Lebanon lost all hope. 'Told by my Mother' makes that palpable at the Holland Festival

Perhaps the worst thing about missing persons is the outside world, which does not understand why those left behind by missing persons refuse to be called next of kin. As long as no tangible and therefore irrefutable proof of the missing person's death has been provided, they hold out hope. Not against their better judgement, because knowing better is something for outsiders. The performers 

The performers of 'Told By My Mother' very soberly still consider at every concert that Fatmeh's missing son, who disappeared in Syria in 2012, suddenly turns out to be in the audience. And that that would be comfort for Fatmeh, who has been dead for a couple of years. Explain that.

To explain that, Lebanese theatre-maker Ali Chahrour takes just under five quarters of an hour and that thick hour hits like a bomb. Not with everyone, I noticed around me. There were people who felt misled because the performance was categorised as 'dance'. Because 'dance', it is not quite that.

Mugshot

What it is, though? A concert that starts with a mugshot and a prayer, after which the whole story is unfolded by a calm narrator. She tells everything, right to the end, so we don't have to worry during the rest of the performance whether we understand every detail of the text.

The ensemble consists of two musicians plus the narrator, who sings beautifully, a dancer, the choreographer's aunt and her son who did return alive from fighting in Syria. The two play themselves. By no means an uncharged company. But therefore not an unscathed company either. 

Open-mindedness lost

The people of Lebanon have lost the open-mindedness that had been gently recovered there at the beginning of this century. The country has a rich art tradition, unique because of the mixing of ethnic groups in the capital Beirut. I saw Rabih Mroué's (Miracle from Beirut: Make me stop smoking - Rabih Mroué " Wijbrand Schaap) and impressive dancing by Omar Rajeh (Impressive Minaret shows at Theatre Festival Boulevard that art survives disasters. (And check out what Miet Warlop pulls off with Dervishes)).

That may have been a high point, because in 2024, earlier optimism gave way to despair: Boulevard diary #3: basil connects the world - Culture Press. 

Beyond despair

Told By My Mother, now showing at the Holland Festival, is beyond that despair. So that makes for beautiful theatre, more ritual than dance, more prayer than music, more doom than hope. No light shines in this performance, but how insanely beautiful is that music. With no more than a percussionist and a saz player, a wall of sound which rocked the entire Rabo Hall at ITA. Something they achieve with effects pedals and a good mixing desk. They suddenly give the Arabic music the bass feel of better death metal, and it feels very fitting. At some point, the repetitive sound is hypnotic. 

The performance may be heavy, but it is also restrained. That austerity makes it bearable. At least for us. Anyone missing someone, and hundreds of those people are added every day in all the battlegrounds that rogue soldiers organise for each other, sees confirmed how unbearable it is. . 

No one gets to mourn anymore. That is perhaps the greatest trauma the world will be saddled with in the coming decades. That's what that mother told me in the Rabo Hall.    

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