Paris and the great theater festival

ParisMuñeca, Valentina, Olga, Alexandra, Antonina, Tamara, Loudmila, Klavdla, Zinaida. Nine Russian women talk about the war they experienced in the show. War does not have a woman's face. From the Second World War. From all wars. From how it affects them. From how it changes them. From fear and resilience. Nine women. Nine lives. And the words of Svetlana Aleksievich, the journalist and writer who in this work reflected the reality of Russian combatants in a series of interviews. The book, published in Catalan by Raig Verd in 2018, had a theatrical version at Moscow's Taganka Theater. Now the Frenchwoman Julie Deliquet has turned it into a brilliant and moving testimony to a topic of regrettable and eternal relevance that could be seen this weekend in Paris.

Another of the proposals that has arrived in the French capital is Bartabas, the paradigm of the man who loves horses. Forty years ago, the artist surprised us in the wasteland of the old Barcelona slaughterhouse with the Cirque Aligre or Circus of Rats and Geese and captivated us during the years of the Fòrum (Tryptik in 2001 and Loungta in 2004) with the poetic quality of his oriental-inspired equestrian shows under the big top. He is the horse choreographer who managed to get the French state to build him a wonderful wooden tent in Aubervilliers, almost at the end of metro line 7. There he has premiered a dozen equestrian shows with an overwhelmingly poetic stage presence.

But in The songs of the corveau He takes a turn with a creation that baffles his audience, who give him lukewarm applause. On a dance floor almost covered in water, the protagonist is the word. The word of his writings (published by Gallimard) on the origins of humanity. Songs in which man meets animals and asks questions. A coveted show during the pandemic and with a philosophical vocation, imbued with an orchestra of Iranian musicians playing traditional instruments and crowned with splendid antlers. But the word rules in the voices of dedicated rhapsodes. Texts devoid of dramatic intuition, with no connection between them. The staging retains the poetic features of the creations of the centaur Bartabas, who rides at the beginning dressed in a crow mask. The best, of course, where talent comes out, is in the actions between text and text. Very brief and beautiful actions. Of fire and, finally, of horses. Like white mares ridden by skeletons, surely related to those hanging from the dome of the bar at the entrance to the tent. A few brief moments of wonder in a rather less charming setting, despite the biscuits, the mulled wine on every table, and the geese invading the dance floor as we march.

A comedy overflowing with tenderness.

The personality and theatre of Jean-Luc Lagarce (1957-1995), which we discovered with Oriol Broggi in the Library in 2020 with Just the end of the world, It has parallels with Koltès (1948-1969). But while the latter was sponsored by Patrice Chéreau, Lagarce grew up alone. New, the heroes, from Lagarce, It talks about theater. About a company from the fifties or sixties after the end of a performance that hasn't gone well at all. The actors change and leave the characters in their trunks to be themselves. Or so they think. Around the wedding of the owners' eldest daughter to the lead actor, the miseries explode, but also the joys of the profession. Even the ideological disputes between those who command and those who serve. Eleven wonderful performers, almost always on stage, serve up a comedy that overflows with tenderness, humor, and, of course, love of the theater. Bravo!

Philipe Decouflé and his company DCA (diversity, camaraderie, agility) are well known to us. They have visited us several times (Shazam! at the TNC in 2001; Only at the Grec in 2003; Iris at the TNC in 2004; Octopus at the TNC in 2011) with very diverse shows in which dance is mixed with circus and video phrasings with a very charming playful sense. His new creation Meanwhile It playfully explores the passage of time (a rather crazy clock hangs over the scene) and is basically a source of joy, collage of homage to silent cinema, to music hall and a touch of Pina Bausch for the movement, the music (live piano, rock, pop, and vocal recordings), and the dramatic structure. A rather monochromatic first act with magical winks and a dance of arms that seek each other and then fail to find each other (the theatricality of veteran Dominique Boivin is magnificent). And a colorful second act with a group of fanciful characters, a pleasant change of perspective from what we saw in the first act. A delightful final note, one of those that draws us out of the big top with a smile, where some twenty volunteer dancers join the company until they embrace. Fantastic. Yes, Paris is a theater festival.