Cast
A rising star of European theatre, Mario Banushi has invented a wordless stage language that holds together solely through the power of his visions. A family gathers around a lifeless body to commemorate the passing of a loved one. In the midst of this intimacy affected by grief, mysterious figures resurface. The home becomes the setting for a strange ritual, a ceremony where ordinary gestures are imbued with sacredness. Like a painter, Banushi strings together a series of visions, influenced by the imagery of ancient Balkan rituals as well as Christian iconography. Goodbye Lindita is a meditation on death and life through a theatre of images, where contemplation gives way to reverence.
Five dates
October 3, 2021 Although I didn't know it at the time, it was the beginning of a profound transformation.
It was the day I understood for the first time what it meant to lose a loved one. The day I learned that my mother-in-law, Lindita, had passed away. At that moment, I felt something growing inside me too fast. I realized that nothing is immutable. Nothing is guaranteed. A few days later, my father died. These two losses gave rise to Goodbye Lindita, my first play. It's a very personal piece that, to a certain extent, allowed me to mourn without being completely alone. To mourn alongside my collaborators. And with all the people who have seen and will see this show.
May 16, 2022 From May 1 to 15, I presented my first stage production (Ragada) in Athens, in a house that we transformed into a performance stage for the occasion, because no theater or performance space would trust me, always responding to my proposal to perform in their venue that I lacked experience and that it was risky to program me without my work having been presented before. So, after much effort and exhaustion, the day finally came to perform Ragada in this apartment. On May 15, the last day of performances, we received a phone call: we were asked if there was a place left to see the show. We replied that we were sold out. A little later, we learned that the call had come from the director of the National Theatre of Greece. We called him back immediately and told him we'd find him a seat... The next day, May 16, having seen the show the day before, I received a call from the National Theatre offering me the chance to direct a play. I'll never forget that feeling of pure joy and victory, after so many rejections from people who were “afraid” of taking risks. All of a sudden, your country's National Theater calls you to ask you to direct a play. After the call, I took a photo of myself crying, so I'll never forget how I felt at that moment.
December 2003 This is undoubtedly one of the most important moments in my life, as it was the moment when my mother brought me back to Greece from Albania, where I had been raised by my grandmother. I still remember that day in great detail, the moment when I was picked up from my grandmother's house, and I pretended to be asleep when I was awake, because I couldn't bear the thought of being separated from the one I called “mom”... my mother carrying me and me wondering, “Where are we going?” And the moment we arrived in Athens, fully decorated for Christmas... all those lights that scared me, I'd never seen anything so big. I looked out over the city from the cab, and I'll never forget that feeling, that “Where am I? The feeling that this city was going to swallow me up. Over the years, I fell in love with this city and never again feared that it would swallow me up, but every time I returned to Albania in the summer, I felt a deep sense of love and relief.
September 2006 Albania, summer, July I was standing outside my father's tavern in the evening, children playing in the street, and I was fascinated by a lamp, one of those that decorated the tavern. The lamp I was fascinated by had no protective globe, so I slowly approached it and touched it. That's when I felt an electric current run through my entire body... I won't go into the details that followed, as they are chilling and violent. That same night, I was flown back to Greece, as my life was in danger. I spent several months in hospital, undergoing various operations and so on. I'll never forget the day I walked out of the hospital after three months and saw the sun. I said to myself: “Life is beautiful”. I didn't choose September by chance, even though the traumatic event that year happened in July. I chose it because what ultimately triumphed was the feeling that “life is beautiful.”
October 5, 2023 Belgrade, Festival Bitef It was the first time I had presented my work abroad. I remember sitting in the audience, watching it enter and fill the hall, even sitting on the steps. I said to myself: “We've done it!”, and felt gratitude and happiness, having never traveled in my life, suddenly finding myself outside Greece, and not on vacation..., but to show my work. What could be more beautiful and moving than that? I'll never forget that turning point in my career, when the audience, during the last ten minutes of the show, stood up as if to signify how much they loved what they were watching, and I stood among the spectators, tears in my eyes, filled with this feeling of beauty. Then, even though I have my own theory about awards, I was very moved to receive the two prizes I was awarded at the end of the festival. To feel recognition at the first milestone is a beautiful thing, and a good motivation to keep going!
