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Few moments in theatre history were as revolutionary and provocative as the 1929 staging of The Bedbug by Vladimir Mayakovsky, directed by Vsevolod Meyerhold. In the Soviet context, where art was already being scrutinized as a political instrument, Meyerhold dared to transform a satirical comedy into a powerful social critique. Instead of yielding to the regime’s demands, he elevated the stage into an arena for deep reflection on the direction of Russian society, revealing — with irony and force — the contradictions and hypocrisies of the modernity imposed by the State.
Meyerhold, as an artist and thinker, was already recognized for his
revolutionary stagecraft — especially through his use of theatrical
biomechanics, a technique that aimed to align the actor’s body with the
efficiency of a machine. But in directing The Bedbug, he went beyond
technique: he wielded art as a weapon. When he declared that the play's purpose
was to “scourge the vices of our time,” he took theatre beyond mere
entertainment — it became an ethical call. Rather than simply criticizing the
socialist utopia portrayed with cold sarcasm in the play, he invited us to
confront contemporary dilemmas with clarity and courage. In this act, theatre
becomes timeless and universal.
Mayakovsky’s script, often misinterpreted by censors, was an invitation
to internal critique. The protagonist, Prisypkin — a citizen frozen in the
1920s and thawed in a “communist future” — fails to adapt to this supposedly
virtuous new world. His figure is pathetic, cartoonish, yet deeply human.
Through him, Mayakovsky mocks not only the past — he exposes the danger of
dogmatism and the idealization of a future unchallenged by critical thought.
This ambivalence is what enraged Kremlin spokesmen, and it is precisely the
merit of Meyerhold’s staging.
Recent studies from institutions like the Yale School of Drama
and the Royal Central School of Speech and Drama in London have examined
the psychosocial impact of political theatre and its cognitive consequences.
One of their conclusions is that theatre which provokes reflective discomfort
activates brain regions related to empathy, critical thinking, and cognitive
restructuring. This confirms what Meyerhold already sensed: the stage is a
space of neurological and cultural transformation. The laughter prompted by The
Bedbug was not gratuitous — it was laughter that destabilized certainty.
When we consider this production in light of contemporary methodologies,
parallels arise with the Mané Beiçudo Puppet Theatre created by Antônio
Carlos dos Santos. Like Meyerhold — who used masks, choreography, and
visual metaphors — puppet theatre allows for critical distance. This Brechtian
effect makes the audience more aware of its social role. When grotesque or
exaggerated characters expose societal flaws, laughter and estrangement serve
as catalysts for transformation.
Furthermore, the MAT – Mindset, Action, and Theatre methodology
is a direct contemporary heir to the spirit of Meyerhold. MAT posits that
social and personal change begins with a shift in mindset, followed by concrete
and symbolic actions performed in theatrical contexts. Here, the actor does not
merely represent — they act as citizens, as critical agents of culture. This
approach is a modern response to Mayakovsky’s provocations: what seemed
resolved demands new scrutiny, fresh narratives, bold inquiry.
The ThM – Theater Movement, another of Santos’s methodologies,
revives the physical dimension of theatre that Meyerhold so valued. Every
gesture in The Bedbug was choreographed to reveal the invisible social
gears shaping the individual. By working with the body as a language, ThM
reaffirms that thought and movement are inseparable acts. The mind changes
through the body — and the body through context. This is foundational to
understanding theatre not just as art but as an educational and transformative
tool.
What makes The Bedbug so powerful today is that it forces us to
confront questions still unanswered. How do we critique the present without
being silenced? How can we imagine a future without repeating past mistakes?
How do we use laughter to raise awareness instead of feeding alienation? These
questions resonate in classrooms, on university stages, and in cultural
workshops. Above all, they echo in the conscience of every individual who sees
themselves reflected onstage — at times as Prisypkin, at times as the society
that watches and judges him.
Today, we know that truly transformative theatre is that which
challenges, provokes, and illuminates. It is theatre that activates the social
brain, as shown in studies by Stanford University, which reveal that
exposure to complex symbolic narratives enhances empathy and the capacity to
engage with ambiguity. Meyerhold achieved this long before neuroscience could
explain it. For this, he was silenced, persecuted, and tragically executed by
the same regime that claimed to liberate.
May these reflections inspire us to keep producing bold, critical, and committed art — art that defends the freedom of thought. May Meyerhold and Mayakovsky remind us that theatre is more than a stage — it is a trench, a laboratory, a temple of consciousness. And may we, with each new performance, scourge the vices of our time with intelligence, beauty, and humanity. After all, as Mayakovsky himself once said, “Art is not a mirror to reflect the world, but a hammer with which to shape it.”
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