“Engrossing from start to end, & spanning the gamut from magical to horrifying” – Moč (The Power) from Ljubljana Puppet Theatre is a show like no other.
📍Summerhall, Edinburgh
📅 Sat 4 to Mon 6 Feb
💷 £12/£10 (conc.)
🕖 8pm/5pm/2pm – see listing for details
🕖 Running time (approx.): 60 minutes (no interval)
👍 Produced by: Lutkovno gledališče Ljubljana / Ljubljana Puppet Theatre
🎬 Authors, directors, actors: Jiří Zeman and Martina Maurič Lazar
🎶 Music: Milko Lazar
⚒️ Puppet Design: Gregor Lorenci
💡 Lighting Design: Maša Avsec
🎂 18+
🎭 Wheelchair Accessible Venue, Mon 6 – BSL Interpreted, No Hearing Loop
The last time Edinburgh experienced the marvellous world of the Ljubljana Puppet Theatre was back in 2020, before a certain event derailed the cultural, and indeed universal calendar. They return with a very different production in Moč (The Power), though every bit as immersive as their earlier, avian extravaganza.
At this point in a review, it is customary to give the reader a summary of the narrative set-up, whilst studiously avoiding spoilers. All The QR can tell you is as follows…The experience begins outside on the doorstep of Summerhall’s Demonstration Room, the audience greeted by a mercurial Jiří Zeman. After a brief introduction to Czech humour, glass puppets, and a caution to expect his snooty Slovenian associate inside, it’s time to journey into the darkened interior. Demanding all eyes, Martina Maurič Lazar sits centre-stage, seated in sartorial grandeur and the sole claimant of the muted spotlight.
The relationship between Zeman and Lazar first appears one of master and subject, the former coaching her through a series of gestures, whilst he takes liberal photographs by means of dazzling flashes. Thought she is feted, her needs attended to, still she appears captured. Over the following 55 minutes, that relationship evolves through any number of subtle re-arrangements and shifts in balance. There is no dialogue, and so the audience is free to imagine their own story, and to find their own meaning.
Which isn’t to say the entire undertaking isn’t completely laden with intent, indeed Moč abounds in symbolism, and metaphor. The introduction of the delicate glass puppet which will attend the mute Lazar, for example, is wondrous in more ways than one. Is this her soul being taken out and examined? Is its progressive diminution a measure of her sacrifices to perpetuate her status? What contract is she signing with a shining pen, and why do grotesque faces keep emerging to both her and Zeman’s displeasure?
Are these the visages of noisy advisors popping up to take advantage of a celebrity? Is she in charge, or his he? Are both subject to other, greater forces? Perhaps…or perhaps you, dear reader, will think differently? What narrative shall you conjure to explain the odd chandelier looming overhead, and its bizarre evolutions?
The sheer complexity of this show is belied by its performative simplicity, the darkness hiding the many strings by which Zeman brings puppets and other objects to mysterious life. That the two performers are able to give such committed, emotionally laden performances amidst this invisible web is simply astounding. Indeed both are wonderful, unfolding fully fleshed out characters who dance a complex negotiation of wills and desires. Neither heroes nor villains, just imperfect humans making choices, and deciding what they can live with.
Milko Lazar creates a musical tapestry to attend the drama, from baroque hymn to privilege, to an elegy of solitary notes woven through the silence of profound introspection. The puppets crafted by Gregor Lorenci are an ingenious menagerie ranging from the beautiful to the grotesque, recognisable and resolute alien. These are not addenda to the drama, but players in their own right.
Which is about all I can say about Moč without simply re-telling a story the Ljubljana Puppet Theatre are far better placed to. Engrossing from start to end, and spanning the gamut from magical to horrifying, it’s a show like no other. It may not be quite as awe-inspiring as their last outing in the city, but it stay with you for quite a while; not least because there will always be another way to join the dots, and to tell yourself you saw a different story.
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