Milan Đurišić //

“This is my truth, tell me yours“

Author and performer: Jasna Žmak

Production: Centre for Drama Art, Zagreb (Cro), Via Negativa and City of Women, Ljubljana (Slo)

The first half of the title tells us this is a personal piece and the second decidedly demands our participation. The latter, however, proves to be somewhat redundant as the performance does it all for us. To give the verdict right away – thanks to both the contents and the delivery of Jasna Žmak’s text, her truth is readily adopted as the audience’s.

At the very beginning we hear what her profession is and the performance goes along the lines of what is expected from a dramaturg/lecturer taking to the stage. It comes in the form of an informal lecture, during which the ‘lecturer’ digresses into accounts of personal experiences, functioning as both a narrator and an actor. The delivery is minimalistic, but highly intimate. The lines are spoken as if confided to a friend over a cup of coffee or a police official briefing us about an unpleasant occurrence, which is followed by enacted illustrations of the incidents mentioned. These date back to Jasna’s beginnings in the theatre and her narration centres upon the most important moments of her career. The milestones turn out to be both professional and personal and it is no coincidence that each leaves a mark on her theatrical and her most intimate self. On the one hand, we hear what the most memorable moment of her life was and on the other, we find out which moments in the theatre have left her scarred psychologically and literally. Most of them had to do with her age and gender, while those outside of the theatre also include her sexual orientation. She deserves every credit for maintaining the neutral, detached tone throughout the performance with only a few lapses into criticism of her treatment by others.

The movement (its creation supported by Ana Kreitmeyer) is very much in keeping with the speech mode – concentrated and to the point, free of unnecessary ornaments. The light design is also unobtrusive, while the only moments we become aware of it is when the performer uses it to make her point by directing it towards the audience. Next time we become aware of it is at the very end of the show, when she exits and leaves us wishing to say her truth is very much ours too. In spite of several moments when the actress talks about the process of devising the play and makes references to the theory of drama, the evenness of performance and its rhythm remain intact, and even contribute to its verisimilitude. The same is true of her being apologetic about the inconsistencies between the surtitles and her speech (another credit to her – there were very few of those). Admittedly, the verbatim script of her therapeutic stream-of-consciousness writings, in which she repeatedly lists her daemons, feels like an interruption to the rhythm, but also serves as a device leading to the climax of the show, and is obviously included with a purpose.

The only inconsistency one could detect might have been between the importance of the events ‘covered’ in the show and the objective way in which they were depicted and commented on (an obvious and right choice by the author). The performer has persevered in her decision to appear unbiased and succeeded in presenting the most subjective issues as objectively as possible. Admittedly, the audience were able to detect some of her personal fixations below the documentary façade, but it is easily forgiven considering how difficult it is to deal with personal trauma on stage.

Comparisons to people who have successfully dealt with the same processes readily present themselves in the form of monodramas by Zijah Sokolović and (more recently) Marija Medenica, but Jasna Žmak is the woman of the day – and of 58^th Bitef if you are to believe the jury and the author of this text. She has also provided the answer to the slogan of this year’s edition of the festival – beauty will save the world, or rather, her performance does help us save our world, even if it be our own little inner one.