The Avignon Festival, in France, is lucky to be able to go off the beaten track. Every summer, it pulls a large audience that comes to experience a city filled to the brim with theater, rather than individual productions. Artists in the official lineup typically play to sold-out crowds regardless of their reputation, and many Avignon directors have taken this as their cue to experiment. Of the 38 artists in the lineup, over half were new to Avignon, and many were unknown in France.
As the first week of the festival unfolded, the spotlight shone repeatedly on amateurs and artists from countries rarely represented on the biggest European stages. Arias is careful not to cast them as victims. Instead, when the show starts, they appear in front of the curtain in their evening best. We learn that some of the cast members formed a rock band in prison, and hear some of their catchy compositions.
Some scenes feel like documentary theater by numbers, organized around themes, like unemployment and housing. They evoke their conditions of imprisonment in Argentina, and the pain and marginalization they experienced on the outside, from police violence to estrangement from their children. Noelia Perez, a trans woman, recalls having her teeth broken by a man who was angry at her advocacy on behalf of sex workers, before performing a stunning voguing-inspired dance number, almost as a form of personal revenge.
Arias created the conditions for her cast to give memorable performances, each with undeniable stage presence. In the second half of the show, which takes place on a regular stage after the audience is led to the theater, Cruz launches into a long monologue, composed in part of letters he wrote to his mother during the pandemic.
French director Caroline Guiela Nguyen has also long worked with nonprofessionals from around the world. This article originally appeared in The New York Times. Dear User, please complete the form below in order to recommend the Artdaily newsletter to someone you know.
