Anita Angelova in conversation with director Stoyan Radev about ‘Mother Courage and Her Children’ by Bertolt Brecht at Theatre of Satire in Sofia. The performance is part of the Bulgarian selection and the Showcase.
Mother Courage and Her Children is staged at the Theatre of Satire —a venue with a long history of social critique, especially during the communist times when satire served as a form of resistance. What does it mean to you to work on Brecht in this particular theatre?
I’m glad that the Theatre of Satire accepted my proposal to present this play on its stage, and I’m thankful for that. It’s truly a gesture that serves as a reminder of what the satirical mission consists of. It wasn’t easy to carry out this ambitious endeavour. It’s challenging because, by definition, satire places the viewer in the uncomfortable position of confronting their own, shall we say, unflattering image. To idealize oneself and blame the surrounding world is a way to deepen problems, not solve them. Brecht does the unthinkable—he dismantles the steadfastly virtuous image of the mother by showing that she does not run from war but tries to profit from it, ultimately enduring the deaths of her own children just to keep going. She is not the victim. With a character that both mirrors and nurtures political demagoguery, she becomes a source of suffering—however unbearable that realization might be. The audience at the Theatre of Satire comes to be entertained. Well, we’re offering entertainment, Brecht-style—he believed that theatre must indeed be entertaining, but not superficially so; it must be profound. To be startled by what you are and to laugh at yourself—therein lies a glimmer of hope.
Albena Pavlova plays the role of Mother Courage—a character steeped in historical and theatrical memory. How did you help her find her own ‘Courage’ without falling into the shadow of past interpretations?
Albena Pavlova’s talent leads her to live authentically on stage; it doesn’t allow her to follow in someone else’s footsteps but throws her into the risky terrain of her own choices. I simply encouraged her, because risk can unsettle an actor. I even acted alongside her during rehearsals—Brecht recommends that someone take on your role so you can observe yourself from the outside. That’s how we helped each other. Because without Albena as Mother Courage, without the trust and inspiration of everyone on the team—actors, set designer, costume designer, choreographer, composer, and the technical crew—it would have been impossible to do our job.
Where is the line between persistence and delusion? And can the drive for survival become a form of self-forgetting?
In traditional Japanese culture, the survival of the physical body is not a value—the aim is for spiritual integrity to survive, that which makes one human. That’s why ritual suicides are performed when duty is unfulfilled, and the continuation of an honourable life becomes impossible. This act preserves honour—if it isn’t done, the very core of human essence, which has an otherworldly root, is lost. Similar attitudes exist in other cultural spheres as well, but the Eastern model is the most eloquent. Such extremity is unacceptable to a worldview in which taking a life cannot be justified under any circumstance. This humane worldview, with its religious-philosophical and legal reasoning, dominates contemporary civilization. And perhaps it should. But still, the question remains—what exactly survives when we strive for survival? And we are often struck by the anxious thought that we are preserving the insignificant and losing the essential. Mother Courage and Her Children is the sharp edge of that anxiety.
Brecht wanted an active, thinking, critical viewer. What kind of viewer does this production call to today—and is today’s person ready to accept the truth if it’s served unadorned?
We’re addressing the audience as it is today. We don’t place demands on them—we place demands on ourselves. It’s our task to awaken their thoughts, their empathy and understanding, their care. We must offer them a path through hardship with shared pain, with fearlessness, with a smile and with wisdom. If we succeed, we are happy. If we don’t—we must try harder.