First of all, congratulations on your new role as the artistic director of Wiener Festwochen! Could you share your vision for the festival moving forward? In today’s world, where we face so many global issues, what do you see as the role and significance of theatre festivals like Wiener Festwochen?
- I was quite long on top of the NTGent, which is a city theatre that goes the whole year long, and you produce, and you tour, etc. Every day is a festival. I mean, I know the Vienna Festival now quite well, because I did one edition. It’s like five or six weeks, and you kind of own the whole city. So you express the whole city, and at the same time, you express the whole world.
What, for me, was super interesting is that it’s one of the oldest festivals in Europe. I think it’s the biggest crossover festival on the continent, but it’s perceived as quite conservative. I think Bitef is more modern. We have classical music, opera, plays, exhibitions—a lot of different stuff.
When I arrived, they asked, "What do you want to do?" And I thought, "This is public service, no?" For example, my father was expert in the water industry, and nobody ever asked him, "Do you think water still makes sense, or should we stop water?" But they were asking me, "Do you think opera still makes sense? Should we stop opera, or not do exhibitions?"
That was interesting but, since it’s called Vienna Festival, I wanted to know what the people of Vienna wanted. So I created what is called the Free Republic of Vienna, with a council, and we tried to democratize it, to have a constitution and groups. We’ve already moved quite far in the first year, and we have four more years to go.
For me, it’s really about transforming the cultural sector and bringing democracy into it. The fun fact is that we talk a lot about democracy, transparency, accessibility, and diversity. But in reality, these values don’t exist much in the cultural sector itself, especially in big European festivals, where two or three people make all the decisions. In other public sectors, if you did this, you’d end up in prison. So we are kind of the most corrupt and elitist sector.
There are reasons for this. It’s hard to know what’s new and important in the whole field, so you need experience to create a balanced programme at big festivals—balancing local and international content. For instance, it makes sense to invite Milo or Tiago, but also you, and Slovenian and Serbian makers and so on - to kind of bring them together.
You need expertise, but you also need the voice of the people and that's a bit of what we try to do. One example: I wasn’t involved much in classical music or opera before, but I learned that only 7% of works staged in opera houses and concert halls are made by composers. And out of that 7%, only 0,07% is composed by people outside Europe or North America. If you’re a composer born outside these areas, it’s almost statistically impossible to have your work staged in major opera houses or concert halls. So, we created an academy with a 100% quota for women composers from outside Europe. This is just one way we’re trying to gradually change things. But you really have to look at the whole global picture, what people need.
In Antigone in the Amazon, what challenges did you face in combining activism and art?
- You're always in danger. I had an interesting discussion a couple of days ago at a community centre in New York with someone who was portraying Jesus as an activist. When I invited him to take on the role, he expressed his desire to promote dignity and change the situation of African farm workers, as we filmed on farms in Southern Italy. Ultimately, I had to defend my production because he wanted to use it primarily for activism. I stressed the importance of merging activism with art, even while making a film about Jesus.
It's always about finding a balance, and I believe in strengthening one another—that's the essence of solidarity. It involves respecting each other's struggles while also appreciating what I call beauty. I fully understand and connect with your fight, but we need to translate it effectively. My years of experience have taught me how to convey that message in Europe, where few people know about these major movements that involve half a million families. It's strange, given their significance, akin to that of a nation. Finding that balance is the challenge of connecting activism with art—it's a complex task.
Many of your actors, like the MST activists or refugees, participate in your projects. How do they view their involvement? What do these performances mean to them?
- We've been working together for about one and a half years, and they’ve travelled from Brazil to Austria, Armenia, and other places. In Brazil, and not only under Bolsonaro, they’re often seen as terrorists or enemies of the state. So, we’ve tried to facilitate diplomatic connections for them. They’ve met the president of Austria, visited Brussels, and engaged with the European Commission. These performances help shift the narrative; they are no longer seen merely as terrorists but as individuals with a legitimate cause. Here, we often discuss capitalism and now green capitalism. However, in Latin America, many people do not believe this narrative, as they have lived through two or even three generations of such stories. They are far ahead in this respect, and I have gained an incredible amount of knowledge about practices of resistance and communal living that I have never seen here.
The Ghent Manifesto stresses the importance of changing the world for theatre. How do you see theatre as a tool for substantial change, rather than just a means of reflection?
- I think it’s both, you know? You can only change your own harbor, so to speak. It comes back to the earlier question we discussed. Making a festival means not only programming a festival, but also changing the way a festival functions. I think you should take the chance, when you are on top of an institution, to change the institution—make it more open, more accessible, etc.
So, there’s a very practical side: who works in the bureaus, who can afford a ticket—all these real-world questions. You can address those in your own house. But of course, you’re also in a symbolic space where you can show solidarity with movements. I can invite someone to give a speech or talk to people to find out about important local issues. Or how is it connected to what I think is an important topic of resistance… For example, I might learn about the Jadar Valley or the connection between the Rio and the German car industry, and this sparks new thoughts.
I think what’s important is that whatever you do—whether it’s an interview, a travel, or a play—you always think about its meaning. Perhaps you’ve read the New Testament, not many people do, but I did it because I made a film about it. Jesus says, "You know the scriptures, but I want to see acts."
What does it mean to love others or listen more? Is it just a play that we memorize and perform beautifully? Why are we doing all this? We should be aware that what we do is beautiful, necessary, and meaningful. For me, the quote at the top of your festival should be from Dostoevsky's The Idiot, a character who believes things have meaning and are humane and beautiful.
I think we should all stay idiots and claim the space of art as a place for those who believe in beauty and meaning. It’s important to defend this space and say, "Okay, maybe we’re completely wrong, but at least we tried."
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