Heidelberg medicine had an international reputation, and so people from many countries whose lives were in danger came to the former surgical clinic to find healing. The large and very steep lecture hall was certainly already a centerpiece of the building at that time. And it was at this truly unusual location that the premiere of “The Vegetarian” by South Korean Nobel Prize-winning author Han Kang took place. It marked the start of Heidelberg theater director Holger Schultze's final season.

Heribert Vogt

With Evgeniia Safonova's production, the theater therefore also goes to a place where illnesses are at home. An abandoned surgical building on the grounds of Heidelberg University Hospital becomes an enchanted stage. A painting of a serious physician still hangs on the wall of the former lecture hall, the clock has stopped, and the semicircular arena of steeply arranged folding seats is constructed in such a way that the examination of suffering comes as close as possible. The title character of the novel becomes the object of this study. The actress Cecilia Ponteprimo lies on the examination table, almost naked, curled up, huddled, barely moving. Only at the end does the body rear up, as if uttering a final silent scream.

Johannes Breckner, Darmstädter Echo

Yong-Hye has reached the end of her suffering, and a recorded voice (Nele Christoph) offers a few insights into her dreams and thoughts, but she remains a mystery to those around her. Three actors tell the story of her illness in flashbacks, and Safonova's direction is bold enough to dispense with any external action. This is a decision that is as radical as it is clever, because it acts like a magnifying glass, enlarging the minimal signals of sensation.

Johannes Breckner, Darmstädter Echo

Friedrich Witte is the husband who seeks contact with his eyes, as if hoping for forgiveness for his simple, unambitious life. Yong-Hye's older sister also seems numb with guilt, Esra Schreier plays this with a downcast gaze and an expressionless tone. As a child, she was glad that her hot-tempered father's abuse always fell on her sister, but now she at least pays for the hospital where Yong-Hye only wants to drink water, as if she herself had become a plant. Thorsten Hierse plays the artist with crazy traits who dreams of uniting flower-painted bodies and has found a partner for this practice in Yong-Hye.

Johannes Breckner, Darmstädter Echo

At the beginning, a short film excerpt with rapid impressions of violent patriarchal history can be seen on the video wall – from bomb explosions to female clichés. Yong-Hye's deliberate martyrdom is directed against such a world. Because: “The body is the only means by which you can do what you want.” The female utopia of a self-determined, happy life is probably not of this world here. However, it remains conceivable beyond death.

 Heribert Vogt

The only movement in the performance takes place on three tall, narrow video walls (Alina Tikhonova, Aleksey Rodionov). The vertically aligned panels, reminiscent of a crucifixion triptych on a winged altar, display black-and-white images of roots, plants, and forest textures, within which a naked female body gradually merges with nature. The three video streams move in opposite directions, evoking Yong-Hye’s dreams and thoughts: in the central image, a woman appears among trees, roots, and flowers, slowly sinking into Mother Earth.

With her highly concentrated performance, whose quiet tension never lets up, Evgeniia Safonova succeeds in offering an oppressive glimpse into the museum of inexplicable misfortune.

Johannes Breckner, Darmstädter Echo