Samoudica Aims to Shock

In a display of what was meant to be anger, anguish and shock, we learn just how pedestrian a theatre shocker can be.

It has been a long time, since such a shocking play was performed in Belgrade, the critics say, when they discuss Samoudica, the new play by Aleksandar Radivojevic.

The name is a play on the Serbian for suicide, (samoubica), paraphrasing the title of a work by Nikolai Erdmanov, which could mean self-hook or perhaps self-harm and there indeed are few lines that remain as memorable as the title, for their impact, their context and for the intelligent way in which they address complex social issues.

However, just as a few good lines don’t make a good theatre piece, nor do bare breasts (of which more later) make a shocker.

Mr. Radivojevic brings us into the office of a certain Radman, who recruits young, directionless people for a “Grand Arts and Culture Project of National Importance for a Charitable Cause.”

He is first visited by a young student Lina, played admirably by Hristina Popovic Mijin, who comes from the depths of the provinces. Dressed in a less than discreet red dress, she provokes us in an overly deliberate fashion, performing a song “My boyfriend is Serbia.” As Radman displays detachment from Lina’s dramatic performance, he talks about Serbia’s myths, represented here, by a grand painting of the Kosovo march.

Radman makes Lina an offer she can’t refuse, sending her behind the picture that, with a change of lighting, becomes a screen into the backstage. Lina is told to undress herself, yet Ms. Popovic Mijin gets just half way there before she is poisoned and dies. We move into a tasteless scene featuring a bodybuilder, in what can only be described as a ‘gimp mask’, performing necrophilia on the corpse, all the while accompanied by a progressive techno beat.

The second candidate is Kolja, whose story is roughly similar. A provincal boy from Bosnia, a wannabe writer. He is embodied by Bojan Dimitrijevic, whose lack of skill when it comes to imitating the Bosnian accent is almost overcome by his fierce engagement with the role. He, too, goes through more or less the same procedure, the only difference being that his nudity is full.

At the centre of all this, is Branislav Lecic, playing Radman. The former culture minister and a film actor was chosen for Samoudica specifically because of his role in politics. Mr. Lecic is also one of the very few actors with an obvious flaw, which is accepted and even loved by majority of the audience – he just can not seem to successfully play a negative character.

But Mr. Lecic’s ‘innate goodness’ does not take away all of our enjoyment of the character, as Radman, too, is given a few star lines in the text.

The concept of a regime sacrificing young people for the sake of profit is neither new nor fresh. The same can be said about the concept of necrophilia being truly shocking.

Nudity as well, came to theatre stages some 50 years ago, although it must be acknowledged, in post 90’s Serbia, not particularly frequently.

What makes Samoudica a worthwhile investment in time and money for the viewer is neither of those things specifically, but the fact that Mr. Radivojevic has, over the years taken on the role of being the ‘urban enlightener’ in the provincial, conservative darkness.

First, with Shock Corridor, a TV show which featured clips of the bloodiest, most violent scenes in cinema. Then penning ‘Carlston za Ognjenku’ (Tears for Sale), which premiered last year. And most recently ‘A Serbian Film,’ a snuff-shocker which Mr. Radivojevic co-wrote and is in post production, and is due to open in the autumn, should it ever get past the censor’s scissors.

The latter parts of Samoudica, see Jelena Djokic, playing Sofia, arrive on the scene, to reveal the reasons for the hirings and murders and she does give a somewhat darker tone to the performance, something Mr. Lecic’s acting and the directing of Snezana Trsic, somehow, despite the subject matter, singularly failed to do.

It is, of course, possible that Samoudica was meant as a satirical take on Serbia’s tragic everyday life, yet it seems impossible, in just over an hour, to effectively paint all the nuances, from irony, to physical discomfort and tragedy.

The mixture of political statements, empty talk, nudity, after-death sex accompanied by techno music, a blonde, a brunette and a skinny boy, overloads the viewer, instead of focusing on any particular theme.

Yet, Samoudica has been, despite its shortcomings, which include a highly unsatisfactory ending, sold out since its opening, with celebrities flocking to the show.

But for me, the best I can say is: compliments for the idea, but not for the execution.