The biographical piece was performed
as part of Luminato this year. The four performances from June 14-17 saw a
packed Bluma Appel Theatre, leaving dazzled and intrigued audiences at each performance, and
standing ovations upon their end. Seeing the work of director and visual artist Robert Wilson, Marina Abramovic herself on stage with a definitive smirk or wink alongside the
narrator and volatile caricature of Willem Dafoe and the outstanding and
harmonious voice of Antony of Antony and the Johnsons created an atmosphere of strength
and captivation.
If you’re looking for a linear
depiction of Abramovic’s life, however, you won’t find it here.
As Dafoe brings us through
significant events divided by years, sometimes specific dates, we build our own portrait of Abramovic as it’s mimed out
by her cast in eccentric, unconventional, and heartwarming reflections of her
life.
1968 – discovered Zen Buddhism. 1964
– doesn’t remember. 1972 – starts using
her body as material; pushing the body to its physical and mental limits. This is how we learn of the artist that has
grown to define the act of performance art in the modern world, exploring the realm
of human experience and endurance.
Little tidbits that Dafoe reveals, like Abramovic going to the hospital and
watching live procedures to discover what’s on the inside and how she can
reflect this in her work, act like portals into the artist’s personal life as
she strolls across the stage followed by a loud echo in the heel of every step
she takes.
We learn a great deal about her
relationship with her mother; how Abramovic wanted a nose job to her mother’s
dismay, placing a picture of Brigette Bardot (and her dream nose) in her pocket
and subsequently planning to fall onto the corner of a bed frame to break it. She would then pull out the photo of Bardot in
the hospital and show them the way she wanted her nose to look. Genius, she
thought. Laughing alongside Dafoe’s
storytelling as he keeps us spellbound we learn that Abramovic, in this memory,
didn’t hit her nose at all, but her cheek… and before taking her to the
hospital, her mother slapped Ambramovic’s other cheek to teach her a
lesson.
Scattered with stories and songs
chalk-full of repetition, grief, and humour, this piece not only gives you insight
into the life of Abramovic but forces you to contemplate your own – as an
artist and individual.
Repeated phrases like, “Love or
despise her,” transposed with the definition of an artist, stories of struggle,
and metaphorically mimed depictions of who and what one should and should not
be… The show asks you to feel something. Anything.
She seemingly discusses every milestone, small or large - divorce, death, financial fears - including
her 1988 walk to meet Ulay in the middle of the Great Wall of China. “We took 2000 kilometers just
to say goodbye,” she says, to Dafoe’s laughter. “It’s really human in a way. It’s
more dramatic, in the film way,” she says, as if she’s trying to convince this
laughing menace (Dafoe) that it was worthwhile, even if it was a parting of
ways.
Although it is plain to see that Abramovic
is not an actress, this theatrical performance doesn’t beg that she be in that
role. Her presence is strong enough to keep us locked, balanced by the musically
ambitious voice of Antony and the charged and engulfing presence of Dafoe, not
to mention the beautifully raw and exhibitionist qualities of the ensemble.
The Life and Death of Marina
Abramovic is clearly indicative of her art and, even if she did feel unwanted
in 1987, there is a world out there watching her, feeling it just the same.
Brought to you by Andrea Wrobel
Brought to you by Andrea Wrobel