Ultimately, the old coffee grinder is the only one still running, unaffected by the violence of time

December 14, 2023,

Mycelium grows under the entire village. The hyphae are also called the life of death. The residents of the fictional Polish village of Primeval grow up between world wars, natural disasters and the promises of modern existence. “Man is stupid and must learn,” says outcast Aartje, a prostitute who lives in the woods and whom the men abuse with guilt and shame. Stay informed Get notified of important news In Primeval and other times, based on the novel of the same name by Nobel Prize winner Olga Tokarczuk, International Theater Amsterdam collaborates with theater group Hotel Modern, known for their live-filmed object theater. The actors perform between several meticulously constructed models on stage, the images of which are projected on various screens. Sometimes they play these miniature plays themselves, for example by walking through them with their fingers. That does something with perspective and proportion. A huge sea of fire is hell for those standing in the middle of it: through large projection screens you can see all-consuming flames clawing around them like monsters. But at the same time, from a distance you see the model on fire, and it is nothing more than an innocent fire that flares up and goes out. “People think they live more intensely than animals, plants or things,” says the character Misia (Janni Goslinga), who received an old coffee grinder from her father. ‘But perhaps this coffee grinder is the pivot around which everything revolves, and is more important to the world than people.’

She sees childhood sweetheart Pawel (Minne Koole) as an escape from a hopeless existence, but he is no more able than the generations above or below him to resist the temptations of modern life. The fungus is everywhere in the soil here.
In addition to the live projections, director Guy Cassiers and text editor Peter van Kraaij looked for a way to zoom in and out in language. The characters regularly switch from lived scenes in the moment to an omniscient narrative perspective, in which they talk about their own fate as fait accompli. Here too you get the feeling that man is not the acting linchpin of existence, but a set piece in larger movements, preconditions in which violence can flourish and flaring ideologies can manifest themselves in all their intensity.

In ‘Primeval and Other Times’ you can see the all-consuming flames clawing around them like monsters through large projection screens.
While the fluttering anecdotes, the spoken language and the shifting image projections irrevocably create distance and alienation, some actors, in their playful interaction with their characters, draw the performance into the moment. The loving one-two punches between Aartje’s daughter Ruta and the lonely Izydor are beautiful. In a world adrift and against the laws of logic, a deep bond arises between them, which – as it goes – will ultimately hurt a lot. ‘Ntianu Stuger and Maarten Heijmans portray these characters with lightness, compassion and precision, and contrast all the violence of war with the immeasurable power of humanity. Laura De Geest also impresses with the idiosyncratic way in which she portrays Aartje: a hurt, but very strong woman who places herself on an equal footing with nature and, in contrast to her environment, draws strength from it.
Primeval and Other Times is a particularly moody and dark piece, which, although brooding, often feels directionless. In the more than three hours that the performance lasts, a lot could have been cut. In the second half, time speeds up, but the anecdote still finds a nice focus in the steady but inevitable decline of Izydor. The resignation with which Heijmans portrays the all-encompassing loneliness of his character is chilling. Heijmans once again proves that he belongs to an outside category as an actor.
Like the mycelium, intergenerational traumas continue to proliferate in Primordial and other times: villagers are driven from their native land and their loved ones; good people turn into distrustful loners. These are the wounds that time makes.
Ultimately, the old coffee grinder is the only one still running, unaffected by the violence of time. Maybe Misia was right and after all, it’s not all about us.