In Malta, our theatre is of the highest quality, says Mario Philip Azzopardi. He speaks to Alex Vella Gregory about leaving the country, religion, politics and the need for the public to make its voice heard.
For theatre lovers, he is the grand old man of Maltese theatre. For artists he is a cultural exile. For the older generation, he is an uncomfortable reminder of Malta’s political past. Yet none of these descriptions seem to fit Mario Philip Azzopardi comfortably. So, who is he exactly?
It is clear from the very outset that Azzopardi’s world is one dominated by two things: theatre and Malta. He loves these two dearly, and he is very passionate about what he loves. With all this passion comes a lot of discipline.
His thorough theatrical upbringing has helped him shape his thoughts in a concise and lucid manner. Born into a theatrical family (his father was a scriptwriter, and his aunt was Carmen Azzopardi, one of Malta’s leading actresses) and educated by Jesuits, he went on to become part of Atturi, a professional theatre group.
By the time he was 27, he had become the enfant terrible of Maltese theatre. He was soon forced to leave the island because of his controversial work Sulari fuq Strada Stretta, and settled in Canada where he took up filmmaking. I avoid tackling the incident for now. I want to know more about Azzopardi before I venture forward.
With over 400 television productions to his credit, he has, without a shadow of a doubt, proven his worth on the international market.
So why did he come back to Malta and why has he taken up theatre again? The latter is easier for him to answer: “Theatre regenerates you. In film you have to deal with inhuman schedules and deadlines, whereas in theatre you get to discover yourself more slowly.’”
As for his return to Malta, that is a more complex issue. The greater part of the reason is that, despite the off-hand treatment he has received from this country, he loves his homeland deeply. Moreover, he knows there is a lot that can and should be done here.
“In Malta,” he says, “we have a long-standing theatrical tradition. Our filmmaking is still underdeveloped, underfunded and unprofessional, but our theatre is of the highest quality.”
He believes in the power of theatre to communicate, and that a Maltese play can be relevant to us in ways that imported theatre can never be.
“You cannot be Maltese and forget your homeland.”
These are not just the words of a patriot, but the words of a reluctant exile with a broken heart.
Not that he has any regrets about his move to Canada. It was there that he perfected his technique.
But Sulari was an umbilical cord that was never severed, not even by the condemnation of those who should have known better.
That is why when The Manoel Theatre offered to produce it 30 years after it was banned, he immediately took up the offer.
I tentatively ask him about religion, and his reply is a surprising one. “I am a proud Catholic, but also a confused and searching Catholic.”
He does not accept as dogma whatever the Church says, but is willing to defend the Church’s right to express its opinions and beliefs.
“I may not agree with what they say but I will defend their right to say it.” Sounds like Voltaire.
He insists the Church is meddling in things that are the reserve of the state and specifically mentions out the divorce debate.
Azzopardi knows full well the damage the Church has done to Maltese society because of its meddling in politics. He lived through some of Malta’s darkest political periods, and is aware of how these events transformed society.
Indeed, his new play, Xbihat ta’ xi Wħud li huma Kattoliċi, is precisely about that. Well, it is more than that.
“In Malta, religion, politics and sex dance together in a fire. Xbihat is about how those events surrounding the interdett shaped and changed our lives.’
The word interdett conjures up mixed emotions. When I ask him why artists are still reluctant to tackle such issues, his reply is very succinct: fear. Fear of authority, fear of losing one’s job, fear of reprisals. But he insists there is something worse than fear, and that is loss of memory.
“Amnesia is classified as a serious medical condition, a terrible illness. A country that suffers from collective amnesia is a diseased country. We have to make our voices heard. We can no longer rely on letters, but on action and, if needs be, civil disobedience.”
He is very critical of Maltese society and our political apathy. He singles out the Renzo Piano project. “Eighty per cent of Maltese are against it, yet no-one does anything. What does that show about us? This is a monster we will have to live with all our lives, and yet we go on as if nothing happened.”
He also calls censorship an embarrassment to civilisation, and hypocritical. He condemns not only those who impose it, but also those who enforce it. Yet, despite all this anger he is also full of hope. “The world is changing, and people no longer believe in politicians. It is up to us to bring about change.”
Ultimately, he is offering us a challenge; a challenge to come and watch Xbihat, and reassess our beliefs.
“If you are coming to watch my play to judge, then don’t come. If you think it’s wrong, then I dare you to stop us.”
Harsh words, but honest. And this is ultimately who Mario Philip Azzopardi is: a passionate, down-to-earth man who believes that theatre still has the power to change the world for the better.
Xbihat ta’ xi wħud li huma Kattoliċi shows at The Manoel Theatre, Valletta, from February 25 to 27.
www.teatrumanoel.com.mt