Jacek Głaszcz: “I didn’t want to play a version of Kafka”

My city
 

“Of course it’s grey and dirty. Of course everyone left as soon as they had the chance. This constant clash between the Łódź of the artist community and the Łódź of the workers. At the tram stop, the wannabe bohemians, who emerged from the Kufel or the Spatif in the early hours of the morning, came up against the walking dead. Just one long stage play with female textile workers in the main role. Just like a hundred years ago.”

Jacek, do you still remember the song “Kochankowie z Kamiennej”? After 1945, the Lumpenproletariat (the Marxist term for the worker underclass) moved into the empty apartments in Kamienna Street, which has now been renamed Włókiennicza. Drinking holes and whorehouses sprang up where Jewish prayer rooms once stood. For many of the people living in Łódź, this street embodied the “city of evil”. Most of them, like you and I, left Kamienna Street. Others were forced to return, though. As Agnieszka Osiecka wrote: “Then darkness falls / And back they straggle to Kamienna Street”.[1]

Yet Łódź was also the home of the Teatr Nowy (New Theatre) with Kazimierz Dejmek. It was a theatre that Jacek grew to love, with unforgettable performances of Witold Gombrowicz, Sławomir Mrożek or Zbigniew Herbert. And of course, there was Ewa Demarczyk, whom he was lucky enough to meet after a concert. And Marlene Dietrich, who spent a night in the Grand Hotel in the city. He has kept hold of the treasured door plate with her room number to this day. There were two good jazz clubs: one at the Technical University and the Medyk.

“Do you remember the Honoratka? That’s where all the various Polish film and theatre stars used to hang out... and the state security service,” Jacek laughs. 

Even so, he decided to leave the city.

Today, the curse of the “city of evil” comes in the form of the Brama Miasta (City Gate), a high-rise building at Łódź Fabryczna station. The original plan was for an architectural vision of the future by Daniel Libeskind. The end result is plain for everyone to see. 

Freedom, or Ms Krysia and Mr Director
 

Jacek had a very high opinion of Krysia as an actor. There was just one problem: she was a spy. That’s why Mr Director of “Pinokio” took away all the actors’ passports after the end of the puppet theatre festival in Lausanne. The escape plan that they had hatched would have been worthy of a James Bond movie. During their stopover in Bavaria, Michał was to knock out the driver, while Jacek and the other actors were to bash in the windows and throw out the luggage. But the passports were a problem. Mr Director couldn’t be persuaded to hand them over. He was afraid. An argument and a scuffle ensued. Michał was unyielding; Mr Director lost his temper. The passports flew over the heads of the ensemble. The actors each managed to locate their own documents – and off they went! They had their luggage and left through the bus door.

“What happened to Krysia after that?”

“I saw her again many years later. I asked her why she allowed herself to get drawn into that situation, but she didn’t say anything. I think it was just stupidity.”

“What about Mr Director?”

“He didn’t want to talk either.”

My West Berlin
 

The Marienfelde refugee transit camp, the Allies, interrogations, leave to remain. The nightmare of the refugee homes. The classic refugee “exercise circuit”. For Jacek, West Berlin may have been an island, but it was by no means a closed city. It was a special, elite island. After all, who would voluntarily let themselves get locked up, even in a golden cage? In West Berlin.

Ms Opra and That Lady
 

“It was only for a short period of time, but it was so important. Write this down,” Jacek urges me.

Ms Opra was the head of the canteen in a big theatre. She paid well. Thanks to this work, he got to know a lot of people, from musicians and singers from the musical “A Chorus Line” to actors who had been forced to wear halberds all their lives. There were dancers who had fled just like him, as well as people who were under contract. What did they have in common with Jacek? They were all Poles. No more than that. Most of them hated their fellow Poles who were lower down on the social success ladder than they were. They hissed at him: “Lackey! Dish washer!”

“I never experienced such hatred, disdain and hostility again.” And yet, there was also That Lady, whom he met at a Polish party. She signed a guarantee of payment on the rent for a housing association flat for Jacek and his partner, pledging that she would pay the money owed if he ever... Just like that, even though they had only known each other for a few hours. Thanks to her, his trust in his fellow Poles began to be restored. 

With puppets and masks
 

In 1985, the Polish Puppet and Mask Theatre (Polski Teatr Lalki i Maski / Polnisches Puppen- und Maskentheater) was founded on the initiative of Jacek and Halina Tramba-Kowalik. The other two members of the ensemble were Andrjez Kowalik and Krzysztof Zastawny.

“Halina isn’t just a very talented actor; she’s also a wonderful scenographer and a fine artist. And she has the rare ability to combine all of these things to create a meaningful whole,” Jacek recalls. The plays were produced for both children and adult audiences. Ten years of work; eight premières. The first play was an adaptation of – nomen est omen – “Pinocchio”. And Jacek would go on to perform in 2,000 plays with the theatre in all. The secret to their success? Berlin had never had this kind of theatre before! If at all, the only known form of puppet theatre were the “Kasperle” shows (“Punch and Judy” – translator’s note). Here, however, the performances were real and lively; a symbiosis between actors and puppets, with lights, costumes and masks. These masks were new for the children, and made them feel frightened. The actors entered the stage wearing masks, together with the puppets. This made for a wonderful transition from puppet to person that was intended to ignite the children’s imagination. “That has always been the goal of puppet theatre, and still is today,” Jacek adds. That’s why they decided to invite the children to join in even before the start of the performance – to help set up and decorate the stage. They were able not only to see the masks, but also to touch them and even try them on. This “familiarisation” with the theatre was designed to help the children overcome their fear of the unknown.

“And what about the puppets themselves?”

“They were really unusual, don’t you think? Like those Sicilian ones that you used to have... They didn’t hang on strings, but on wires, which you could use to move their arms. And then there were these ‘pistol grips’ in the puppets’ heads, which you could pull in order to flip their eyes and mouth open and shut... That was a shock for the Berlin kids!”

However, after many years of working in the puppet and mask theatre, Jacek suffered from burn-out. “Was it because I just wanted to start something new, or that I simply realised that I wasn’t an outstanding actor? I don’t know. Stress? Pressure? The fear that I’m too old and am no longer able to remember everything? Perhaps the Kafka[2] idea was a mistake.” Jacek promised Katarzyna Makowska-Schumacher that if he were to be asked to stage “Letters to Milena”, then he would be happy to do so, but in Polish. As he explains: “I just lost my enthusiasm for the theatre, precisely because of the large-scale productions. Yet I remained true to the classic, small formats: plays that offer solutions instead of searching for completely new paths, only to set off on the hunt for new audience members.”

Then, Radio 100 happened. Krzysztof Zastawny wrote texts and presented programmes for the station, while Jacek read out the scripts. Later, he recorded jingles for Radio Multikulti.