in the basement of the Mykolaiv theater, it is “as if there were shrinks on stage”

The lights start to go out. Two actors in costume are about to rock a tiny stage. This Sunday evening, March 26, the Mykolaiv Regional Theater is still full – at least in its pocket format. Thirty tickets were sold, the entire capacity of the air-raid shelter, buried four meters underground, where the performance is about to begin. The usher, Irina Zakharova, put a few cushions on the steps, without fuss. “History of gaining a few more places”she whispers, installing three stragglers.

Perched at the top of the small entrance staircase, the director Artem Svistun is about to dive again into this room he knows so well. “I can see that some people come here to free themselves, not necessarily to see a particular piece”, he welcomes the manager, who wears a Ukrainian coat of arms on his chest. “We definitely have a role to play whenThe wounded, or people who have lost everything, come to see us. A year after the war began, our place continues to be a haven for the spirits.”

Sitting in the second row, Andreiï, a 25-year-old computer teacher, seems confused by the place, he who is coming to the theater for the first time. “Of course, it’s not normal to have to go underground to see a performance. But in the end, it may be a sign that we are finally getting back to normal life”explains the young man, who came “relax” with his wife. But shh, the play begins.

THE the contrast is striking with the main room, located above ground, where entire audiences resounded with their applause until the eve of the Russian invasion. The room with its grandiose decor is now plunged into a dizzying silence. The 432 armchairs, like ghosts, have been protected by white sheets. The public can no longer access the aisles, because the place is “too dangerous”assures Artem Svistun.

On the night of September 22, 2022, at 00:14, an S-300 missile crashed into the courtyard of the theater. “That night, I had planned to sleep in my officeremembers the director of the premises, still shaken. But in the end, I had to go home in a hurry.” A chance: the cabinet was totally devastated by the blast of the explosion. The first floor balconies suffered damage and a crack appeared in the ceiling above the stage, weakening the structure of the building. Outside, the entrance gate, smashed, was patched up with sheet metal. And the facade, on the right side, is riddled with debris, like so many stigmata.

In the event of an air alert, the small shelter could not accommodate more than 400 people at a time. It is impossible, under these conditions, to guarantee the safety of the public on the surface. The threat is serious :dor months, the center of Mykolaiv was subject to repeated strikes, which destroyed several buildings. The windows of the municipal council, directly opposite, are caulked with sheets of plywood. The headquarters of the regional administration, 200 meters away, is gutted in its entire central part, after a strike that killed 37 dead last year.

“Here, you forget the daily life of the war”

After 1h40 of performance, applause rises, muffled. The room Emigrants end. When he learns of the presence of French journalists in the room, an elderly man makes the victory sign with his fingers as he heads for the exit. Comedian Yuri Grouchenko is back in the box, and relishes this small victory over fate. “In this war, it is important to maintain a healthy mind”, he breathes, running both hands over his crumpled shirt. “I would say that theDoctors can give medicine. But in our way, it’s like we’re psychologists on stage.”

This therapy does not necessarily involve laughter. Recently, a spectator ended the performance in tears, moved by the play she had just witnessed. “She first said she would never come back. And then later she told me that those tears made her feel good, and brought her peace.says Artem Svistun. Most visitors want to see comedies, but others want tragedies that act as catharsis.”

In these difficult times, where war lurks the streets, a doctor recently asked him if trauma patients could attend a play. It could be Elina Gaivoronska, a young woman who now comes every week for therapy. “Here, you forget the daily life of the war”, she slips after the show. Her brother is still traumatized by the destruction of his house in one of the bombings that rocked Mykolaiv. “We really need to think about something else, you know.”

On the wall, in the main hall, we notice a dozen completely empty photo frames. “These are the portraits of people who left the establishment”, whispers a lady. Foreign actors, Bulgarians in particular, have returned to the country. Some pro-Russian employees left the scene, while others were called to the front. War obliges, the troop that the theater welcomes has decreased. The number of actors went from 43 to 29.

At the museum of the establishment, which is finally reopening for the first time, a cardboard silhouette immortalizes one of them, Andriï Karaiï, in a jester’s outfit, his last role before joining the battle. “I heard from her recentlysays Regina Zakharova, the administrator. We talked about everything and life in the theater, but not about the war.”

“We try to talk about this war or laugh at it, because it is impossible to understand all this nonsense with logical arguments.”

Artem Svistun, director of the Mykolaiv Academic Theater

at franceinfo

This evening, no alert came to disturb the performance. As a precaution, a recorded message reminds viewers not to panic, if necessary. “Welcome to the secret scene. you are safe“: by force, Yuri Grouchenko could recite it with his eyes closed. “When that happens, we’re not as nervous as before, but you never know what to expect.”, continues the actor. All you have to do is open the white cupboard on the left on the stairs to find a stock of gas masks, “in case”. In case, also, a generator is ready to take over if a power cut decides to“come on stage” the time of the piece.

Last year, 10,000 spectators sat in this air-raid shelter, with walls covered in mythological frescoes, and which once served as a sports hall. Mykolaiv’s little shelter will continue to make the hearts of the inhabitants beat faster, and awaken their buried feelings. The usher Irina Zakharova, who started working at the theater last August, has never seen the big hall in her clothes of light. A height. SO “after victory”she already sees herself there… She will slide from seat to seat, to guide the spectators in a crowded room. And open your eyes wide “to admire the boards”finally rid of their ghosts.