Has anyone ever found a “green” show in more ways than one? Yet this is the case here. The environment is indeed in question when Khrushchev, one of the protagonists, strives to replant trees uprooted by his fellows, in a language so modernly alarmist that no one, at first glance, would imagine it rooted in the Late 19th Century Russia: “All the forests crack under the axe, thousands of trees are killed, the dwellings of animals and birds are changed into desert, the rivers drop and dry up, marvelous landscapes disappear irretrievably. […] It takes a barbarian without a conscience to burn all this beauty in your stove, to destroy what we cannot create.”
But, from the greenery to the greenness, a second meaning of the epithet also interferes, as soon as one identifies the ardor of a cast that is both playful and imprecise, made up of three twenty-somethings of Turkish origin respectively (the Kurdish), Ivorian and Guinean, from a program aimed at supporting “the visibility of young people from diverse backgrounds on theater sets”. She gave birth as part of a “Through the villages” tour, coaxed by the Comédie de Colmar, We will live again is more than a palimpsest and less than a ratification.
Freely cutting the man of the woods by Anton Chekhov, a failed comedy – but which will provide its author with the substrate forUncle Vanya eight years later – the prolific Nathalie Béasse strives to transcend incompleteness in a hundred paintings (gestures, lines, props, etc.) recalling that to the staging, she adds the attributes of scenographer, costume designer and choreographer . “Maybe you’ll get lost, but that’s okay,” warn the actors, who present themselves casually, by declining the many fictitious identities that they will endorse for an hour.
In fact, if Chekhov remains a coryphée of the theaters of France and Navarre, We will live again nevertheless defies orthodoxy, daring to opt for the modest ambition of a performative pharmacy from which, against the backdrop of Andrea Laszlo by Simone or Ennio Morricone (the soundtrack of Clan of the Sicilians) happy fragments sometimes spring up, between a ballet of buckets filled with earth that we swing in the face, and a sylvan fresco, painted live by the trio at the end of the gymkhana.