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Daily Maverick
7 days ago
- Entertainment
- Daily Maverick
Not your grandmother's Aida — Verdi's great work gets a science fiction spin
Cape Town Opera delivers a superb production of one of opera's true classics, Aida. This production reimagines the setting in an African futurist time and landscape. The Cape Town Opera's production of Giuseppe Verdi's classic opera Aida, now on at the Artscape Theatre until 31 May, receives a dramatic, modern spin, even as it stays faithful to the music and story of this great work. Sometimes operas can be overly fancy with the plots and subplots (and the music to go with such wrinkles and complications). But as conductor Kamal Khan explained to me, Aida is, at its heart, a simple story of a love triangle that goes way off track — but embedded in a struggle between two warring nations, along with espionage and international betrayals thrown in to give the storyline extra energy. Aida's origin story begins in the 1860s as the Egyptian khedive Isma'il Pasha was determined to make his heretofore recumbent nation, which had been an Ottoman satrapy for hundreds of years — but one with an extraordinarily long history of its civilisation — into an avatar of modernisation and a model for Africa and Asia. This was taking place just before the explosion of European colonisation in Africa and Asia that occurred from the 1880s onward. As the fates would have it, Egypt was becoming increasingly prosperous from its exports of fine quality cotton to European mills because of the American Civil War and the blockade of Confederate ports by the Union Navy that prevented cotton from being exported. Moreover, the French were constructing the Suez Canal on the edges of Egyptian territory, linking the Mediterranean and Red seas. This canal promised to give rise to faster, safer sea transport between Europe and South and East Asia — once ships began transiting the canal from 1870. And so, what's a khedive to do in the face of all of this excitement and progress? The right answer is to commission an opera from one of the world's finest composers, someone whose music would highlight Egypt's vast historical panorama and glorious past, and simultaneously mark Egypt's emergence as a wannabe modern power. Why not! Initially somewhat reluctant, Verdi eventually accepted the commission and produced one of the grandest of 19th-century grand operas. The work almost instantly became part of the repertoires of opera companies around the world. Productions have taken place somewhere around the globe every year since it premiered in 1871 in Cairo in Egypt's new opera house, and then in its European premiere in Milan, Italy. The Cairo production had been held up by the Franco-Prussian War as the costumes and sets were being fabricated in France. The Egypt of Aida is remarkably different from Mozart's Egypt in The Magic Flute. The latter is all about philosophical mysteries and Masonic symbols in an imaginary Egypt. By contrast, Verdi's Egypt came 70 years after Napoleon's Egyptian campaign, the discovery and successful translation of hieroglyphics via the Rosetta Stone, and the beginnings of serious archaeology. Verdi's Egypt was based, at least in part, on those early discoveries and interpretations of the culture of Egypt, transposed into the 19th-century operatic form. Of course, there are more recent operas situated in Africa, such as Philip Glass' Akhnaten and his Satyagraha, both John Adams' and Samuel Barber's Antony and Cleopatra, and one of the earliest operas, Dido and Aeneas, which takes place in Carthage in North Africa. South African composers, meanwhile, have created several operas about Nelson Mandela and one about Winnie Mandela, the precedent-setting 'Princess Magogo', as well as a clutch of short, one-act works ranging from the recording of Khoi-san legends to the death of Chris Hani. There certainly are a couple of seasons' worth of operas connected to Africa in this mix. The plot Aida's plot is pretty straightforward. Amneris, the princess of Egypt, is in love with Radames, a general. Meanwhile, Radames is head-over-heels in love with Aida, an Ethiopian princess, captured in a previous war, who is now a slave to Amneris. The Egyptians and Ethiopians are soon at war with each other yet again, and Radames is eventually selected as the general to lead the Egyptian army. He is a success, and the pharaoh promises him anything he desires. To the pharaoh's surprise, Radames' wish is to allow the Ethiopian POWs to go free, including, it turns out, Aida's father. This is not going to end well. Soon enough, Radames is trapped into betraying state secrets to the Ethiopian leader, who is waiting to meet his daughter, Aida, by the banks of the Nile. The Ethiopian's goal is to use his daughter's love for Radames to get him to compromise himself. Sure enough, Radames accidentally discloses the direction of the march by the Egyptian forces in their next attack — a security breach that lands him in enormous trouble (unlike US Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth), given that it is a treasonous offence to betray military secrets. Then, when the secrets are compromised, Amneris attempts to get Radames' sentence commuted if he will marry her, but to no avail since he will not renounce his love for Aida. Thus, it is off to the tomb below the temple for him for a gruesome death, as there will be no escape from his incarceration. Astonishingly, though, Aida has hidden herself in that same tomb, and so they die together, professing a hopeless love for each other. Amneris, meanwhile, is left to bewail the reality that the man she loves is about to die. Along the way, the opera has two of the greatest marches in operatic history. Listen to the Triumphal March from Act 2: It includes some big dance moments, and great arias like Celeste Aida — which pretty much describes what the title says the opera is supposed to be about. Listen to Luciano Pavarotti singing this famous aria: There is also Leontyne Price's famous performance of O Patria Mia: Science fiction Almost every production of Aida has monumental, ancient Egyptian sets filled with pyramids and costumes to match. Some productions have even had live elephants, cheetahs and lions on stage — especially when they have been done in outdoor arenas. But this production is different. Artistic director Magdalene Minnaar has elected to turn this Aida into a production based on 'African futurism'. The sets have uncanny echoes of some signature science fiction films and television serials — Fritz Lang's trailblazing film Metropolis, but also Dune, The Time Tunnel, those Dwayne Johnson Scorpion films, and Luc Besson's The Fifth Element, among others. If you watch closely, there is a moment that echoes the denizens of the Star Wars cantina. The Egyptian soldiers owe something of their style to Star Trek's Borg or, perhaps, the clone warriors of the Star Wars universe — with their glowing red-laser pointer eyes. Minnaar admits she had a love of science fiction as a teen and still has a fascination with Dune — and her animation designers are said to share the same feelings. In this Aida there are no pyramids, temples, massive statues or sphinxes, but there is a mysterious ascending and descending, glowing triangle floating in space — perhaps a subtle reference to that Masonic business Mozart used in his Egyptian opera, maybe the pyramids, or perhaps a reachback to the idea that Aida is really about a love triangle gone really, really bad. The priests, to give Radames the edge in fighting the Ethiopians, offer him their blessings, and then hand him a magical weapon for the upcoming battle with the Ethiopians that is almost certainly meant to be some kind of nuclear device. Moreover, the backdrop often features stylised representations of atomic nuclei and mathematical equations, as well as planets in orbit around the Sun. This production is not your grandmother's Aida with the elephants and Egyptian symbols. This is a reimagining with a vengeance, even if, amazingly, none of this re-situating does damage to score, story or Antonio Ghislanzoni's libretto. Precision and dynamism In this production, conductor Kamal Khan brought precision and a dynamism to the entire performance, while the chorus, trained by Antoinette Huyssen, was uniformly excellent. The leads on opening night — Nobulumko Mngxekeza as Aida, Nonhlanhla Yende as Amneris, and Lukhanyo Moyake as Radames, and supporting cast members Conroy Scott as Amonasro, Garth Delport as the Egyptian king, Lonwabo Mose as Ramfis, Van Wyk Venter as the royal messenger and Khayakazi Madlala as the high priestess — all sang beautifully. Offering any criticisms seems almost churlish. While most of the costuming was exciting, Aida's was the least effective from among the leads, especially in comparison to Amneris' unorthodox make-up and costumes (with a possible reachback to Grace Jones). While Mngxekeza's singing was superb, her and Radames' love for each other seemed a bit pallid in its physical expression, in contrast to Amneris' clear obsession with her hero and would-be husband. Finally, choreographer Gregory Maqoma's innovative movements for the dancers from the Jazzart Dance Theatre could serve the opera's action even better if their entrances integrated them more smoothly into the ongoing action, as opposed to almost separate set pieces. Maqoma is well known for his precision of movement in his works, but his decision to allow the dancers to act more individually and naturally might be refined still further. On the whole, these are small criticisms of an ambitious, beautifully sung production. Verdi is said to have responded to a newspaper reporter's question about what his theory of opera was, with the words, 'The seats should be filled.' Artscape's seats for this opera should be filled by anyone who wants to stretch their musical experiences — or just enjoy a really fine production. One final word about Verdi. He was not just a first-tier composer. He was a politician and served as a senator in the new Italian state, post-1870. One of his lasting contributions was to spearhead musical education for everyone — in part, at least, to ensure concert seats were full. His efforts should be echoed in contemporary South Africa — this is a country in which music plays such an important part in so many people's lives, after all. DM
Mail & Guardian
26-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Mail & Guardian
Aida Reimagined: A galactic opera for the ages
Set in 3025, Cape Town Opera's Aida reinvents itself for a new generation but the voices and the music remain timeless Yes, it's that grandly spectacular opera that plays out in Egypt, its story set in some Eurocentric vision of an ancient land with made-up wars, muddled historical periods and an absolutely cacophonous agglomeration of characters, plots, subplots, wartime heroics, clandestine love, insane jealousy between romantic rivals, hidden identities, an enslaved princess and, of course, no end of political meddling by terrifying high priests manipulating the intrigue behind the scenes. It's all that and much more — but don't go to Cape Town Opera's Aida expecting some Indiana Jones -style 'adventure in archaeology' rendition of what's surely one of the great classical operas. This version bypasses the oftentimes ridiculous concatenation of historical references and transcends time and space to instead present a post- Black Panther reimagining of Aida set precisely 1 000 years in the future rather than 4 000 in the past. Whether or not this made-up, fantastical world always works is neither here nor there. If theatre's job is to rip you away from everyday reality and transport you to a faraway place, then this fantastically oversized Magdalene Minnaar-conceived Aida does precisely what it's meant to do: it blasts you with every trick in the theatrical playbook — and then some. Its sets are the most enormous built for Cape Town Opera in decades, the costumes are as out there as you're ever going to set eyes upon and the fierceness with which the cast of apparently millions strides onto stage, puffs its chest, performs, emotes and belts out those surging, soaring, heart-jolting songs while the orchestra performs up a storm — all of it is just so very, very much. There are elements that could be tempered, reworked, improved upon, but I actually don't care — this is South African opera proving a point. I've seen Aida performed at the great Arena amphitheatre in Verona, on an ancient stage, under the stars and in front of a crowd so massive it knocked my socks off. And while that production had mounted horses trotting onto stage and the voices could apparently be heard from miles away, it lacked the lusciousness, the splendour and — indeed — the phantasmagoric boldness and majesty of CTO's staging. What that Italian production lacked most of all, though, were our voices, our heart and soul. Because something this big, bold, brash and often transfixing production has in spades are singers of such consummate calibre that the voices alone are enough to break your heart — even before the heartbreaking tragedy of the final scene comes along and finishes you off. Created with spectacle in mind, Aida has always been about scale. Written by Giuseppe Verdi at what was evidently the height of his powers, it's an opera seemingly made for a stage at least twice as big as Artscape's Opera House, the space in some scenes tending to become congested. Sight lines are occasionally a problem, the flamboyantly dressed chorus members in one scene getting lost behind one another. And there's the minor anxiety caused by witnessing long lines of priests dressed in white struggling up and down the immense stairs without breaking character to clutch handrails or search for the steps in the half-darkness. There's so much to see and it's a pity when some of that gets lost or when the intended symmetry is interrupted by minor blips. Another, perhaps less forgivable, distraction are the highly visible stage hands moving the set around. Sometimes this happens while intimate scenes unfold at the front of the stage. One assumes that in the year 3025 some more advanced stage technology will exist, along with entirely new textiles and fashion designers not so intent on channelling outfits worn by the bourgeoisie in The Hunger Games and The Fifth Element . The costumes, however eye-catching, suggest that couture creators 1 000 years hence will still be working with the same fabrics that can be seen on the streets of Cape Town today (puffer jackets, I'm looking at you) and I'm convinced that Radamès, the Egyptian general who is secretly in love with Aida, was for much of the show dressed in a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms. But, given the expansiveness and grandeur of the show as a whole, such quibbles are, ultimately, nitpicking. Against the backdrop of show-stopping spectacle, what takes your breath away are the voices, the spellbinding emotional punches to the gut that erupt from the lungs of these singers. And there's the beauty and sweetness of the music, the monumental grandeur contrasting with the quiet intimacy of a score that's luscious and stirring and likely to make you want to put on your uniform and go to war for love. Plus conductor Kamal Khan's incredible ability to coax so much out of both chorus and orchestra. What's also inescapable is the immensity of soprano Nobulumko Mngxekeza's performance as Aida. She opens her mouth and you are captivated; whatever special water she drank as a child, my god, it has given her a mighty set of lungs, the purity and honey-smoothness of her soprano voice absolutely carried me away. Wondrous, too, is her capacity to convey emotion — she is the least diva-ish presence on stage and yet fills the auditorium with Aida's complex feelings. And, have no doubt, what Aida feels is a lot. Verdi puts her through the wringer, the plot forcing her into such a tight, suffocating corner between love and duty. And she's not alone. Mezzo-soprano Nonhlanhla Yende as Aida's romantic rival, Amneris, the pharaoh's daughter, is similarly stunning. I had to continually remind myself that she was, technically, the 'baddie', because my ears kept falling in love with her voice. She absolutely won me over; did that magical thing Verdi so cleverly wanted to achieve — make the audience grow to empathise with the antagonist. It helps, no doubt, that Yende is also the singer most admirably costumed. Apart from her striking hairstyling and make-up, at one point she arrives on stage in some sort of crown that for me so beautifully sums up what this production — visually — is aiming for. Indeed, the accessories — the jewellery, especially — are in a genre of excellence all of their own. And while the casting of Mngxekeza and Yende seems to underscore the fact that Verdi, in 1871, was a man capable of creating an opera designed around two powerful female characters, the leading men here are brilliant, too. Lukhanyo Moyake as Radamès is fiery and full of genuine emotion, torn in so many directions and yet you absolutely believe him when he chooses love over nationalism. And, as Amonasro, Conroy Scott just blows you away with his effortless bass-baritone voice. Despite inadvertently being made to look like he's in Phantom of the Opera , he completely owns his role as the scheming, furiously vengeful Ethiopian king, up to the task of emotionally blackmailing Aida, his daughter. There's plenty of physicality in this production, too. Seldom will you have seen so many opera singers looking quite so confident in their bodies. There's a harem-style scene, in particular, when a host of women attend on Amneris, everyone dressed in gold, and while it's genuinely playful, full of rollicking naughtiness and slightly steamy, what's most disarming is how in their element the singers truly are. And there's Gregory Maqoma's choreography, too, which transforms the energy of the ballet sections completely and in one scene in particular compels the audience to hear Verdi in a new way. Such newness is a good thing. Egyptologists have for over a century moaned about the factual and historical inaccuracies evident throughout Aida , as though they imagine that Verdi meant it to be a Nat Geo documentary. He didn't. He was paid a fortune to create a spectacle that would emotionally buoy and elevate audiences, transport them, and hopefully continue doing so centuries later. Well, it's more than 150 years since Aida was first performed in Cairo, and while the emotions of its lovestruck trio continue to be sung with incredible potency, this sci-fi reimagining of the environment in which the story plays out resolves any academic fuss over cultural and historic inaccuracies. Aida has always been a container for pageantry and spectacle. There've been plenty of humungous productions. Aside from the horses ridden onto stage in Verona (and in New York), ballet dancers twirling ribbons and entire orchestras decked out in Egyptian robes, there've been renditions in Luxor with live camels. In a 1953 film version, with an 18-year-old Sophia Loren as the titular Ethiopian princess, there is blackface, and Loren's voice isn't even her own – she was dubbed by a professional opera singer. Aida has seen it all, in fact, including a Met Opera version of it at the start of this year that The New York Times referred to as 'blandly old-fashioned, without real poetry, theatricality or fun'. What's striking about Cape Town Opera's Aida – our Aida – is that it is not only grippingly theatrical, but tremendously good fun, and hugely accessible. Given the enormity of the heartbreak towards which the storyline inevitably leads, it is to the show's great credit that it's able to hold us in thrall of the visual and sonic spectacle, fill us with such delight and plant smiles on our faces before ultimately causing tears to well. And all of its many constituent elements are a potent reminder, too, of what an extraordinarily rich cultural landscape we're part of here at the tip of Africa * Aida is playing at Artscape in Cape Town until 31 May.
Yahoo
26-05-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
"I'm talking to you from your future": a conversation with Aida Čerkez, 30 years on from the siege of Sarajevo
Thirty years ago, Sarajevo was surrounded by artillery, snipers, and silence from the rest of the world. Bosnia was at war with Serbia and Croatia. Inside the besieged city, Aida Čerkez, a young journalist, was covering the war for the Associated Press from her basement newsroom, living under constant shelling, with no electricity, and with the gnawing sense that no one was listening. In the early days of the full-scale invasion, she wrote a letter to Ukrainians telling them that "Ukraine will stand, the rest will pass." Now, three decades later, she speaks to Ukrainians from a place we haven't yet reached: "afterwards". Aida has lived through war, grief, exile, return – and the long, messy road of trying to build something human from the rubble. Some of her reflections may not sit comfortably with Ukrainian readers. She talks about the weight of hatred, the moral fog of trauma, and the dangerous appeal of righteous anger. But perhaps that's exactly why her voice matters now – not because it echoes our own, but because it disrupts the echo chamber. In this interview, Aida shares what it means to keep reporting when the world seems indifferent, what silence enables in war, and why – even after everything – she still believes we can plant trees we may never see grow. We recorded this conversation in Lviv during Lviv Media Forum 2025. You once said that while you were in Sarajevo under siege, you lived with the illusion that showing the truth would be enough to stop the war. Do you remember the exact moment when you lost that illusion? It wasn't one moment, it was a process. It was maybe two years into the war… I think it was during one of those peace negotiations like the one taking place today [this interview was recorded on 16 May as the talks between Ukraine and Russia were taking place – ed.]. And people just stopped counting the peace negotiations at 300. Some of those peace negotiations would actually start with big artillery attacks on Sarajevo, which was a kind of pressure on the negotiators. So, you have this fear of peace negotiations because they're going to be violent for us while they're talking in Geneva. They're going to be pounding on us in order to put pressure on our negotiators. I remember people coming down the hallway in my building saying, "Peace negotiations are starting – let's go to the basement." So many of them failed that at some point I asked myself: what am I doing? You know, this has no effect on the public. This has no effect on the negotiators. This has no effect on foreign governments. So who am I actually talking to? Realising that for two years you've been reporting day and night, and nothing – zero – makes you kind of break down and think "It's not worth it." But in fact the process is so slow. You are changing public opinion. It's just so slow. When you're being shot at, every minute counts. You don't have time for years. But these things take years. It's this discrepancy, your impatience and reality – the reality which is you are changing the world, but it's so slow you can't see it. Exactly like the avenue I was talking about [during the discussion panel before the interview – ed.]: you have this beautiful avenue full of trees. If you look up, you can't see the sky because the trees are so beautiful and grown, and the people who planted them knew that they would not live to see this avenue. And it took 100 years maybe for those trees to grow and be that beautiful and turn it into this beautiful avenue. You may not even live to see peace and the effects of your work. But it'll be there , and this is something you have to realise, the slowness of the process and your impatience. It'll take decades for you to see the results. Maybe you never will, but it will be there. You realised that afterwards, as far as I understand… I realised that decades after the war, 20 years after the war. During that period when you were there, how did you fight frustration? How did you fight those feelings that you had no power over this? I cried. I cried a lot, and then those tears turned into hysteria, and then I started laughing and joking about it with other people. In the end, it just turned into a big joke. You just keep on rolling, and sometimes you just report because it's your job. But that's not enough. You have to see a purpose. I think that at some point you will contribute to a change that may not be "peace", but it may be a change of attitude, a change in the global consciousness about problems. You will contribute to that. It may not be good for Ukraine, and fast enough for Ukraine, but trust me: every day you are switching one person from not caring into somebody who is aware of other people and cares about other people. And that one person out of the seven billion is worth what you are doing. What advice would you give right now to Ukrainian journalists and activists who have realised that their articles no longer provoke any action from the authorities? Okay, what I would say to them is: try to imagine a world in which you all stop reporting. What's that going to look like? Sad. Uh-huh. So, are you improving the world with your articles? I guess so. I hope so. What's the alternative? No information? You know what that means? That means turning the light off and letting the bad people do whatever the hell they want to do without anybody seeing it. At least you're making it visible. Visibility gives some kind of a guarantee that it's not going to get worse. And that's what you're doing – keeping the light on. Because when it's dark, it gets ugly. So, you may think that you are watching massacres and you're watching wars and you're watching injustice and you are showing it to the world. But trust me, if you stop, it's going to get much worse. In the darkness, much more is possible than in daytime. During your panel, you mentioned that the media shouldn't be angry and provoke more anger. When you reported during the siege of Sarajevo, how did you keep yourself from getting angry and remain a professional journalist? It's difficult, but maybe not, you know. You have to kind of develop some kind of a bipolar.. Really? I saw myself as bipolar. One side of me was personally affected by this war. But I knew that if I let my emotions enter my articles – and I was working for foreign media – I wouldn't be trusted. So, at the time we had only heard about drones as something that might happen in the future, and somebody explained to me what they were. I always imagined myself sitting there seeing the situation from my perspective, which is the perspective of a victim of a big atrocity. But then I would kind of imagine myself being a drone, and then looking at it from above, like God or an angel or a drone or something, and then report about it. That would allow me to exclude my emotions from the report. It wasn't that hard because the facts are already horrible. You don't have to add bad words to them. You don't have to add lies to them. Even what is happening is not believable. The truth is even harder to believe. You don't have to add anything to it. And you are coming at this from the moral side of this situation. So it's easier for you. Imagine what it is like for an honest Russian who really wants to report what's going on. After the first half a sentence, he will be in jail, and after six months, dead. Sometimes that's worse than this, you know? And I only learned that after the war, when I discovered how many people in Belgrade had tried to tell the truth and were killed. So I realised later it was actually much easier for me under sniper fire and under bombs. You're just sitting in a basement, but at least you have the impression that you're on the right side of history and you're doing the right thing. That's much easier than being on the wrong side of history and trying to do something about it. I have a lot of respect for my colleagues in Bosnia who covered the war, but I have more respect for people I met later who suffered the consequences in their own society, in their own country, of only trying to tell the truth. And I have to tell you, that's worse. Because you're expelled from your community, and you may end up dead. At least here on my side, we're all together with a feeling that we're victims and we're right. In that sense, the honest people on the other side are the bigger victims sometimes. When the full-scale invasion started, you wrote a letter to Ukrainians because you were on the same side as Ukrainians are now. What motivated you to do this? I was angry. I was so angry because it was happening again. I was angry at everybody because I had seen that this was going to happen. Nobody has military exercises on their foreign border without wanting to roll in. What was the purpose of that? It was just that nobody wanted to [see this – ed.] except us in Bosnia – we saw it all coming, but we have that experience. Then I thought, "Man, why is it that nobody in Europe or in Ukraine could believe that this was going to happen, and it was only us in Sarajevo who knew they were going to attack you?" That's when I realised that it was because we had that experience, and if we didn't share it with the people over there, then what? If we all die and our experience dies with us, then it was all for nothing. People who've gone through this kind of thing and have any kind of experience should share it with others, because then it becomes common knowledge, and that is progress. Not learning something and then dying with it – that's not progress. I saw my letter and my warning to Ukraine as exactly that – a warning and progress. You should know what's coming your way. I didn't. But you should learn. From my experience, it'll make your life easier. And tomorrow when this ends, do the same for the next one in the line. You saw the same stages of the beginning of the war now and the war then… Same. Maybe then you can tell us what mistakes Ukraine shouldn't repeat now. Be careful what narrative you develop. Because when all this is over, you may get consumed by hatred. It won't affect Russia. They don't care whether you like them or not. But your society will be stuck in hatred that will block you from progress. You should not forget what happened to you. But you should not be obsessed with it. That's why you should try to avoid hate speech. Because hate speech will poison the next generation. You're passing down trauma to the next generation. You should warn the next generation and make them aware of the history and the danger, but not pass on your trauma. Because it will block them from growing up as normal people. Many people made that mistake in Bosnia, but in general, many people got over it. I always have to mention and remember there is a city in Eastern Bosnia called Srebrenica. There was a genocide committed over there. So, the mothers of the victims have an association. I've been stunned by their courage in seeking the truth, insisting on [justice in the] courts, but reaching out to the progressive people in Serbia. They stand together every 11 July: the Mothers of Srebrenica and the women in black from Belgrade stand together next to the graves. That is a healing process for both of them. It doesn't matter what it looks like, but for both of them it's a healing process. They're above the conflict of nations. They have understood that it's a conflict between good and bad, and they're both on the good side, instead of accusing a nation of being bad and I'm good, mine is good. That's wrong because it will just block you. They have understood that there are good people on both sides. If you decide to be among the good people on this planet and not just to be a Ukrainian, it's much more than just being a member of a nation. How much time passed before this happened? I think it took maybe five or six years. Very soon. Very soon. Actually, the women from Belgrade reached out, and there was this hand that accepted, and they met and cried and now they're sisters. For me as a Ukrainian, that's hard to imagine… It is hard to imagine. Yes, it was for me, too. Especially right now in the middle of the war. I want to understand how it is possible, because you are already in a post-war period – one which I cannot even imagine. What does it look like? I'm talking to you from your future. I have to tell you that in the future, you will find out how many victims the Kremlin regime has caused in Russia. You will learn about this seven-year-old girl who drew a Ukrainian flag at school and her father is in jail. Because a little girl is not even Ukrainian. She's nothing. She probably… Now, why would a little girl do that? Do you know why? Because she probably heard a conversation at home where people were probably saying, "Our country is doing terrible things to Ukraine," and they're right. She picked up on that and expressed it in a drawing at school. Of course the authorities knew that a little girl couldn't invent that. So her father is in jail. You will hear about many such fathers. You will hear about people who died in prison because they criticised this aggression. You don't hear about them now because they're invisible and you can't hear them. Nobody can, because the regime is so harsh that they just disappear overnight. One day when everything is over, it will start coming out. You will see how some resistance was present in Russia. And that people died because of it. Just like you died because of the same regime. It will surprise you. It surprised me. I travel all over the world, and wherever I go, there are Serbs. They left during the war. I look at them and I think, "This guy chose to leave his country forever because of what his country was doing to me. He lost his country because of me." Of course I can sympathise. They have new lives, they're happy, but they lost their country. They will never come back. Their children speak English or German, and that family is lost forever for Serbia. Forever and ever. Their children don't even speak Serbian because of what others in their country did to me, and they're victims. Twenty, thirty years later, you realise that, and then you stop hating everybody. You will realise how many victims there were on both sides – more on yours, but some on theirs as well. I have many colleagues that have had to leave Russia forever because they criticised the Kremlin narrative. They live in Riga or [wherever – ed.]… That's not easy. They're refugees because of what's happening to you. Open your heart a little bit to those people. But there is a difference. They were against the regime, and that's why that country lost those people. In the case of Ukraine, there are more refugees which our country has also lost just because of Russia. How can we compare this? That's statistics. There are more Ukrainian victims than Russian ones, is that what you're trying to say? No, I'm saying that the people we lose are not victims, they're refugees. They're victims too. If you lose your country, you're a victim. To lose your country is horrible. If you have to move and it's not your choice, but you're kicked out by either circumstances or a regime, that's not your choice, you're a victim. You may be living fine. Let me give you an example. My mother was a refugee in Germany. I was in Sarajevo. At the time, I was angry with every refugee because they had abandoned us. To me they were traitors, including my mother, even though I made her leave so she could look after my child, you know. But there was this emotional rift between us. I felt like I had the upper hand because I was here and she wasn't. Particularly after one conversation. There was a terrible day when there was shelling and it was really horrible. I thought, "She's constantly sitting watching the television. They're going to report on this, she's going to be worried. Let me call her." I had a satellite phone because I worked for a foreign company, so that was a rare privilege. I remember we crawled under the tables, and I took the satellite phone down and dialled my mother and said, "Hello." And it was hell all around me, like the ceiling was falling down, and I was kind of holding the handset so she didn't hear the bombs. I said, "Hey, I just wanted to say that there's a little attack on Sarajevo but I'm fine. How are you?" And quickly end it so she couldn't hear the bombs. And this is what she says: "Oh, we're good. Hey, do you have one of those cordless phones in your office?" I was like "No, why?" "Oh, I just read in a magazine that cordless phones can give you brain cancer. So if you have one, just don't use it. Take a phone with a cord." And the walls around me are collapsing. She's thinking about brain cancer and cordless phones. And I said, "Yeah, yeah, okay, okay, I have to go. Bye." And I hung up, and my colleague under the other table said, "What did she say?" I said, "She said I shouldn't use a cordless phone because it can give you brain cancer." We're already in a building that's falling apart. And he looks out at me and says, "Oh, I wish I could die of cancer." They're totally different perspectives, and those perspectives can split a society into those who see themselves as brave enough to have stayed and defended the country in whatever way, at least just by being there, and those who left, who are traitors and cowards. Well, I think I've told you about when I had pneumonia and I left, and I had to stay in Germany, and I got this document that said Germany was going "to put up with me" as a refugee [the Duldung, a German residence permit – ed.]. It is so humiliating. And sitting there and not being able to do anything to help your family, and your country, and your friends back home, is horrible. It's unbearable. I have one uncle who… We never talked about it, but my aunt told me. They were in Vienna. He was working from home and she would go to work, and she knows that every time she left the house, he would switch off the electricity and water in the apartment and sit there in the darkness. It was easier for him to deprive himself of food, water and electricity, thinking that even though they were in Vienna, this way he was showing solidarity. It was totally pointless, but it made him feel better. That's no life to live. It's no life to live. It is difficult to be a refugee. It is horrible to be a refugee. If you ask me, I had the chance to be a refugee and to be in the worst siege since World War II. And I chose the siege. Being a refugee is so bad and so hurtful, it was easier to go back. I don't even know what the question was. How did you not lose the connection with those people who were refugees, including your mother and child? Oh man, when she came back… We were like two horns in a bag, constantly clashing. She felt that she didn't belong there because we were mistreating her with our attitude. And it was true. You're invited to some party, and very soon you see that somehow the people who stayed in Sarajevo are in one room after an hour, and those who were refugees are in another room. They have their conversations and we have ours. They feel horrible in our presence because we're constantly exchanging our experiences that they were not part of. They feel insulted by this. It's survivors' guilt. They feel guilty for not being there. My son, after he came back to Sarajevo, was confronted with this when he was in the company of children who had been in Sarajevo. He started self-harming. Because he wanted to share the suffering. He felt that he wasn't part of his environment because he hadn't been through whatever the other children had been through. So he started cutting himself. It took a lot of time for him to heal. Is that good? Is that life? No. So, the wounds that refugee status leaves in your soul are sometimes worse than those of somebody living in Lviv. Trust me. How can we reinclude these people in society? Time will tell you. Stop talking constantly about your experiences during the war. It hurts them. Your resentment towards them is… at least ours. Like they were not part of society. Like they were intruders. Like they have nothing to say. They should not even vote – that was the idea. Some people are saying that in Ukraine now. Yeah, what gives you the right to vote? I gave you that passport, and you should always be thankful to us. And in a way that's true, but consider this: women and children in wartime are a burden. They should go. They are just more mouths to feed, and that's why I sent my mother and my son away. I don't have water for them. They don't contribute to the situation. They just eat my food. And I am contributing to the resistance, I'm doing something. They're just sitting there eating and drinking and using my resources. So I sent them away. Go and do that somewhere else and leave everything for me, because I'm doing something. That's the feeling you have. So basically I chased them away from their home. That was not fair, but it was a practical thing to do. Now they bear their own wounds from that, and I am guilty for chasing them away. It took until 2017 for me and my son to fix our relationship, because he grew up with the sense of me having abandoned him because I sent him to Germany. Until 2017, we never had a real, honest relationship. It was fixed in 2017 because we were shooting a movie and we were recreating the scene when I sent him out. I invited him to be there, and he watched that scene all day long because it was constantly repeated – movies are terribly boring to make. I think when he went home after that, he changed his mind and saw it from my perspective – somehow the next day everything was fixed. Our whole relationship was new in the morning – at the snap of a finger. He needed to understand what I did, and now that he has children, he understands it very well. So we have a much better relationship now than we used to have before. That's what wars do. I don't want to compare, but maybe some people from the occupied territories will read this, and the siege feels like you are left out, you don't know what's going on. Somehow people in the occupied territories who have no access to proper information feel the same. What can you suggest they do? Do they have the internet? I guess so, but websites which aren't Russian are mostly blocked. Yes, so that's not having the internet. Yes. Well, they're exposed to certain propaganda. I don't know if they're buying it or not. But I have always thought that it's even worse to live in occupied territories than under a Sarajevo siege, which is considered the worst. Somehow, it's easier for me to listen to bombs than to the sound of the boots of soldiers coming upstairs. I always preferred to listen to artillery and bullets. You can hide from them. You go to the basement. But when you hear soldiers' boots coming up the stairway, and you know that there's nowhere to go and in 30 seconds they are going to enter your apartment and do whatever they want – for me, that sound of the boots was always worse than bombs. So have some understanding for them. They are living under a completely different threat, a much more real threat than you are. More than 30 years on from the siege, have you ever thought of changing your decision and leaving the country at that moment? I've never regretted it. I would not have been able to sit somewhere else and watch it on TV without doing anything. I have friends, for example – and I'm still friends with them – who said, "I thought at the beginning, 'This is not my work. Screw this, I'm going to go.'" They're Canadians now and have absolutely no feeling toward Bosnia. They're Canadians, but we're still friends. It's okay. I am not that kind of person. I couldn't have watched it on TV. I had to do something about it. I felt it was an attack on my personality, on my pride, on everything I stand for. I'm not a person you can come up to and say, "Get out of here. This is mine. Out!" – and I go. I'll at least put up a fight. But I understand people who go, because that's much more rational than what I did. You told a story about your expedition to Antarctica [during the panel discussion – ed.]. You said that there are better professions, like researching penguins, or ice, or something else. Did you regret having devoted your life to investigating war crimes? I did. I looked at those scientists in Antarctica and I thought, "What a great life." They have nothing to do with wars, or war crimes, or war criminals, or organised crime. Why the hell did I choose to deal with these things? This is insane. Wouldn't it have been much nicer just to research ice and worry about penguins and stuff like that? It would. But that's what I did. I don't regret it. I don't know if I would do it again. But I do have the feeling that I have changed the world a little bit and that's kind of the purpose of everybody , right? To bring humanity forward. They're bringing humanity forward big time. But I did it my way and they did it their way. Their job is nicer, mine is uglier, but we're on the same mission. So yeah, I could have chosen better, but I don't regret it. You also mentioned the book that you wrote about the siege of Sarajevo, and you said that it's horrible and you'll never publish it. No, it sucks. And was it therapeutic writing for you...? No. …Or was it re-traumatisation? It was re-traumatisation. I don't know why I did this to myself. Sometimes I'd be writing and vomiting. And in the end I said, "Why am I doing this to myself? Look, the sun is shining outside. I should take my dog out and go for a walk. Why am I going back to the past? As if anybody's going to learn anything. Well, if they haven't learned something by now, they're not going to learn it from my book." So I stopped. Maybe I will continue one day, but I don't feel ready to go through this. I don't want to waste my time on an ugly past. Does that mean that some stories don't have to be told afterwards? Oh, all stories should be told. It's just too painful. Somebody else should do it.
Pink Villa
24-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Pink Villa
Jung Min Hee frustrated over online harassment after false link to Son Heung Min blackmail case: ‘It's not me, stop contacting'
Jung Min Hee has publicly denied the baseless rumors connecting her to the recent blackmail scandal involving football star Son Heung Min. On May 23, Jung Min Hee took to her social media to share a screenshot of direct messages from strangers accusing her of being involved in the case. One message read, 'Are you the woman who blackmailed Son Heung Min? Are you his ex-girlfriend? Someone claimed your Instagram belongs to his former partner. Is that true?' Distressed, Jung Min Hee responded firmly, asking people to stop sending her messages and to cease following or commenting on her accounts. She emphasized her denial with bold text, saying, 'It's not me. Who said that? Please stop contacting me.' This comes after footballer Son Heung Min reported to the police that he had been blackmailed by a woman alleging pregnancy with his child and demanding money. Authorities arrested two suspects linked to the extortion attempt, but amidst the investigation, false claims started circulating online implicating Jung Min Hee as Son Heung Min's ex-girlfriend. In response to these false allegations, Jung Min Hee has made it clear she has no connection to the case, urging the public to stop spreading misinformation and to respect her privacy. Many have expressed sympathy for the actress who is unfairly caught up in the controversy. For those unaware, Son Heung Min has also been dealing with a deeply personal situation. In 2023, he became the target of a blackmail attempt involving a woman he was reportedly in a relationship with. The woman allegedly claimed to be pregnant with his child and demanded 300 million won. According to reports, Son Heung Min made the payment, but the pregnancy was later terminated. While the case has now moved into legal hands, the emotional weight and public attention surrounding it continue to follow him. Son Heung Min recently found himself at the center of a disturbing blackmail scheme, and it seems to be quite complicated. The case has since been handed over to prosecutors for further action. As for Jung Min Hee, who began her stage career with the musical Aida in 2016, she has since built an impressive resume with standout roles in productions like Mata Hari, Excalibur, and Mamma Mia.
IOL News
20-05-2025
- Entertainment
- IOL News
From drag queens to opera: Cape Town's theatre line-up this week
'Happy Days Are Here Again… Again!' presents two drag queens teamed up with a few iconic dancers and singers in a fun-filled feel-good comedy . Image: Facebook Belinda Boutique, played by Darryl Spijkers, is a quirky seamstress living in small-town Bonnievale with her pets, sewing machine and a fridge that flashes attitude. When her costume shop faces eviction, her fabulous drag friend Scrumpy Holly swoops in to help. Expect chaos, cheeky appliances, nostalgic laughs and a soundtrack from "Mamma Mia" to "Chicago". It's a sentimental and spicy local musical. Heads up: grown-ups only. Where: Playhouse Theatre, Somerset West. When: Tuesday, May 20, to Saturday, May 31 at 7.30pm. Video Player is loading. Play Video Play Unmute Current Time 0:00 / Duration -:- Loaded : 0% Stream Type LIVE Seek to live, currently behind live LIVE Remaining Time - 0:00 This is a modal window. Beginning of dialog window. Escape will cancel and close the window. Text Color White Black Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Background Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Transparent Window Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Transparent Semi-Transparent Opaque Font Size 50% 75% 100% 125% 150% 175% 200% 300% 400% Text Edge Style None Raised Depressed Uniform Dropshadow Font Family Proportional Sans-Serif Monospace Sans-Serif Proportional Serif Monospace Serif Casual Script Small Caps Reset restore all settings to the default values Done Close Modal Dialog End of dialog window. Advertisement Next Stay Close ✕ Ad Loading Cape Town Opera's Aida returns with an all-African cast in a striking Africanfuturist setting. Set amidst war and cultural conflict, it tells the story of love and betrayal between an enslaved Ethiopian princess and an Egyptian commander. Where: Opera House, Artscape Theatre. When: Friday, May 23, to Saturday, May 31, at 3pm and 7pm. Aldo Brincat's "The Moon Looks Delicious From Here" is a moving solo performance exploring identity, heritage and sexuality. Set during apartheid, this autobiographical play follows a father and son navigating family, faith and politics while trying to belong in a fractured, volatile South Africa. Where: The Baxter Theatre. When: Tuesday, May 20, to Saturday, May 31, at 3pm and 7.30pm.
