»I want to moralise society. I don’t want to moralise the stage«
Interview with Micki Weinberg

The intense gaze in his blue eyes, his grave tone, and the numerous references to the Hebrew Bible, Midrash, dozens of writers and thinkers of different disciplines may give Micki Weinberg’s interlocutor a pause: could he really be just 32 years old, and is it possible that Makembo!, one of the original productions sponsored by this year’s ID Festival, is his first play to be staged? But as he said later in another context, »Life is full of contradictions that can’t be reconciled with our needs.«

Last year saw his short film, I hear the Synth in East Berlin, screened at the festival, while the play written and directed by him for this year’s program has cinematic elements incorporated into it too. Another common denominator shared by the two works is the provocative messages and sexual violence featured in both, which is why it’s so important for Weinberg to hold a discussion with the audience after the screening — but we shall get back to it later.

Born and raised in Los Angeles, Weinberg spent stints in London, Geneva, and Jerusalem, before settling in Berlin, for the time being. In recent years, though still a frequent traveler, he has been based in a spacious altbau Mitte flat, furnished mostly with his collection of books. During our conversation he skillfully draws selected writings from the shelf to support his statements with quotes, and he seems to share a deep, personal bond with each and every book.

Makembo! is a modern adaptation of the biblical story of Joseph, Potiphar and Potiphar’s wife placed in the context of the refugee crisis experienced by Europe in general and Germany in particular. Weinberg’s Potiphar is the grandson of the Nazi architect who designed Prora, the huge Third Reich Nazi beach resort on the island of Rügen. It is the grandson’s dream to rebuild the resort and restore Germany’s former glory and grandeur. In order to make his dream come true, he is required to convince Rügen’s prince to bring some thousand African refugees to the Island and have them rebuild Prora in exchange for board and accommodation. The prince in turn, shall cash in too, collecting a grant from the German government for sponsoring refugees.

Trying to get him sold on the idea, Potiphar brings Joseph to the island, a ›model refugee‹ of sorts, to show the prince what lucrative a deal he has been offered, and maybe even make him see the refugee crisis as a golden opportunity for Germany to convert its bad historic reputation into an up­to­date image as a saviour of the weak. As early as his first meeting with Joseph, the prince re quires that he change his name to Makembo. »This name stands for the European phantasy of Africa,« explains Weinberg. »Heaven forbid that an African should be called Joseph. He can’t be a Joseph, he’s a Makembo! And Joseph­Makembo in my play is mute. This reflects the fact that virtually the entire discourse regarding the refugee crisis is being played out among privileged Europeans. Can you cite even a single name of a refugee leader from the discourse taking place in Europe?«

»This name stands for the European phantasy of Africa,« explains Weinberg.

»Heaven forbid that an African should be called Joseph. He can’t be a Joseph, he’s a Makembo! And Joseph­Makembo in my play is mute. This reflects the fact that virtually the entire discourse regarding the refugee crisis is being played out among privileged Europeans. Can you cite even a single name of a refugee leader from the discourse taking place in Europe?«

The plot takes a further twist when the wife of Potiphar, Charlotte, follows in the footsteps of her biblical counterpart and attempts to seduce Joseph­Makembo, only to be spurned. She then goes on to accuse him of rape, thereby compromising Potiphar’s grandiose scheme.

»The very idea of retelling a reactionary kind of story in the current context is inherently provocative,« Weinberg stresses.

»You don’t even have to lace it with criticism — it’s the viewers’ responsibility. That’s also what I find interesting. I have no intention of delivering a story in a totalitarian manner, as is the norm today in most media. Heaven forbid that we should see anything that might be offensive to someone, allowing the audience to respond. Instead, audiences are alerted in advance that we are aware of this or that being offensive, and a moralistic element is stirred in for good measure. I want to moralise society. I don’t want to moralise the stage.

My work is influenced by Brechtian dramatic theory, which, unlike Aristotelian dramatics, does not offer a catharsis on stage, striving instead for catharsis in society. But it’s a trend deeply rooted in Judaism as well. Many stories make you wonder why they’re commemorated: the binding of Isaac; Jephthah the Gileadite, who sacrificed his only daughter; Judah, who impregnated Tamar, his son’s widow… why perpetuate such morally­questionable stories? Because as soon as you offer a squeaky­clean, moral and sterile story, you stem learning, you impede this process of analysis and reinterpretation. I’d really like us to go back to looking at the Jewish text as a living document. For me, the play is a direct continuation of the Jewish traditional discourse and storytelling.«

Why is sexual violence so key to your writing?

»The play and film are actually part of a trilogy, its third part will be an avantgarde modern Midrash on Judah and Tamar, so that all three works indeed engage with sexual violence as well. Unlike rape, which, by definition, is not open for interpretation, I find that the many aspects of sexual violence which are associated with issues of choice and non­choice, freedom and non­freedom, desire and non­desire, reflect allegorically the spectrum of emotional and social issues we face. I want to show stuff we’d prefer not to see, yet still exist in our society. It is actually through the aesthetics of cruelty that we can experience the full depth of our humanity.«

Aren’t you afraid to attract feminist criticism?

»I think my work is feminist. The film and play are about the discussion that follows. You walk out with this sense of uneasiness and then you start talking. In this world that we inhabit, people get raped and go back to their rapists, even growing to love them. It’s the nature of subjection and oppression.«

»As soon as you realise you’re oppressed, as soon as you start to resist, you could say your liberation process is set in motion. My purpose in reserving the sense of liberation for the working­through phase that follows the viewing, rather than for the viewing experience itself, is to stimulate this process of consciousness.

It’s much more feminist than any preachy film that concludes with tragic music and makes us tell ourselves that we feel so sad for this girl, and thank God we live in a society where this is understood to be wrong. But that’s a lie! It’s a plain lie to fancy our society as guided by the values presented to us on screen. I’d like to be part of a ground­breaking artistic enterprise that strives to have the revolution within audiences, making people question their premises.

I don’t offer conclusions, nor do I want to suggest that anyone should think one way or another — I just want to take the masks off. I believe that the very actions of observing and processing difficult issues rooted in our society are the first steps towards change.«

Interview with Micki Weinberg (Makembo!), prepared by Tal Alon (Editor of the Spitz Magazine Berlin)
You can also find the Hebrew version here: spitzmag.de

Makembo!
Saturday 22 Oct 2016, 20:00 — 21:00, Halle
theatre
duration: 60 minutes

Tickets: 14/10 EUR

actors:
Potiphar: Philipp Droste
The Prince of Rugen: Florian Fischer
Charlotte: Karla Nina Diedrich
Joseph/Makembo: Jerry Kwarteng
cinematographer: Dustin Lynn
set design: Manuel Schubbe
original score and music: Kriton Klingler-Ioannides
producer: Birta Olafsdottir