The scandal surrounding the play "The Weapons and the Man" of George Bernard Shaw was absolutely foreboding, practically inevitable, terrifyingly inescapable and turned into a huge visual installation of the torn Bulgarian society and all its traumas, demons, internal bubbling and endless strife. In itself, this scandal is worthy of a separate play, and here we will try to sketch its separate actions, which led to the battle scenes in the center of Sofia and the alcoholic eruptions of the urban intelligentsia, that it was surrounded by a people of morons and peasants, who should have no say in anything.
First Action: Loading the Weapons
Back in April, when it became clear that the cobwebbed Hollywood greatness John Malkovich would direct the play "Guns and the Man" Shaw saw that large groups in Bulgarian society felt affected by this strange choice. Shaw's play is narrow-minded, extremely stereotyping, and in it, like a thin red thread, it is evident that the young author has not yet gotten rid of British imperialist arrogance. I am aware that Shaw chooses the Bulgarians precisely because they, as a history and a people, have no context in British memory and self-awareness, which allows him to develop his anti-war theses and combine them with a sloppy love story. However, it is also a fact that he chose to aim his arrows at the fairest and most meaningful war in Bulgarian history - the war in which the Bulgarian captains defeated the Serbian generals and defended the ideals of the Union with their blood. In its dark history, our country has fought many wars, but this one is truly the purest, holy and bright. A war forced upon us, and we are winning. And because of this, the great Mercia McDermott, in her last book before she died, warned, not in vain, that in Bulgaria the publication of this particular play by Shaw would cause a scandal. Bulgarian society is used to being humiliated by all kinds of local nonentities and TV shamans, but the idea that some foreigner will tackle this scandalous text has already spilled the beans. What's more, if you read all of Shaw's stereotyping nonsense, you'll see that this is exactly the attitude that all of Hollywood is rebelling against today. Typification of images is the beginning of all ethnic hatred. Saying that Bulgarians don't bathe is like saying that all Americans binge on beer and throw up every night. This is not a basis for dialogue between cultures. This is the imperial arrogance of Shaw in those days, and to be honest, transferring it to modern Bulgaria was absolutely pointless. If the management of the National Theater wanted to score points with Malkovich, they could have offered him to direct a Bulgarian play. It would be a true cultural phenomenon, a way for two visions of the world to collide. Choosing Shaw's most scandalous but not his strongest play was like walking into a gunpowder funeral with a lit cigarette. And the inevitable happened...
Act Two: The First Shots
The closer the day of the premiere approached, the more the passions intensified. The Union of Bulgarian Writers found enough courage in itself to come out with a declaration against the actions of the National Theater, as well as to be indignant against the choice of a play. The declaration is a strong and very meaningful text that, for the first time in years, verbalizes the outrage of a part of the cultural community against the constant replacement of values in our society.
Then John Malkovich appeared on the scene. Alas, by his behavior and answers, we can judge that he was already found by the representatives of smart beauty who, like cockroaches, gathered around him upon his arrival here. "Didn't the Union of Writers exclude Georgi Markov at the time?", ironically asked the Hollywood greatness. Even then it became clear that this was not his authentic thought. This is a sneaky answer, some local sweaty intellectual dictated it to him, because the answer in carries in itself all the stupid semi-liberal truisms with which the brain of the middle-class urban drunkard-anti-communist is infected. I am convinced that before he set foot here, Malkovich had no idea who Markov was, and probably already forgot that name as well. But even then it became clear to me that the clique, which has taken root in the American, will not give up before they completely taint the situation and make fun of everything possible around them. Until the end, the parasites of intelligent beauty did not believe that the people could rebel against their choice. Firstly, because they have no idea where exactly they live, and secondly, semi-intellectuals have long been unable to hold a meaningful dialogue on any topic. They live with a sectarian worldview, locked in their toxic bubble, completely disconnected from reality, and frankly because of this their cultural products often look like something found in a radioactive waste dump. And because of this, I am convinced, even in their darkest dreams, even in the bottom of their most acid nightmares (where Putin comes to Bulgaria, and the Embassy stops their grants) they never suspected that the prime minister the angry black people will gather in front of the National Theater and demand an account of what they have done. When this happened - the tragedy began!
Third Act: Arms in the Square
Premiere night got off to a casual start. People had gathered in front of the National Theater, but the protest was completely civilized, meaningful, intellectual and absolutely civil. Then the director Vasil Vassilev decided that it was time for him to step into the role of his life and began to writhe in front of the assembled citizens. His behavior was like pouring oil on a mild fire. Suddenly, outrage erupted. I suspect that this is exactly what Vasilev wanted - he needed to present the people from outside as some rabid fascist mob coming to trample the great culture of the country. Tedor Ushev, who appeared at the epicenter of the opposition, also further increased the tension. Ushev, a self-absorbed, narcissistic epigon who hates his own people more than himself, has long been a walking metaphor for the semi-intelligence that despises people to the point of constant anxiety. The protestors poured a sackful of noise on him, and then an affected party gave seven interviews so that he could calm down and make himself a victim of walking Bulgarian fascism. Where passions break out, the inevitable happens - the protest gets out of control. We saw inadmissible scenes of protesters harassing Vlado Penev and taking his glasses, but let's be honest: the smart and the beautiful have fought bigger battles here and there. Shall I remind you of the "night of the White Bus", when a whole bunch of political zombies dug up the yellow pavers and claimed that this was the biggest scream of democracy in our country.
Protesters surrounded the theater and prevented people from entering the hall. A handful of journalists, who were broadcasting the performance live, got to her, and we all saw what kind of community spontaneity it was. Malkovich or not, the production turned out to be cheesy, lean and ridiculous, as was the entire cast who rushed to defend her bare-chested.
Act Four: Screams and Snobs
The next day the urban intelligentsia woke up hungover and screaming. It turned out that the simple, the dumb, the peasants, the Putinists had not made an ordinary protest action. No, if you read the unwashed bard of the smart and beautiful Manol Glishev - the Kremlin wanted to show them that the smart and beautiful will no longer command in the center of Sofia. Because of this, screams flew like spittle that it is time for the democratic community to return to the square. They - the bearers of the future - had to guarantee freedom of speech, freedom of actors, democracy of culture. Those who happily burn foreign flags and ban films and television have tried to make themselves defenders of the humiliated actors.
And this is where the enormous misery of what passes for intelligence in our country becomes apparent. Zahari Baharov, the same one who advertised the rubbing coupons, announced that he had nothing to discuss with the victims in the square. He called them "cattle", then added "freaks". "Am I going to discuss the repertoire of the National Theater with them?!" the actor hissed, not realizing that he was destroying the main meaning of culture. Culture is not political violence, but dialogue. She cannot exist on her own, confined to the elitist bubble of urban hoods who do not even understand her. But now it has become clear where the country's political problems come from. Those who are supposed to be visionaries and see further than the rest of us have turned out to be narrow-minded and bald elitists who have a pathological contempt for ordinary people. It is precisely with those who pay for the support of the National Theater with their taxes that its repertoire should be discussed? But the urban bourgeoisie only now realized that it is no longer a monopoly of political meanings in the urban environment, and it hurt it a lot.
The next evening, the lounge of the theater was full of bored snobs, but at the bottom of their souls, each of them felt, I am sure, that the situation was radically different. Now in the salon with them was the dark shadow of the despised people, who did not turn out to be half-dead from hunger, but gave a real battle for symbols and national dignity.
This stresses the smart and the beautiful more than anything else. They realized to their horror that they had lost a major battle, and without realizing it. Those who must have been fast asleep came out and expressed their opinion. Nothing will be the same from now on. And this is the best news in a long time.
Epilogue
"The Guns and the Man" is Shaw's first play. Then he gets much better, gets a Nobel Prize, goes through Marxism, gets drunk on his own political fantasies.
If he were alive today he would be the first to see the social slime that tries to pass as his first defender.
Shaw in his old age would have allied himself with the people who revolted against his first play.
Because unlike their "apologists" here he is a man of quick thinking, self-irony, and he would be terribly angry at what happened.
Qualities that our intellectual zombies will never possess.