Cellar Under the Rams – Krzysztof Litwin, Tadeusz Kwinta, Mirosław Obłoński

After WWII, Poland found itself behind the Iron Curtain, becoming part of the Eastern Bloc, and joined the states under Soviet control. Until 1989, communism was the order of the day and it decreed a unified, top-down template that applied to all activities, including arts and culture. Back then, the primary function of cultural institutions was to sing the praises of the communist state. But even during these hard times there were places, organisations, movements that provided enclaves of - limited - freedom, of respite from the oppressive and bleak reality of the Polish People’s Republic. The Cellar under the Rams, a literary cabaret housed in the basement of Potocki Palace in the Old Town’s Main Square in Kraków, was one of such distinctive phenomena. Founded in 1956 by the then students, among others its artistic director Piotr Skrzynecki, visual artist Bronisław Chromy, and composer Krzysztof Penderecki, it soon skyrocketed to fame. This unassuming basement became the stamping ground for Kraków intellectual and artistic circles: physicians, lawyers, painters, photographers, writers, musicians, sculptors, actors, film and theatre directors. It was a magnet both for celebrity scientists and for bohemians. Performances staged in The Cellar, song lyrics, outdoor events, and zany jubilee bashes laid bare the absurdities of the system. To artists and audiences alike, they served as a counteraction to the complex and hypocritical lived experience of communist Poland. In the 1960s, jazz music, which the state authorities did not endorse, also found a safe haven there. Soon, Piotr Skrzynecki (1930-1997) became the driving force of The Cellar. A living legend in his lifetime, Skrzynecki was an eccentric compere, an unparalleled improvisor, an all-round artist, and a mover and shaker behind events organised on-site. In 1989, artists associated with The Cellar - not unlike the majority of Polish society - rejoiced at the fall of communism in Central Europe.
Skrzynecki died in 1997, closing behind the original chapter in the history of the most notable late twentieth-century Polish cabaret. Countless esteemed artists graced The Cellar’s stage, including pianist Krzysztof Komeda, trumpeter Tomasz Stańko, singer Ewa Demarczyk, and film score composer Zbigniew Preisner. In its heyday, the club enjoyed a wide network of high-profile friends and well-wishers, such as film director Andrzej Wajda, writer and Nobel Laureate Czesław Miłosz, playwright Sławomir Mrożek, and journalist Jerzy Turowicz. The cabaret remains active to this day: some of the old-time artists are still around, just as they were thirty or forty years ago; seasoned audience members still frequent the club, introducing new generations to the legendary haunt.
Artists associated with the Cellar Under the Rams during one of the cabaret’s performances. Standing from the right: Krzysztof Litwin, Mirosław (Miki) Obłoński, and Tadeusz Kwinta.
The trio in the photograph were Cellar regulars right from the very beginning. Krzysztof Litwin, then a student of painting and graphic design at the Academy of Fine Arts in Kraków, and a graduate of the Antoni Kenar High School in Zakopane and the High School of Fine Arts in Kraków, first joined the team, bringing his guitar. He had a rough start and refused to speak to the public, sitting in the Cellar with his back turned to the audience. Urged to recite monologues, he shortly evolved into an unrivalled star of Saturday on-stage marathons, becoming a genuine silver screen stalwart. Altogether, he starred in over 80 film productions, having been discovered by director Wojeciech Jerzy Has in 1959. But, as the actor confessed, he felt most at home in the Cellar. And that is why he juggled both activities, until he left the cabaret, only to return on and off. Not unlike other associates, each under the spell of the Cellar. And whenever he performed, it was with abandon: naked from the waist up and strumming the strings of his inseparable guitar, or wearing a skimpy brassiere and sporting braids in the style of Karin Stanek, an iconic Polish beat music and rock’n’roll singer. One of his personae included a slow-witted representative of the powers that be, dressed in a lazy overstretched sweater and with a headscarf on. Always a jester, he would perform his own songs, for instance, with Barbara Nawratowicz and Kika Lelicińska as part of the Girls Trio. Litwin composed the first ever Cellar anthem "Ja ci śrubkę wkręcę w radio, o, Leokadio…", a ribald cult classic from a bygone era. The audience loved such antics to bits.
Soon enough, Tadeusz Kwinta followed suit. And not unlike Litwin, he would shortly make a name for himself as an established actor, known for his film and theatre work. In 1957, against the backdrop of a fireplace and candlelight, he performed a political, satirical litany, written by philosopher Leszek Kołakowski:

"From the state where there are more spies than nurses (...) From the state where state-of-the-art jet planes are produced, but razor blades are not (...) From the state which always knows the will of the people, but the people are asked the very question… Deliver us, Good Lord, we beg you!"

It was a one-off performance, as the state censorship was quick to intervene and promptly put an end to its on-stage existence. As one of his follow-up pieces, he read out - with only minor interpretative adjustments - the newspaper transcript of the speech originally made by Dmitri Shepilov on behalf of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union:

"The socialeest societee embodies the spreengtime of the peoples. The inveegorating October whirlweend dispersed and drove away the fog of decadentism, aestheticism and formalism that was removed from lived reality (...) We’ve been to Parees", he continued with a fake Russian accent.

It was enough to make the audience roll on the floor with laughter. He also read out Sławomir Mrożek’s ironic short story about the International Workers’ Day Parade and enacted several physically demanding scenes. Wiesław Dymny presented him with the lyrics entitled “Konie apokalipsy” (Horses of the Apocalypse), which Zygmunt Konieczny scored. The song, before it was popularised by Ewa Demarczyk, was performed with aplomb by Kwinta.
Miki Obłoński never kept his insecurity a secret: he suffered from impostor syndrome and felt that he was not worthy of THEIR company - that their talent, creativity, and go-getting attitude were unparalleled. He failed to become one of the Cellar insiders while a student at the then Kraków Polytechnic (now Kraków University of Technology), but he eventually managed to enter the inner circle as an art history student. At first, he was happy to sweep the floor. Then, he was promoted to a bouncer, the job he shared with Henryk Cios, the future set designer. Together, they worked so diligently that one day they refused to let Zygmunt Konieczny inside, as he seemed, well, uncultured and uncouth.
Obłoński made his on-stage debut in the Cellar as a performer of songs he heard from the female heir to the Serafiński Family of Wiśnicz, a cousin of painter Jan Matejko. Maria Serafińska was believed to be in possession of a notebook with numerous songs, sheet music, and assorted notations. She also composed her own pieces, setting late nineteenth-century poems to music. Obłoński learnt her compositions by ear and copied the lyrics by hand. In June 1959, he premiered the songs as part of Śmierć w kawiarni (Death in a Cafe). Today, he remains unsure whether the compositions he performed for years, such as "Niech żyje śmiech or Milutka, malutka", belong to him or to Serafińska.
The photograph, taken most probably in 1976 during the 20th jubilee of the Cellar Under the Rams, shows a group of artists revisiting the early days of the cabaret, perhaps singing “Ach Ludwiko”, a pre-WWII song popularised by Eugeniusz Bodo.

Bibliography:
Wacław Krupiński, Głowy piwniczne, Kraków 2007.
Barbara Nawratowicz-Stuart, Kabaret „Piwnica pod Baranami” 1956–1963, Kraków 2018.
Joanna Olczak-Ronikier, Piwnica pod Baranami, czyli koncert ambitnych samouków, Warszawa 1997.
Jacek Olczyk, Życie literackie w Krakowie w latach 1893-2013, Kraków 2016.