It’s interesting to observe cross-pollination between the real and the mysterious, the material and the spiritual; the earth, the soil, and the sky. Before the judgment that awaits everyone in heaven, everyone is equally helpless and equally dependent: both Hamlet and everyone who came before him. People – the characters in a play – are a tangle of villainous, loving, false and truthful, beautiful and ugly human bodies. All of this is extremely “material" in a show and intuitively, visually, and cruelly exposed to the highest degree. But little irrationalities are presented just as visibly – everything that doesn’t lend itself to explanation in words, combined with human life. From this comes numerous conversations about the “metaphoricalness" of a play. I’m no master of figuring out metaphors on stage. But not once has the question come up as to why Nekrosius and his actors are doing "this" and not something else; why Hamlet waits till the end of “The Mousetrap,” not even slightly laying on Ophelia’s lap but sitting, like in a cage in a strange wooden construction. And in that same construction, Polonius will be murdered. A long conversation with his mother occurs over dead Polonius, whose hands squeeze Gertrude’s neck; in no way can the queen free herself from Polonius’ cruel gesture. It’s possible that this scene simply “calls itself” a metaphor, and demands an argument about Nekrosius’ metaphorical language. But I think that all of this is contemporary psychological realism, sketched out at the limits of the possible with an almost sickening sharpness. And the sickness – if it exists – is absolutely not a flaw. All you need is to not be a pragmatist and a businessman (and there are many such businessmen-directors at every turn). All that’s necessary is to give yourself, your nerves, your body, and your life, in the end – to art. And then you’ll see what happens, in Moscow as in Vilnius and everywhere else. What will happen is what Eimuntas Nekrosius puts forward from himself.