Watch Rok’s Depth – 21. 4.

9,00 

Boštjan Videmšek

Rok’s Depth

Directed by: Matjaž Pograjc

Music: Silence (Boris Benko, Primož Hladnik)
Set design: Tomaž Štrucl, Sandi Mikluž (Estrihi in ometi)
Costume design: Mateja Benedetti
Choreography: Branko Potočan
Illustrations: Meta Wraber
Animation: Gregor Balog
Video compositing, mapping and programming: Luka Dekleva
Language consultant: Mateja Dermelj
Lighting design: David Cvelbar
Sound design: Silvo Zupančič
Ski training: Miha Lapanja
Diving training: H2O Team
Video: Dušan Ojdanič
Author of introductory video: Dare Kragelj
Make-up artist: Barbara Pavlin
Production assistant: Lucija Seljak
Stage manager: Urša Červ / Liam Hlede

Production: Mladinsko Theatre

Première: 9. 10. 2015

Rok Petrovič is the author of the poems used in the performance.

Cast

Primož Bezjak, Damjana Černe, Željko Hrs, Uroš Maček, Matej Recer, Katarina Stegnar

 

Rok Petrovič was – and continues to be – the only serial winner in the history of Slovenian male alpine skiing. In the 1985/86 season, at the height of the skiing euphoria, he won five slalom races and thus obtained the season’s highest ranking, leaving behind both the legendary Swede Ingemar Stenmark and the doyen of Slovenian skiing Bojan Križaj. Because he was never a team player and because he stood out fiercely from the ideological-marketing PR levelling, because he played and skied and lived and thought absolutely independently and because he saw sports as personal growth, not just a competition in which one wore national colours (on the edge of political activity), he stuck out so much that he was often completely unnoticeable. With a reason. He used to ski the way skiing is done now. Only he did it with antiquated technology. He was searching for an ideal line and discovered sidecut extreme. He moved as gently as his thoughts were sharp. He would win because he wasn’t afraid to lose. Because he climbed above the homestead-destructive concept. Without protection. Solo. While others were speaking, Rok kept silent. His silence was expressive. He read classical German philosophy and found himself in Buddhist scriptures. While others were running, he swam. Swam away. First, while still extremely young, into science. Into physics and metaphysics, which he blended so masterfully that he almost made sense of alchemy. Later, into the depths of the sea. Into another, yet certainly not new, dimension. Into the peace of a low heartbeat and the cleansing of expectation; dissecting the ego. Where nostalgia is merely a side effect of the dying of excess weight. For a while he hunted. Then he let himself get caught. And stayed down there. At home.

 

In the media