|idea and direction Daniela Nicolò and Enrico Casagrande
with Silvia Calderoni, Stefania Tansini and R.Y.F. (Francesca Morello) on songs and live music
lyrics Ilenia Caleo and R.Y.F. (Francesca Morello)
dramaturgical research Ilenia Caleo
text editing and subtitles Daniela Nicolò
translations Marta Lovato
technical direction and lights Simona Gallo
soundscapes Demetrio Cecchitelli
live sound design Enrico Casagrande
sound engineering Martina Ciavatta
technical assistance Francesco Zanuccoli
props and scene sculptures _vvxxii
video and graphics Vladimir Bertozzi
production Elisa Bartolucci with Francesca Raimondi
|production Motus and Teatro di Roma – Teatro Nazionale with Kunstencentrum Vooruit vzw (BE)
supported by the Residency centres: L’arboreto – Teatro Dimora | La Corte Ospitale ::: Centro di Residenza Emilia-Romagna and Santarcangelo dei Teatri
in collaboration with AMAT and Comune di Fabriano
with the support of MiC, Regione Emilia-Romagna
thanks to HĒI black fashion, Gruppo IVAS
The title quotes a line from Cassandra’s in the version of Trojan Women by Jean Paul Sartre and it already unveils the trajectory of this new project.
After our artistic journey into the figure of Antigone, we have desired for a long time to continue digging down into the female figures of the Tragic, whose echo and impacts are still resonating today.
The research started before the lockdown and now it has unavoidably taken on a new light and urgency.
The pandemic and the climate disaster mark the end of an era and Trojan Women starts precisely with an end.
It is an irregular tragedy, a tragedy without plot, conflicts and climax, a conflict has rather exploded but everything is over now, all has already happened: Ilion is already destroyed. The women, reduced to war spoils, wait for the division, they will be leaving by sea soon after, as slaves, towards foreign soil. There is no plot, nor storyline, only a never-ending evoking of the ghosts of the past.
With her words Hecuba buries the dead
With her words Cassandra ignites the future.
Central are the pain and torment of grief which, outside the personalistic sphere, open a deeply political issue. Which bodies are to be mourned and which are not? How are we allowed to express grief, the pain of loss (or of the separation from one’s own place of origin, as in the case of diaspora communities)?, Judith Butler asks in an essay about collective grief.
During the pandemic the functions for the dead were suspended, the bodies were buried in a bureaucratized way, in secret, in silence, without a farewell. The same happens for migrant bodies dead at sea, for illegal migrants or sex workers executed by the trafficking system. Which lives matter, then? What makes a life grief-worthy?
We start from these stinging questions to build Tutto Brucia (everything burns) which will inevitably be obscure…but full of dazzling wrath.