A scene from the show (photo Lou-Andrea Gachot Coniglio)

Méliné Ter Minassian’s One-Woman Show ‘Mi Morna’ Draws a Full House in Paris

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By Aghavni Karnoogian

Special to the Mirror-Spectator

PARIS — “Mi Morna” or “N’oublie pas, j’oublie” [Don’t Forget, I Forget] drew a full house at the Théâtre du Chariot in Paris for its final performance on March 29. Performing solo on stage, actress and director Méliné Ter Minassian presented a work that blends physical theater, performance, and memory. Born out of research begun nearly ten years ago, but also informed by the 2020 Artsakh War, the play is part of a long-term exploration of memory, heritage and the question of diasporic identities.

Méliné Ter Minassian, at right, with co-director Mercedes Chanquia-Aguirre

Mercedes Chanquia Aguirre is the co-director and the Kraken association is the producer of the show.

The play is based on family memory and an open dialogue with three generations of the actress’s female ancestors: Gülizar, who was abducted by Musa Bey at the age of 15 in 1899, made famous by a major article by Gladstone in 1889; Gülizar’s daughter, the writer and singer Arménouhie Kévonian; and finally, the historian Anahide Ter Minassian who died in 2019.

Méliné Ter Minassian

Following two consecutive weeks of performances — marking the play’s debut on a theater stage in the French capital — Méliné Ter Minassian in an interview spoke about her art.

Gülizar

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She explained that the play builds on an earlier phase: initially, “Mi Morna, Moranum Em” connected Western Armenian and Eastern Armenian through language and characters. The play raises one question: what do we want to pass on and what can we choose not to pass on? Ter Minassian is well aware that she is the heir to a history and at the same time the granddaughter of a contemporary Armenian historian. But for her, it was important not to remain fixated on the command “Remember!”, even though it is very widespread among Armenians.

In the show, she constantly shifts between two identities: her own and that of Anahide, her grandmother. And she explains that when she says, “Don’t forget,” it is her grandmother speaking to her, even though when she says, “I forget,” that is also part of reality. Méliné is sensitive to the fact that, toward the end of her life, her grandmother expressed a need to distance herself from the past and encouraged her granddaughter to keep moving forward. Moving yet optimistic in its own unique way, the show is permeated by the hope that future generations will not be fixated solely on a painful memory.

Gülizar and her daughter Arménouhi Kevonian

The Distant Experience of War

The play is set in the present, during the 2020 Artsakh War, which is evoked through news audio clips in English, French and Armenian. The audience comes to understand that the intimate experience of this distant war, lived from within the diaspora, has been, in a way, heightened by the intimate and serene experience of the actress’s pregnancy. The moment of the Artsakh War is thus evoked by this ambivalent experience: Méliné Ter Minassian is carrying a baby girl, yet she is also connected live to Stepanakert, where her father — an anesthesiologist and resuscitation specialist — has volunteered. “This dual experience — this feeling of being both there and not there — is very strong during times of war, especially for people who have lived in exile,” the actress confides.

But the project in its current form is also linked to the death of Méliné’s grandmother “on a cold night at the end of winter” in February 2019. Thus, the “Mi Morna” project, which began in 2015, went through various stages before taking its current form.

A scene from the show (photo Lou-Andrea Gachot Coniglio)

While the play brings together three generations of female ancestors, Méliné confided that she has actually slipped into the childhood memories of her grandmother, Anahide Ter Minassian. The initial starting point for the show in 2015 was more of a reflection on the figure of the ghost, specifically, that of her great-great-grandmother, Gülizar, whose lore is still passed down orally in certain regions of historic Armenia, particularly among Kurdish populations. This discovery fueled Méliné’s reflection on the way in which the dead continue to inhabit our bodies, our stories and our voices. For the actress, the theater is precisely the place where these presences can be summoned.

After studying literature, she lived in Armenia for three years and created performances with the Queering Yerevan collective. Trained at the École Jacques Lecoq and the École Philippe Gaulier, she is part of the Nantes-based association Kraken and co-created, among other works, “Du sucre sur les mains” in 2022. In addition to her artistic activities, she teaches theater to younger generations.

When asked about the interplay of mirrors created by the theatrical framework built around her grandmother’s character, Méliné confessed the deep love she felt for her. “My grandmother was a wonderful storyteller, with a strong, almost theatrical personality. She was already a character in her own right. Bringing her onto the stage felt like a natural choice. This approach allowed me to talk about the passing down of traditions without creating distance, without relaying her words in the indirect style. I don’t say ‘Anahide said’; I become Anahide, and it is she who speaks.”

Anahide Ter Minassian

Trained at the École Jacques Lecoq, Méliné uses the body as a central element — and sometimes even as her sole tool. “It allows us to express what words cannot say, especially when it comes to summoning ghosts, evoking loss, or pain. As for objects, they too carry memories.”

Finally, Ter Minassian does not shy away from the political dimension of her work. “We are all contemporaries of these tragedies (from Artsakh to Gaza and back again), even when our daily lives seem untouched. My hope is that the audience feels a sense of connection, both to the past and to the present, and that they experience a sense of community between the dead and the living. The play addresses realities little known to non-Armenian audiences, such as contemporary Armenian history and the question of diasporic identity.” Thus, “Mi Morna” has a dimension that is both intimate and universal. The passing of generations, the objects that remain, and the question of their transmission are issues that concern everyone, she says.

And the reactions of the Parisian audience confirm this: people who knew nothing about Armenian history were moved and touched, and left wanting to learn more, having found in this play something that resonated with their own history.

 

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