Gianni Manzella on Medea Material, “il manifesto”, May 29 2026

A peep-show perspective: we’re all in the midst of a catastrophe, “il manifesto”, May 29 2026

https://ilmanifesto.it/prospettiva-peep-show-siamo-tutti-nella-catastrofe

The text requires the naturalism of the scene, says the author’s final note. Desolate Shore can be performed during the programme of a peep-show, Medeamaterial on a lakeshore near Strausberg, which could be a muddy swimming pool in Beverly Hills or the toilets of a psychiatric clinic, Heiner Müller suggests. It might seem like the German writer’s ultimate mockery of the actor’s art, forced to grapple with a text that appears at times impenetrable. Instead, it is rather an indication of method, a strong demand on the performer to place themselves at the same extreme height as the words. Where classical reminiscences intertwine with cruel glimpses into twentieth-century history, German history first and foremost, which immediately explodes in the image of deserters hanged from lampposts, with their tongues hanging out and a sign on their bellies. It is an indication that Agata Tomšič has taken very seriously in tackling, as performer and director, Medea Material, the summary title under which the triptych dedicated to the myth of Medea is collected here—a desperate invective, a ruthless indictment against the man who left her, a painful evocation of the story she is forced to relive. Without excluding the prologue and the epilogue, which also constitute its most hermetic, apocalyptic, and visionary parts (we saw it at the Teatro Rasi as part of the Polis festival, dedicated this year by ErosAntEros to Northern European theatre). Of the first staging directed by Manfred Karge and Mathias Langhoff, seen some forty years ago, what remains in the spectator’s memory is the looming fuselage with a large propeller against the backdrop of a desolate landscape of tin cans, where a furious and powerful Kirsten Dene roared her betrayed love. But in more recent years, what is unforgettable above all is the final image of Valerie Dreville, the protagonist of Anatoly Vasiliev’s show, who repeated the last line as if in a trance, while at her feet the flames devouring her dress died down. A naked, wounded body, by then emptied of the energy that had sustained her until that moment.

Here we are instead, gathered in a circle around a small square platform that anticipates the image evoked by the author, while the actress is still walking around us. The peep-show where, bit by bit, the veils are destined to fall, which in the meantime let the protagonist’s body flash like bolts of desire. Covered by an arabesque cloak open along the sides that seems to allude also to a stole, a sacred vestment, her legs wrapped in tall, shiny black boots. Black and gold, which are not by chance the colours of theatre, understood as both a physical and metaphorical place. Day and night, light and darkness. Here it is darkness that prevails, allowing the sound volume of the performance to take over. The word is born from a breath that solidifies. And yet, meanwhile, the gaze shifts to the upper part of the actress’s face, decorated with a coloured mark that spreads almost like a ritual mask. Medea the barbarian, the foreigner, mother and murderer, the sorceress come from the shores of the Black Sea to bring disorder.

The East that still frightens those who dream of walls and not bridges today. In Heiner Müller’s perspective, the peep-show is the place where the spectator’s gaze can settle comfortably to contemplate the catastrophes surrounding them. We are all in it, one is tempted to say. If Müller read in the myth an ultimate model of colonialism, where the theme of betrayal emerged brutally in its juxtaposition with Medea’s gesture, today reality has become more blurred. Legible, as it is, from many different angles. This is attested by the reversal that occurs in the final part of the show, Landscape with Argonauts, where the spectators shift from being onlookers to inexorably being looked at. Forced, that is, to look at each other, in turn. A beam of light extends diametrically from that central focus and begins to rotate, illuminating the faces of the audience like a lighthouse. The rest is poetry, says the speaking I.

With a slight shift from Saverio Vertone’s translation, which is perhaps a lingering jolt of hope.