Death and Milk

This is not a show about death. It is not a show about a mother, a son, and a goldfish. It is not a show about a motorcyclist who arrived too late. It is not a show about resuscitating accident victims, although it’s not said that you won’t learn how to do that. It is not a show about how dangerous deer, antelopes, and other even-toed horned ungulates can be. It is not a show about divine beings in white robes. It is not a show about a boy playing with his
mother’s rockets of salvation. It is not a show about the light at the end of the tunnel, the mists rising from the river of forgetting, or the unceasing beeping sound that refuses to leave your ear.

Justification of the selector of 13TH BIENNIAL OF PUPPETRY ARTISTS OF SLOVENIA
In the performance Death and Milk, death is the driving force of stage life, which, on stage, turns into smoke as thick as milk. In the confrontation of bodies and rhythm, the actors shape life stories through the deaths that have marked them to a large extent, most often caused by cigarette smoke. In the forceful and visually expressive intermediate scenes, these same deaths strike back: they wrap them in their (cigarette) smoke, which transforms
into a thick cover. In it, like a short inhale and exhale, life is squeezing. Smoke in the performance is not a constant, but a supporting insert that becomes a dramaturgical confirmation, a comment and a point, and with all this one of the carriers of the whole. In terms of performance, the smoke very effectively penetrates the performance space and transforms the horizontal
flatness of classical shadows into a claustrophobic vertical that densely envelops stage (and real) life, threatening and suffocating it.