Images from Teatr Biuro Podrozy's dark and compelling evocation of oppression remained burned in the mind long after the flames that lit the final scene were quenched by the rain. There was the simple terror of the two masked oppressors on stilts (Marcin Liber and Stawek Dadej), who stalked around the ring, choosing victims from the audience and calling them imperiously forth with their whips.
There was the broken despair of the female prisoner (Marta Strzatko) in the rape scene, who bowed her head submissively as a group of soldiers vented their spleen on her.
Or the pathos and beauty in the supplication of the five prisoners, who tied houseshaped candles to balloons and released them to waft, like wishes for home and freedom, above the roofs of the city.
Told with only a handful of words and grinding, infernal music, the Polish company told a story from Bosnia, from Dachau, from Belfast: wherever sectarian or ethnic fervour stokes the fires of hatred.
It was a stunning and disturbing performance, accomplished with polish and verve and impeccable direction from Pawel Szkotak, and carried off with a shocking intensity of expression and movement from the actors.
Even the choreography had a supernatural tinge: the light drizzle intensified when the Grim Reaper made his entrance, only to ease off again when he left the arena.
The performance ended with a Christ tableau that seemed to sum up the whole story. If war is what we do best, then maybe this is where humanity is at. On the cross.
