Surrealism has not manifested itself too obviously in Estonian culture, although a certain promise of surrealism has pulsated from the brains of many artists. One of our poets, the multilingual Ilmar Laaban, who fled the Soviet occupation, incited a surrealist change of atmosphere in various parts of Europe. We also have Eduard Wiiralt, Priit Pärn, Andres Ehin and numerous other creators, whose work displays surrealism quite clearly, but we have never had a surrealist movement, to say nothing of a revolution.
Quite absurdly, surrealism in Estonia has been an aesthetic rather than ideological phenomenon. I think that the Estonian sense of humour readily accepts surrealism, although our national character lacks the resistance and radicalism that characterise surrealism more precisely than any stylistic categories. In his book Life Among the Surrealists, Matthew Josephson writes about the time after the First World War: 'Those who survived the war were abandoned when peace arrived, and were left not only with the feeling that they were 'lost', but with full knowledge that they had to set off a powerful opposition to civilisation, which had caused the lengthy destruction orgy in the first place.'

In Estonian theatre, surrealism emerged this summer twice. Hendrik Toompere Jr staged Andrus Kivirähk's play Surrealists, a grotesque piece that mixes in the lives of Breton, Aragon, Ernst, Dali and others. Although the play is essentially rather bourgeois, the production nevertheless contained quite a bit of irrational verve, tension and shifting. Despite the fact that in the audience adults were groaning and children crying, the feeling that the audience would be shot at, unfortunately, never emerged.
King Ubu is a much tougher piece, a text preceding surrealism by a few dozen years. The premiere in Paris in 1896 caused quite a scandal. Theatre NO99 staged Alfred Jarry's Ubu in Estonia for the first time, without provoking any scandal. We cannot really expect any scandals after productions such as PR acrobatics of the Bhopal catastrophe or a theatre of lies to attack Afghanistan and Iraq. NO99 nevertheless took the task seriously and attacked civilisation both frontally and from the back.

Tiit Ojasoo and Ene-Liis Semper's King Ubu production was total. The venue was three Air Force hangars abandoned by the Russian army. The performance started with a trip along a few-kilometres-long crumbling runway at an old airfield. Armed sentries stood on the roofs of the hangars. The performance took place simultaneously at different ends of the hangars and on video screens. The apocalyptic atmosphere was set against a totally crazy variety show performance, a musical-style cover of Alfred Jarry.
At the best moment one could imagine Cabaret Voltaire in 1916 Zurich. Using puppet theatre methods made the costumes frenziedly absurd. Spider-people with two-metre long arms and genital-heads with arms and legs resembled Hans Bellmer's drawings but, brought to life in musical-type dance pieces, they were infinitely more revolting. The slobbering Ubu-Baby with his bloodshot eyes and beastly entourage provided the appalling power mania with a suitable and memorable form. Although topical allusions were pleasantly rare, the production never ceased to focus on the contemporary world. It took place here and now, and occasionally, when the actors limped out of sight or somersaulted, and the huge screen in the middle of the hangar was rolled up, the two stands of viewers stared at each other. The spectators were chased from one area to another, enclosed by wire, fenced in like prisoners. The spectators were compelled to jostle, stand up swaying and squat on stony and too low benches. The protective plastic between the stage and theatre hall was enthusiastically and carelessly torn. The patience of the spectators was sorely tested several times, in terms of the length of the work, physical discomforts, a spell of banalities and an orgy. When it was finally over, people staggered out of the hangar, eyes shining and generally looking as if they had experienced something out of this world.

King Ubu, played by Tõnis Mägi, was unexpectedly multilayered. I usually read this play on a certain poster-like or commedia dell'arte level, and this was, indeed, mostly performed as a puppet show. Tõnis Mägi is a splendid musician, his witty and precise vocal intonations and sympathetic role solution provided the Ubu grotesque with an additional alienating depth. Psychological gracefulness in clownery is just as annoying as a wheelchair on a ballet stage. Theatre for me is a place that should test my ability to receive, and move some boundaries and mirrors inside me. The actors on that stage could be viewed as clowns, but they could equally be seen as a crowd of raving power-crazed creatures, who personify clowns in order to make fun of their own psychosis, to scream until the fear and horror that feed them is deafened. The result was that the clownery deconstructed the lust for power, and the lust for power deconstructed the clownery. Aggressive annoyance, persistent conflict and the impossibility of solutions were quite attractive in this performance.
We have thus returned to the revolutionary spirit, opposition, fierce mockery and unruly citizenry of surrealism. In today's world of entertainment, good theatre shakes the emotional self-protective attitudes of spectators like a monkey shaking the bars of its cage. NO99 is a theatre that skilfully undermines everything, including itself. However, is there anything left to undermine in the first place? The Ubus conclude international treaties and diplomatic relations, establish banks, go to the theatre and applaud. Nevertheless, such theatre has a purifying character.

Peeter Laurits (1962), artist and essayist, over the last couple of years has repeatedly exhibited photographic projects dealing with the relations of human civilisation and nature. See also www.metsas.ee