In 1978, when Varvara Lazaredo I first played in Epidaurusin the Trojans of the Art Theater, was in awe of the young actress, and could not imagine that the theater in which most actors dream of playing, would become her “second home.”
At the beginning of every summer, the director of the ancient Epidaurus Theater for 22 years loads her car and drives to the place that has become her “adopted” home. This summer she will take her tours in the sanctuary of Apollo Maliata around the theater, among the lion trees and in the shadow of the mountain. She will be inside the theater at dawn, in the coolness and in the clear, clean air. She will feel the theater breathing in silence as the last spectator leaves and listen to his son-in-law.
But her work does not only include this poetic part: she is the one who controls, coordinates and solves the small and large problems in preparing the shows, making sure that everything goes smoothly until the last spectator, the last contributor, the last contributor, the last truck in the show scene.
Epidaurus has given her many poignant moments, one of which is when she meets old actors who come to see the shows. “I think for some, while they have spent their whole lives in the theatre, they never got here, because of luck or circumstance, not because they don’t deserve it.”
The guardian angel of the theatre who knows every corner of it, welcomes teams, opens her arms to strangers arriving for the first time, to beginners in the “rolls”, to exhausted actors. “The theatre wants you to be a winner,” she says when I ask her about the years that have passed since her first arrival in Epidaurus. “You can’t be sad and go to claim a job or do it well. You are exposed, you can’t hide. I feel very grateful that all my life experiences have come together to achieve what I do today.”
Born in Thessaloniki, she studied at KTHBE and became an actress, as she dreamed, and once she finished she was appointed to the Arts Theater which opened the way for actors who had not attended school, along with Lydia Coniordo And the Pantele Papadopoulos. She was so passionate about theater that, as a student, she would go to Athens from Friday to Sunday to watch performances and follow the most interesting theatrical action. Life brought her to Athens, but she later returned several times to KTHBE to participate in its shows.
Then she met him George TsiplakosHer husband, when he became director of the Epidaurus Theatre in 1987, spent the summers there. Her son Konstantinos grew up in the theatre, and considers Epidaurus his “village”.
“For me, Epidaurus is many things; it is our summers, it is sleeping in the theatre during rehearsals, it is the comics that my father bought me and that I read to Leonidas, it is the wasps swimming in bottles turned upside down; it is still the sound and the silence, the smells, the moon and the cicadas, the Kapaki with Fotopoulos, Alcinous, Synodino, Ethan Hawke, Fogiatzis, Tsianos, and the Medea that I never played,” she writes among others in her tender memoir from London where she lives today.
Giorgos Tsiplakos died prematurely at the age of 61 in 2002, and Varvara dared to claim his place. They trusted her, they encouraged her, and this is how this adventure began, a happy moment for her and for the institution that gained a man with composure, knowledge and kindness, who knows every corner of the theater, every secret and every story behind it. What happens on stage, who walks around the theater all day to relax, as she told me, but also to check every detail, with a painkiller in her pocket for the actor who has a headache during rehearsal or performance.
“People’s personalities are very visible in the theater, and the space itself reveals them.” Photo: Spyros Staveris/LIFO
Every summer seems like her first time, with new yearnings, pains, satisfactions, smiles and tears arriving at her doorstep. “The problems are the ones you can’t see. Every year, every week here is like starting over, there’s no habit or autopilot. My job is not just to deal with the little things, but to prevent them from happening or becoming big.”
After a month of performances, the work of protecting the stage begins, making sure the place is safe when the audience arrives, starting with very practical things so they don’t feel like they went to all this trouble to get there. for nothing. “I remember when I started, my first job was to start the biological treatment, which was unused. I started cleaning the surrounding area – housekeeping stuff, a process: I had to hire staff, solve various problems, provide water, organize cleaning, all the procedural stuff.” .
Much has changed in Epidaurus in the intervening years. “They’ve changed for the better. We used to have a smoking theatre, no one could even get through the steps, they’d jump over the bars to get in, there was a huge commotion outside, we didn’t even have a security guard. Now there’s e-ticketing, and the parking works better.” Of course, there’s always a rabble-rouser, there’s always angry spectators and someone great has to take over, but my biggest fear is that there’ll be an accident. I relax and calm down when the spectators leave and go home. I’m really less concerned about the show, whether it’s going to work, or not “Safety of the world.”
When the actors first arrive at Epidaurus, he stands and watches them all sitting together on stage M, the first stage as we enter on the right. “They usually sit together for a first familiarization with the space. Little by little someone comes out and starts walking around the stage, up and down the stands. The figures of the people in the stage are very visible, and the space itself strips them of their clothes. You can’t predict whether a show will be a success, but you can tell if everything is in order by the relationship between the director, the production and the troupe.
I’ve seen kids come here without pay to play and they just sit there like wilting and I can’t do anything about them. But this second show, invisible to the audience, behind the scenes, and everything that happens behind the scenes during the show, captivates me every time. “It is done in the absence of spectators and in complete silence, like a choreography.”
The most metaphysical moment in the theatre is this moment, when time reaches from zero to one, when, like an initiator, in the silence of the moment, the sound of snow and pitch darkness, he raises his hand and says “Let us go” to start everything and enter myth and history.
“This is my moment, before the actors go on stage, when I give the signal to start the show, when I raise my hand and make the cross, the moment when I see around me other hands raising and making the cross, and this is not about faith, but also about the ‘with God’ that is inside each person. And then everything takes its course.”
Her memories are in the thousands, if someone asked her what she remembers most she would not talk about the performances but about scenes, images beyond description, bodies colliding and voices vibrating and making you tremble, the orchestra cleaned of unnecessary things, the unreal speed with what was changed by Kevin Spaceyher troupe dancers Bena Paus Trained as if they had never set foot on the ground, the actors transform themselves, grow taller, take on another shape, gain weight and size. Storms and sudden rain make the theater difficult to recognize.
“The most intense experience was on Happy Days with Fiona Shaw, at its first show, as the sky turned red due to the tragic fires of 2007. That smell is still in my nose and even today I think about that nightmare, and beg not to live it.” him again. Another thing I noticed is how the vast majority of alien actors view space. They don’t do any little things, not even our exaggerations. They really enjoy it. Of course, foreigners come very well prepared in terms of production and with proper serious study, I envy that. We often talk about sanctity and the temple of art, and keep pigeons in mind. There are very few actors who come and try on their own, outside of rehearsals.”
Epidaurus has given her many poignant moments, one of which is when she meets old actors who come to see the shows. “I think for some, while they’ve spent their whole lives in theatre, they never get here, because of luck or circumstance, not because they don’t deserve it.”
What makes her incredibly angry is the bad, rude behavior, yelling and screaming. “This shows a lack of culture and a lack of respect for the person next to you who might like the show. Shows, whatever they are, do not need obscenity but politeness, whether you like it or not. But what really bothers me are the curtsys directed at onlookers by taxi passengers, when they try to maintain On the system, asking them to turn off their cell phones and not disturb is a waste of effort, some people don’t let go.
I have to make this clear: These guys train, they work 14 days all summer long, and they come at 5:30 in the afternoon, in the heat, to lay out five thousand pillows to welcome you and find your seats. I understand that people, especially on a Friday after work, are not catching their breath. I would suggest that they give themselves some time, arrive on time, be quiet for a while, and breathe so they can enjoy the experience, especially if they are coming for the first time. To gain their own relationship with theatre, because regardless of the performance, that is their interest, to feel the magic.”
The article was published in LiFO print.
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