from Staniewski's work
with Grotowski during the master's "Theater of Sources" period. It's a
theater that goes back to the very source springs of drama: dance and
song.Gardzienice's work starts with "expeditions," where the company,
walking and pulling wagons, searches the borderlands of Eastern Poland
for pockets and villages of traditional culture. There they absorb the
storytelling and rituals of the population they live among, and then,
in turn, present performances to their hosts utilizing the lessons
learned.Farm in the Cave also makes expeditions, and the piece they
will perform this week at their new space in Smíchov, Sclavi, is
primarily built from their experiences in eastern Slovakia, where they
searched for surviving centers of Ruthenian culture. The same cultural
richness one finds in the borderlands of eastern Poland exists in the
far corner of Slovakia, with its mix of Polish, Ukrainian, Slovak,
Ruthenian and Roma people, along with traces of lost Jewish and
Armenian presence.Farm's Sclavi is a tragedy in song and movement. The
story is of a migrant worker from the Slovak-Ruthenian region who
returns from years spent in America to discover that he's become
an outsider in his own land."Sclavi" is Latin for both "Slavs" and
"slaves," definitions that carried over into English: Slav(e). Sclavi:
The Song of an Emigrant, then, becomes a universal history of cultural
disruption, as people are forced to uproot themselves in search of
work.Through bruising choreography and a high-lonesome polyphonic
singing, the Farm troupe literally hits the stage in what is one of
the most powerful evenings of theater in Prague. In a bare space,
save for a Gypsy wagon, the company of eight (mostly Czech, with
one Korean and one French member) enact a gripping, painful ritual
of loss -- loss of place, of one's traditions and, thus, of one's
soul.The brutal physicality and plaintive songs of Sclavi have the
ability to tap into our own primitive fears of straying too far from
the campfire.With what was gathered on their expedition, Farm in the
Cave also weaves some text into Sclavi, primarily from actual letters
from Slovak and Ruthenian emigrants sent back home, but also using
elements from Karel Ä~Lapek's novel Hordubal. The performance is in a
mix of languages, but, as the piece is primarily movement and song,
language is no barrier, no matter what your native tongue.Sclavi is
something seldom encountered in the Czech theaterscape, but certainly
similar to what I've personally experienced after watching work by
Gardzienice, Bialystok's Teatr Wierszalin, and all the surviving film
clips of the great Grotowski at work. Lasting an hour, Sclavi still
feels, weeks later, like an event -- dare I say, a spiritual one.
--Boundary_(ID_2L1Y/QosNffvZziU8A0iiw)--