cover image photophilla

mazzotta sciannamea | zerogrammi 2008


This prayer raises and satisfies your need to meet the liturgy of ramschackle words, living and bouncing off those walls like verses of an animal. The eyes are pleased and at the same time reassured while looking at the assumed positions of red saints. It is a movement of joy that surprises. Their rigidity of bold cast is much more bereable than standing up and sitting down on troublesome benches.
(Fabio Chiriatti)



The characters of this story, whose colors are grotesque, paradoxical, and improbable in their veracity, move on stage emulating a bizarre liturgy: a ceremony where (as in the deepest traditions of southern Italy) the sacred easily mingles with the profane, where religion smells of tangerines over Christmas cribs, where the Bolero echoes through the squares after holy processions. They describe a religion of devoted old rosary-bearing women wearing black clothes, whose God, after being blessed, follows them into their homes and everyday life. In the way they transform words and silence into dance, there is language of exposed bodies, a choreography of steps, now painful, now angelic, played as a parody of religious and daily sanctimony that belongs to our culture. There is a sacred and profane, cruel and tender, ironic and tragic universe in the liturgy of gestures, of askew genuflections, of awkward postures, of crooked forms of expression which exude an innocent clumsiness. In the details of praying hands powered by swirling and hypnotic designs reminiscent of Pina Bausch's dance. In the ecstatic stop-motions of mouths and eyes. In the liturgies of legs and arms put in Crucifixion, and a Baroque Deposition, which refer to popular icons. There are sounds and voices from small villages, processions of Virgins, litanies and scented rosaries, an ardent Kyrie Eleison on which the dance stuns and charms. There is the sound of a quiet mysticism, and the suspension of any miracle, there is hysteria of muscles and nude backs. Finally, there is in all this, in that wasteland, yet inhabited by visions, a sense of immortal and deep wait of the soul in search of spirituality. (Giuseppe Distefano)


(...) En travesti, with black petticoats, clearly visible male calves, veils on the head, cardboard bags full of red candles and tempting wine ampoules, the two hilarious and very different performers leave out the accessories of a sweetly innocent irreverence and never blasphemous, in an energetic dance of genuflections, votive gestures, folded hands, even wrapped in a dramatic melee. And they come naked to the purified lightness of their Iesus Nazarenus Rex Iudaeorum . (M. Guatterini, Il Sole 24 Ore)


(...) Definitely one of this Singapore Festival's top shows!

(Y. Sheng, The Flying inkpot)



(...) Two performers who show the public their elegance, their harmony and their irony in a show that has not stopped growing rich in Italy since 2008.

(D. Jaccod, La Stampa)


Inri is a celebration - never ever disrespectful - of the power of believing.

(N. Koh, The Business Times)


(...) Inri is a cross-section of life which, despite its stylization and its essential, almost abstract use, of symbols and topical moments, is delivered in the hands of the viewer in a surprisingly direct and accomplice way, relying not only on strength expressive of situations and caricatural figures but also to the intrinsic truth that each of them holds.

(A. Giuliani, Nucleo Artzine)

a dramaturgy

by Fabio Chiriatti


You go to and from the church to escape the monotony of time that flows always the same. To the boredom of the domestic walls and to those four cats put on the cross waiting for their portion of daily blasphemies. Standing up and sitting like a courtship dance. The hard wood of a bench is reluctant to accept the secrets and confidences of flesh, bones and breaths of the body. The body looks ready to mortify itself in its most tangible corners. Like a shrin the joined hands hold sweat. The rustling nylon in contact with skin, that foot looking for the calf like an enemy, like a dissension between families. It goes from the knee to the ankle to find the most fleshy point, hanging from the top of the curve, praying for a forgiveness prayer. Like a shrin the joined hands hold sweat. They untie their knots to bind to the thorns of rosaries made out of colored plastic, glass and beads. They accompany this process with a whisper of voice, giving a rhythm through raucous and hushed breaths. Voices merge to each other, breaths are along with the chests’ beats, they weave a net that involves everything. The outside ceases to exist, the sun, the light, the cicadas, the white walls do not penetrate the tight-knit net made of breaths and sweats. Inside, everything is gold and silence. The voices of the choir still in the ears. Outside, in a world of sacred voluptuousness, there is the captivating sound of feathers, the cinnamon smell, seductive, looking for the shortest way to inebriate you. Dirty words are whispered in the ear. In the ecstasy of this vision between wind instruments of a band and Api Piaggio 50 full of black and white sweets, the swollen and melting cocoa flavour and hazelnut grain explode in the mouth. Outside everything is sinful. The thousands lights look like the colored grains of the rosary, for each of them ten Ave Maria melt in your mouth, as fast as possible since we have to think to other important issues. The band becomes thousands polyphonies of street vendors accompanied by percussions of high heels. Hunger and thirst agitate the belly. The spry old women in the church untie rosaries and move fans; as air could give more strength to their prayers, lifting them from their mouths up directly to God.  Tall and straight. The same women, in the intimacy of their houses, striving in unusual private sort of prayers made of shoddy alcohol, bought at the convenience store plus candies and mints, displayed there to mask everything. Like candles lit to the Saint as a sign of devotion. This is the peace delivered by the priest to the faithful. The blood joins the wind instruments of the band that praises anyone in the delirium and in the general carelessness. The main responsible of their burrs is the relentless nose of the master, too much curious and wakeful, vicious and convinced that poetry is an intrinsic part of the snow. The biggest abomination along with years of pleased espiation, is that God is present, assisting you there and laughing. It is a rosary made out of almonds and sugar, dried walnuts and chestnuts, jute bags and brass weights. It is a rosary to pray with tongue, between tooth and tooth. This prayer raises and satisfies your need to meet the liturgy of ramschackle words, living and bouncing off those walls like verses of an animal. The eyes are pleased and at the same time reassured while looking at the assumed positions of red saints. It is a movement of joy that surprises. Their rigidity of bold cast is much more bereable than standing up and sitting down on troublesome benches.

INRI ph federica peach lq (20 di 27).jpg

info and




Stefano Mazzotta


Stefano Mazzotta, Emanuele Sciannamea


Chiara Guglielmi, Stefano Mazzotta


Fabio Chiriatti

musiche, luci, costumi e scene/music, costumes and scenes

Stefano Mazzotta




Festival Oriente Occidente (It), La Piattaforma (It)

con il sostegno di/with the support of 

Regione Piemonte, Mibac

un ringraziamento a/thanks to 

Dimora Coreografica (It)

progetto partecipante a/project participant to 

Anticorpi XL - Network Giovane Danza d'Autore

con il contributo di/with the contribution of

Festival Interplay

produzione/production 2008

disponibilità da/availability since 11.2008


durata/duration 50 min

pubblico/audience +11


staff artistico e tecnico in tour/artistic and technical team on tour 2+1

trasporto scenografie e materiali/prop transportation AL SEGUITO/PROVIDED BY THE COMPANY

montaggi/set up lights and scenes 1 d.

smontaggi/disassembly 3 h