Review: Marina Abramović’s Balkan Erotic Epic

Thankfully we’re past the time when everyone was using the word ‘epic’ to describe situations and objects that were distinctly un-epic. A cup of tea, for example. Or a new pair of shoes. If not, Marina Abramović’s Balkan Erotic Epic should help end the trend for good by re-establishing what an epic really is: ambitious, intricate, lengthy, and executed on a grand scale.

During her introductory speech at Tuesday night’s premier at Aviva Studios, the internationally acclaimed performance artist explained how the idea for her new show was originally one single scene based on Balkan folklore, which then extended into 13 individual pieces which the audience can experience all at once. She said Manchester was her setting of choice because for one, the people here are as crazy as the Balkan people. (She knows us well – she’s staged several shows here with Manchester International Festival). And two, it has a space big enough to host an epic performance – the enormous Aviva Studios.

The show began as her speech ended with a brass band playing a funeral march. We followed them in a slow procession up the stairs into the huge studio where the 13 scenes play out and you wander freely between them. The show lasts four hours and before I went in, I was secretly planning to duck out after about two.

Four hours later, as the band led us back downstairs, I felt like it had ended too soon. I’d been repeatedly transfixed by the performances so I hadn’t seen everything I wanted to. I was tired and hungry but still not ready to leave.

In a world of short form content and tiny attention spans, it was wonderful to lock our phones away for the evening and zone in on the strange, beautiful, trancelike scenes unfolding before us. The show explores Balkan rituals linked to birth, death and rebirth, communicating through pounding rhythms, haunting soundscapes, song, dance, stillness, and arresting, sometimes provocative images.

In one scene women in traditional folk costumes lift their skirts and expose their nakedness like they’re baring their teeth at an attacker, while across a pathway of giant prosthetic penises, men gyrate against the earth, literally trying to fuck it into fertility. Based on what I’d read about her other works, I’d expected a shocking, perhaps uncomfortable experience but that wasn’t my reaction. The absurdity of the giant penises made me laugh (what can I say, I’m immature). While the nakedness in other scenes, for example where unclothed women dance with the skeletons of their dead husbands in a cemetery was by turns vulnerable and powerful. I found it emotionally intense rather than erotic.

There were a lot of dichotomies. Life and death. Embodiment and detachment (the use of eye contact by some performers and avoidance of it by others was striking). Stillness and movement (a few times I wondered if I was looking at a human or a mannequin).

At one point, you walk under the shadows of corpses displayed high up on plinths to the sun, while on the next stage, a fascinating dance tells the story of a girl getting married to a recently deceased young man. Then you’re at a Balkan cafe where widows in black sunglasses sit unmoving for hours while dancers spin and whirl between them.

There’s a lot going on. One of the most impressive elements is how they’ve managed to bring together all these looping performances – opera singers, costumed dance troupes, performance artists, and a full band  – into a cohesive whole without it feeling prescriptive or structured. You can explore at your own pace and create your own meaning (or check the programme notes for the artist’s inspirations if you prefer).

There’s a biographical element to the show – a uniformed actor playing Marina Abramović’s mother appears throughout, gradually transforming from a state of extreme restraint to one of empowered inhibition. To me, the show felt like a celebration of this more primal, untamed and connected way of being. One where big emotions are expressed without shame and self-censorship, and where instinctive responses and magical beliefs are an accepted part of life.

I came out thinking, well that was all a bit crazy. But also that it was a completely sane response to our individual mortality and our species’ dependence on the natural world. It had an honesty and rawness to it that made a lot of sense, and made it hard to look away.

Marina Abramović: Balkan Erotic Epic runs until 19 October 2025 at Aviva Studios. For tickets and further information, go to factoryinternational.org.

All photos by Marco Anelli ©