Lina Majdalanie Rabih Mroué

Rabih Mroué's objective with his “non-academic conferences” is to subvert, via the perspective of performance, the principle of the conference. He does so by imitating the mechanisms at work within the conference format. He does not set out to make fun of the principle of the conference itself, but rather to exploit the power of the exercise as a form of public address. This is achieved by operating a shift of a voluntarily ambiguous nature, passing from presentation to representation and from reality to the imagination. The illusion it sets up is a disturbing one: the tone is neutral, the expertise seems well proven, and the documents supporting the speech suggest authenticity. This, of course, is precisely the aim of the whole mischievous, moving and intellectually stimulating operation.

Rabih Mroué's objective with his “non-academic conferences” is to subvert, via the perspective of performance, the principle of the conference. He does so by imitating the mechanisms at work within the conference format. He does not set out to make fun of the principle of the conference itself, but rather to exploit the power of the exercise as a form of public address. This is achieved by operating a shift of a voluntarily ambiguous nature, passing from presentation to representation and from reality to the imagination. The illusion it sets up is a disturbing one: the tone is neutral, the expertise seems well proven, and the documents supporting the speech suggest authenticity. This, of course, is precisely the aim of the whole mischievous, moving and intellectually stimulating operation.

Rabih Mroué's objective with his “non-academic conferences” is to subvert, via the perspective of performance, the principle of the conference. He does so by imitating the mechanisms at work within the conference format. He does not set out to make fun of the principle of the conference itself, but rather to exploit the power of the exercise as a form of public address. This is achieved by operating a shift of a voluntarily ambiguous nature, passing from presentation to representation and from reality to the imagination. The illusion it sets up is a disturbing one: the tone is neutral, the expertise seems well proven, and the documents supporting the speech suggest authenticity. This, of course, is precisely the aim of the whole mischievous, moving and intellectually stimulating operation.

We find ourselves in the company of major figures of European Body Art (Joseph Beuys, Orlan, Marina Abramović, to name a few) via their accounts of exhibitions and public scarifications dating back to the 1970s. In parallel with this runs the true story of a killing spree carried out by a Lebanese office at his workplace, and the fluctuating motivations for his acts.

Set to a complex score of sound and light, a trio sets about uttering phrases of a visceral nature, creating an outlandish, chorus-like effect. Each sequence emerges, bouncing off an impromptu connection, thereby developing a new theme - ranging from distraught observations, memories, tributes, apocalyptic visions, and intimate observations, to unspeakable experiences.

How do we go about presenting the adaptation of a famous film to the Lebanese authorities in charge of censorship? We come to realize that it is about a film which recounts the improbable encounter between two very dissimilar individuals both of whom are experiencing social alienation in fascist Italy in 1938. The adaptation is set in Beirut in 2007, shortly after an Israeli attack on Lebanon.

These two one-person shows, Biokhraphia et Riding on a cloud, are an investigation into the self-portrait. In Riding on a Cloud, a man called Yasser speaks into a dictaphone, projects videos and broadcasts recordings, whilst expressing reservations about the extent to which these documents coincide with his true self. In Biokhraphia, it is Lina Majdalanie who becomes the subject of a very unusual interview.

These two one-person shows, Biokhraphia and Riding on a cloud, are an investigation into the self-portrait. In Riding on a Cloud, a man called Yasser speaks into a dictaphone, projects videos and broadcasts recordings, whilst expressing reservations about the extent to which these documents coincide with his true self. In Biokhraphia, it is Lina Majdalanie who becomes the subject of a very unusual interview.

The Lina Majdalanie and Rabih Mroué duo presents two “non-academic conferences” and a concert-performance in collaboration with Rima Khcheich. Rabih Mroué makes frequent use of the former concept in order to create presentations which adopt the various mechanisms of the conference format whilst opening them up to the various possibilities of performance. In doing so, the duo plays upon the ambiguity which is inherent in this form of subversion. Added to this, for the first time, is an artistic proposition featuring poems set to music.

Who is Diyaa Yamout, the Lebanese human rights activist, artist and blogger whose suicide shook the nation? We will never really know and this is not what matters. Indeed, what is far more fascinating here is the profusion of assorted reactions on Facebook, the television, and in the form of SMS and answering machine messages

The Lina Majdalanie and Rabih Mroué duo presents two “non-academic conferences” and a concert-performance in collaboration with Rima Khcheich. Rabih Mroué makes frequent use of the former concept in order to create presentations which adopt the various mechanisms of the conference format whilst opening them up to the various possibilities of performance. In doing so, the duo plays upon the ambiguity which is inherent in this form of subversion. Added to this, for the first time, is an artistic proposition featuring poems set to music.

The Lina Majdalanie and Rabih Mroué duo presents two “non-academic conferences” and a concert-performance in collaboration with Rima Khcheich. Rabih Mroué makes frequent use of the former concept in order to create presentations which adopt the various mechanisms of the conference format whilst opening them up to the various possibilities of performance. In doing so, the duo plays upon the ambiguity which is inherent in this form of subversion. Added to this, for the first time, is an artistic proposition featuring poems set to music.

In 1947, the trial of German playwright Bertolt Brecht took place in the United States in front of the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC), responsible for combating communist activism. It was here that Brecht wrote a declaration which he was forbidden to read out. The minutes of the trial, as well as this declaration, constitute one of the axes of this exuberant show.

As part of a special invitation by the Festival d'Automne, choreographer Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker and director Rabih Mroué shared, over the course of ten months, their thoughts, concerns, doubts, and questions regarding politics, art and life. After numerous exchanges by videoconference, the two artists now come together on the site of the former industrial complex, the new home of the Fiminco Foundation. Together, for the duration of a performance, they will be drawing up the plans for a new world for all.

What will it be this time: thunderous applause or icy silence? In Mohamed El Khatib's opinion, the inherently risky nature of stand-up comedy elevates it to a theatrical art in its own right. A framework for expression of all kinds, it clears the path for transgressive laughter, in a cathartic space which brings us all together.

Have a good day! arises from the collaboration of Vaiva Grainytė, Lina Lapelytė, and Rugilė Barzdžiukaitė. The three artists turn their focus toward the inner lives of cashiers in a shopping centre. “Good afternoon!”, “Thank you!”, “Have a good day!” : this opera examines what lies behind mechanical statements and their associated perfunctory gestures.

At the crossroads between theatre and stand-up, the first show by the visual artist Mohamed Bourouissa brings to the stage the different phases in the life of a woman in prison and its transformations. In the absence of pathos, the piece uses humour to circumvent the arduous nature of its subject matter.

Who is Diyaa Yamout, the Lebanese human rights activist, artist and blogger whose suicide shook the nation? We will never really know and this is not what matters. Indeed, what is far more fascinating here is the profusion of assorted reactions on Facebook, the television, and in the form of SMS and answering machine messages