4
A
well-written play is a pleasure to read.
A good play makes me feel better
about myself; proud of the fact that
I can be a colleague of such a gifted pen;
proud of Finnish literature in general; re-
lieved that our work is important, despite
any general and personal doubts. Reading
a bad play leads to deep frustration. What
could be a bigger waste of time than reading,
writing or watching a bad play? But what is
the definition of a good play, or more spe-
cifically a good, new Finnish play? How can
it be recognised?
The prime features of a good new Finn-
ish play are not about the fact that it is Finn-
ish. A good play tells a recognisable story
about someone with whom I can directly or
indirectly identify. The language in a good
play is rich, abundant, all-embracing, fresh
and lucid. It contains at least one prismatic
line that refracts the light of understanding,
the kind of line that you have to commit to
memory, and it pacifies the know-it-all in
me, lets me glimpse through the keyhole into
worlds I know nothing about. A good play
gives your brain a good kick. It is an exercise
in empathy; it speaks about people who are
not me, but with whom I am encouraged to
empathise. Irrespective of their nationality,
the writer of a good play is in direct touch
with their own inner vision which they fear-
lessly interpret, and they are able to get be-
neath the surface without avoiding the issue.
Finland is a geographically large country
which is sparsely inhabited, and settlement
is increasingly focussed on the largest cities,
which leads to the depopulation of rural areas.
Old people remain in the countryside and are
the main concern of their children, the post
Second World War baby-boom generation
whose members are now themselves begin-
ning to retire.
Those at the forefront of the technology
generation live a life that is worlds away from
the lives their grandparents led. This tech-
nological generation peers into the future at
the same time as their grandparents’ genera-
tion is still trying to deal with a war that took
place decades ago. This is evident in Finnish
As the Chairperson of the
Finnish Dramatists’ Union,
playwright and director
Satu Rasila sat on the jury
that chose the best Finnish
play of 2006-07 to repre-
sent Finland in the Nordic
Drama Competition.
Members of the jury had to
read a total of 200 scripts,
from which Juha Jokela’s The
Fundamentalist was chosen
as the best and four others,
Kuin ensimmäistä päivää by
Anna Krogerus, Yksinen by
Laura Ruohonen, Hissvä-
graren by Bengt Ahlfors and
Armon varassa by Anna-
Elina Lyytikäinen, as the
leading plays of the season.
This article is a result of all
that reading.
The Finnish
PLAY today
plays, where communality and selfishness are
prominent themes. The root of both selfish-
ness and communality is similar however and
raises universal issues from a dramatic point
of view: what is the meaning of my life? Am I
allowed to think and feel the way I do?
The birth of a connection –
the catharsis in Finnish plays
New Finnish plays can be categorised in
many ways. The plays that I have read that
received their first premieres in 2006 and
2007 can at least be divided into the follow-
ing groups: 1) those dealing with historical
themes, 2) family plays, 3) sports plays, 4)
those portraying identity crises and human
growth, 5) those set in the business world, 6)
political plays and 7) communal plays. Many
belong to more than one category. There is
however no way that I can present gener-
alisations about what Finnish playwrights
are currently writing about. In addition to
the range of subject matter, styles and sto-
ries, a comprehensive answer to the question
of who Finnish playwrights are writing for
cannot be supplied either. For themselves?
For the working group? An assumed target
group? Some write to entertain, others to
change the world, and still others to change
themselves.
One thing that new Finnish plays have
in common is some kind of theme of lone-
liness. People reach out to each other in or-
der to be accepted just the way they are. But
reaching out does not tend to succeed – it
is misunderstood. People do not speak the
same language, even if they do. Between
their tongues lies a stifling history. People
do not hear what others are really trying to
say behind the words they utter. The subtext
weighs heavy. Often the central character
needs another to recognise his existence to
give him peace of mind. Communication is
at the end of the day something far removed
from mobile phone technology, but the
flaws in communication and the total lack
of it bring about a most touching contrast
in those rare moments in which it actually
works. Every person needs that fleeting mo-
ment of witnessing his own reflection in an-
other’s eyes. The birth of a connection, even
if only for a brief moment, is the catharsis in
Finnish plays.
What do the claims made above say
about us Finns, other than Brecht’s old
claim that we are a people who are silent
in two languages? What kind of Finnish-
ness does new domestic drama reflect? One
thing that is evident is the lack of com-
munication between different generations.
Thirty-somethings who have spent their
time in all sorts of therapies accompany
their parents – for whom it was to virtue
to keep one’s personal issues quiet – into
old age. Young ones talk a lot without
much substance and they read deep mean-
ings into their parents’ scarce words. Gen-
erations reach out to meet each other when
there is not much time left. And this is not
Satu Rasila
VESA VÄÄRÄ