It feels heartless to suggest that Belarus Free Theatre’s entry into the Biennale, whose object is explicitly propagandistic, curates with as heavy a hand as Alexander Lukashenko censors. Yet this display belongs more on a commercial stage than a dimly lit Venetian church. On the former, how closely it sticks to its script would be far less jarring.
The installation looks like a bunch of leftovers from past theatrical productions. A wheat field fills a nave, scenic paintings obscure the altars, CCTV cameras survey the confessional, and a giant prop made of banned books takes up an apse. Who made these objects is secondary and why is immediately and painfully obvious.
Save for Stephen Fry’s voice, which didactically whispers harrowing prison diaries, the project lacks any human intent. If there are nods here to a Belarusian culture that’s worth fighting for — some quaint rural traditions, perhaps, and a love for… Western freedoms — they are an afterthought to the propagandist’s own interests. The whole thing is confirmation, as if it were needed, that art matters neither to the dictator nor his opponents.
