Theater must be what society should be tomorrow, said Ukrainian director Les Kurbas.
Discussions about mass and niche phenomena, about kitsch and unique things in culture have been going on for a long time and intensively. What can we call art and who gives us the right to ponder this? Plays with obscene language, naked actors, vulgar songs or jokes on the verge of vulgarity – is that art? If so, what does it urge us toward? Or are we simply confessing our own hypocrisy?
Kulish Theater in Kherson – for at least the last 30 years – has been a place to which an informed audience constantly flocked, so to speak. People who called themselves theater-goers, people who just wanted to be distracted, people who ended up there completely by accident through some invitations – in the auditorium with red seats, which the director once thanked God and one of the governors for, they all became those who consumed a certain product, shared impressions of it and shaped culture.
Over the years of its existence they staged a multitude of performances here, held several dozen “Melpomene of Tavria”, “funneled” millions of hryvnias to their own companies and ultimately came to staging performances in shelters.
A disclaimer is in order that this text does not claim to be seriously critical – it is simply reflections, perhaps somewhat snobbish, on how the staff of the local theater, instead of performing to some extent educational work (in the best sense of the word), were engaged in the marginalization of society. And are still engaged.
Why do I speak of education? Is it appropriate to use that word when talking about contemporary art? Strictly speaking, anything can be called art – from a stroke on a wall to a multi-layered composition. But will they pursue the same goals? Obviously not.
I do not claim that art must be moralizing, but it must be honest.
Today the Kherson theater often hides behind the status of “therapy”. Allegedly, people in a frontline city need something simple and easygoing – a similar thesis can be easily traced in the theater’s current repertoire.
For example, the production “Coffee with the Aroma of Victory”, and then – the play “My Wife’s Husband”.
They also offer us a musical podcast “Journey Through the Countries of America” or the play “This Damn Bitter Truth”. And so on in a loop.
Judging by promotional materials and the peculiar trailers that are freely available, one can state that overall the theater’s output does not tend toward anything serious – the audience can be quite satisfied with a light concert or a play about marital infidelity.
Why this happened I won’t venture to speculate – perhaps the matter is indeed the absence of competition – cultural life in Kherson is practically non-existent right now. And who knows when it will reappear.
I fully understand that such takes are very unpopular. Just as I understand that such a column will draw the ire of those loyal to such art and the adherents of “Kherson lives”.
But isn’t such art a hidden contempt for the audience? When, instead of reflection on a complex present, we are offered kitsch?
Overall, there are zero questions about kitsch, without which culture cannot exist – it has always been and always will be. However, it is not the only thing.
It is difficult for people living in a frontline city. Constant Russian attacks form a new everyday reality that for residents of other settlements located far from the line of active hostilities appears surreal and apocalyptic.
And the product that Kulish Theater offers obviously takes this into account. But at the same time it raises another question – can Kherson residents perceive performances of a different level?
Here, I think, lies the nuance I mentioned above and which can be directly linked to contempt for those who remain in Kherson.
The danger of kitsch – along with its simplicity – is that it does not force one to think, to reflect, or to ask questions.
Kitsch can be used to account to donors who give money for such projects. You can wrap “resilience” in kitsch. However, it never pursues the goal that Kurbas wrote about.
What will Kherson be like in a year? And in two? And what will its residents be like, who sooner or later will face life in a post-war city?
Orientation toward mass appeal is always a winning story. And this path was consciously chosen by the leadership of the theater in Kherson. In addition, there’s the factor of the absence of criticism as such – because any criticism, even if it occurs, is smashed by a single argument – come here and try to do what we do. Can’t? Well, then you know what to do.
If you criticize such an approach – you are “against Kherson”, “against the unbreakable actors” and “don’t understand the context”.
All this is blatant manipulation that allows the production of low-quality product. And which not only fails to educate society, on the contrary – rolls it back by decades.
If theater is “society tomorrow”, then what “tomorrow” is the Kulish Theater building today? A society for which it’s enough to slip in a couple of borderline jokes, or a society capable of complex reflection?
As condescending as it may sound, the theater must not adapt to the audience, but pull them upward with it – in shelters and under fire.
P.S.
When I was finishing this text, People’s Deputy Serhii Kozyr published a pompous – as Oleksandr Knyha would appreciate – post about the fact that “by its many years of work, professionalism and contribution to the development of Ukrainian culture the Mykola Kulish Kherson Theater has long deserved national status”. And it was on this basis that Kozyr appealed to Deputy Prime Minister Tetiana Berezhna.