Svetlana Alexievich once wrote that war does not have a woman’s face.
But life, though it does not simplify things, makes its own corrections to the Nobel laureate’s statement.
The face of war is that of messengers and medics, widows and very young girls who have never known the fullness of love — who only managed to snatch passionate kisses from soldiers’ lips in haste. They tried to bear the fruits of brief love, following their chosen ones into camps, recognizing their bodies after raids, or pulling the pin of an F-1 grenade together with them in a bunker.
The play “She + War” on the stage of the Honest Theater is truly honest.
Because it intertwines traditional Ukrainian talkativeness about love and pregnancy — in the style of Shevchenko’s “Kateryna”.
But this chatter is balanced by the determination and will of Ukrainian women who act according to Dontsov’s concept of “chyn” (action, deed).
On stage, moral confrontation in the torture chamber turns into conversations about tomorrow — a tomorrow that may or may not come.
Gradually, modern times weave into the plot, and we realize that war remains war — only becoming increasingly feminine.
We know many examples of women who left successful lives, took up weapons or medical kits, and went east to save their country.
And we also know many men who grabbed their briefcases stuffed with cash and went to buy their way out of the army.
Only the enemy’s methods remain unchanged.
If a patriot could not be “broken,” Moscow would destroy them — with the hands of “internationalists,” ordinary “Vanyas,” or even local renegades.
Our generous land has produced plenty of those as well.
And in the play, this moral confrontation is shown vividly.
Naive? Yes. Hyperbolic? Yes. But it is shown — and we should not be surprised by today’s “vatniks,” who will happily attend a Basta concert but will avoid the Honest Theater performance like the devil avoids incense.
The intimacy of the small stage amplifies the emotions that the director, Kateryna Chepura, wanted to awaken in the audience.
Because war casts a dark shadow over the faces of Ukrainian women — those who do not want history to spiral again.
They are the minority.
That is why, still, over Ukraine — as over the stage — hangs the greatcoat of Russian tyrants.
But the director rejects despair, and life itself confirms the optimism of her vision.
Just read the story of the screenwriter Vasyl Portyak (“The Iron Hundred,” “Cherry Nights,” “Unbroken”).
We must win.
Because victory, like war, has a woman’s face.
