Once upon a time, three girlfriends went out in the evening to have a barbecue. “Let’s sing something,” one said while kneading the meat. “Let’s tell each other secrets,” giggled the other. “I am so delicate,” sighed the third and spat on the stage. The barbecue emitted a sharp odor of desire, fears, memories, witchcraft, and fantasies.
Kushilirabakmoves smoothly, delicately, and sophisticatedly between a post-cliché world of folktales and karaoke in the forest. It develops into a surprising hybrid of female empowerment circles and an anger management workshop. This is performance theater, a ritual, and an event that could have quickly developed into something that one could regret later: a nightly picnic that could only take place on a stage, in a place where the leakage from truth to falsehood could link together filth and holiness and renounce them while referring to them with absolute seriousness.