The Search for the “Other” and the “Real”: A Festival Journey from Cluj to Bucharest

Savas Patsalidis*

Abstract

The article explores a wide range of performances featured at two of Romania’s prominent festivals: one in Cluj and the other in Bucharest. While the repertories of these festivals differ, the performances—both old and new, mainstream and experimental—are united by a shared exploration of the concept of the “other” (who they are, how they are defined, and where they belong) as well as the notions of truth and reality. In an era of Fake News and the overwhelming influence of advanced technology, is truth or reality still discernible? These are some of the key issues examined in the article, which includes critiques of works by classical playwrights like Shakespeare and Sophocles, as well as contemporary artists such as Nagy and Carbunariu, among others.

Keywords: otherness, documentary theatre, metatheatre, Oedipus, Shakespeare, Cluj-Naboca National Theatre, Bucharest National Theatre Festival, satire, politics

I visit Romania frequently, and I am always impressed by the rich festival program it offers. From Timișoara to Craiova, Cluj, Sibiu, Iași, Piatra Neamț, and of course Bucharest, there is a dense network of festivals that closely follow and actively respond to international developments, thus maintaining an ongoing dialogue with the global community. The first stop on my festival tour this year was Cluj-Napoca, a beautiful city in the heart of Transylvania with close to 400,000 inhabitants, nestled in the valley of the Someșul Mic River, 458 kilometers from Bucharest. It is one of Romania’s major academic and cultural centers, hosting two prominent festivals: Interferences, associated with the Hungarian minority of the city, and the International Meetings in Cluj, organized by the National Theatre of Cluj-Napoca, under the artistic direction of Mihai Maniuțu and Ștefana Pop-Curseu.

Who is the Other?

The 13th edition (October 2024) of the International Meetings, which I attended, focused on the concept of the Other, the foreigner or outsider. Relative to this central organizing theme, the productions explored a range of questions such as who is this Other, where do they live, and how do they live? How do we imagine the Other, how well do we know them, or can we even know them at all? How and why do we demonize the Other? How might the Other view the world? Do they see it as we, who live around them, see it? To what extent does their Otherness shape their concept of reality? Could we imagine ourselves living their lives? If so, how would we view the world? Would we perceive the same realities and write the same stories?

These questions provide a common conceptual link to access the performances, which focused on the theme of alterity, to varying degrees and with varying degrees of success. The performances utilized the dynamic nature of (meta)theatrical play, specifically the inherent duality of the theatrical medium, to highlight the relationship between the face and the mask, truth and falsehood, reality and fantasy.

Viewed as a whole, the festival raised a significant question: Is humanity capable of breaking through the shell of the alien mask to reach the truth of the face? The answer to this question is explored through a brief critical presentation of several of the performances I attended.

Cantese de Speriat Frica / Songs to Scare Away Fear

The performance Songs to Scare Away Fear begins with a music-driven exploration based on various autobiographical excerpts from Nobel laureate Herta Müller’s writings, under the directorial and dramaturgical guidance of Ada Milea. As an instance of performative collage, the work centered on the necessity of revisiting our past, confronting what we have endured, and reaching a reconciliation with what has transpired. It also narrates the journey of the play’s protagonist: she digs through the ashes of a war long over, comes to terms with the wounds it inflicted, and moves forward in life with renewed optimism.

The performance is elevated by the remarkable voice and overall stage presence of Anca Hanu, who projected a communicative warmth throughout the entire performance. The musical accompaniment, provided by the three musicians on stage, created a perfect sonic backdrop for each song. My only criticism concerns the structure of the musical score itself. From beginning to end, it functioned like a nonstop record on a turntable, with no breathing space for the audience to absorb one sound before transitioning to the next. I believe the performance would have benefited a bit more from occasional narrative interludes, which could have expanded the perspective, enriched the themes, and enhanced the communicative dynamic of the performance. Nevertheless, what truly matters is the final impact, the lasting impression spectators carry with them. In this case, that impression was one of quality and allure.

Am Bombardat New Haven / We Bombed in New Haven

Held on the main stage of the National Theatre, the next performance was a staged adaptation of Joseph Heller’s well-known anti-war play We Bombed in New Haven (1967), which in many ways serves as a continuation of his famous work Catch-22. The play critiques the moral blindness of people who view war as a mere spectacle, and equates actual death on the battlefield with the death of actors on stage. In a style reminiscent of Pirandello, the author explores how much reality theatre can endure before it ceases to be theatre.

The direction by Laszlo Boscardi has woven a well-crafted whole supported by an enthusiastic and talented cast, which included, among others, Ionut Caras (Starkey), Matei Rotaru (Henderson), Ouidia Crozan (Major), and Radu Dogaro (Sinclair). Each actor demonstrated the necessary stage chemistry to navigate the complex tug-of-war between the grim reality of war and its theatrical illusion. While I enjoyed the show, I believe Boscardi’s directorial choices could have been a bit more effective had he focused on a more nuanced dramaturgical approach to refine the elements of a play written fifty years ago. Some aspects, inevitably, have been outpaced by time. However, what matters in the end is the spectacle as a whole, and this was both aesthetically pleasing and socially/politically well-targeted to concern us.

Ultima Iubire a Lui Cezar / Ceasar’s Last Love

The performance of Ceasar’s Last Love is a joyful parody, a pastiche of Shakespearean texts in which the actors rely on interpersonal relationships, resulting in a constant blurring of the actual and the fictional, and of the true and the false.

While the choices of playwright Horia Garbea are not particularly innovative, the interplay between reality and appearance projects an intriguing charm, as long as the viewer has the patience and imagination to extract the valuable meanings hidden within its depths. This was made possible in part by the expertise of director Tudor Antofic, who focused on essentials that maintained the pace of a farcical comedy on stage, elements such as timing, tempo, precision, sudden and unexpected turns, surprises, misunderstandings, and pretensions. Without proposing anything new, he skillfully managed the web of dynamics that meta-theatre and farce inevitably carries with it, guiding the four actors and the economist with theatrical ambitions through a rollercoaster of misunderstandings and theatrical affectations on rails without creaks. As Feydeau, the great master of the genre, might say, he paid attention to when and why a door opens and closes.

A Douasprezecea Noapte Sau Cum Doriti / Twelfth Night or What you Will

The young director Botond Nagy took a significant risk with his adaptation of the challenging Shakespearean comedy Twelfth Night, with its many interactive layers of transformation, where nothing stays in place long enough for the audience to grasp or rationalize it. Truth is constantly elsewhere, a quest tested through coincidences, misunderstandings, reversals, disguises and lies, elements that demand a director’s agile mind, equipped with clear specifications of navigation to avoid confusing the audience.

Nagy’s directorial intentions were clear from the outset: to create a youthful and vibrant stage world infused with elements of pop culture, including intense kitsch aesthetics, rock music, bright colors, plastic chairs, energy, beat, movement, madness, eccentric costumes, rousing vocals, and above all, deliberate exaggeration and a tendency toward exhibitionism. Although all of these elements were often thoroughly enjoyable, I wonder to what extent this colorful and visually pleasant stage world harmonized with the thematic demands and concerns of the text. I raise this point because I was somewhat confused; I could not clearly discern the relationship between the stage visual concept and design and the core themes of the play, its psychological and emotional transformations prompted by each misunderstanding; I could not quite grasp the rational for the excessive use of kitsch, for example. To be more specific, if kitsch refers to that which is inauthentic, tasteless or false, was the performance commenting on fake relationships and constant pretenses, or was it functioning as a negation of the search for authenticity? If so, this idea should have been better supported dramaturgically.

Without attempting to substitute the director’s vision, I, as an audience member, needed a guide who could clarify the relationship between the aesthetics of the performance and the search for some other truth. In other words, I would have welcomed a more readable dialogue to connect the components of the whole; this, in turn, would have helped me better understand the roles in a play based fundamentally on the logic of role-playing. While I enjoyed the music, for example, I wondered to what extent it enriched the play or enhanced the theme of melancholy, which the director identified as the guiding principle of his interpretation.

Despite the various secondary thoughts I had regarding some dramaturgical choices, the young director delivered a vivid and colorful spectacle which demonstrated his considerable talent and youthful enthusiasm. While his enthusiasm may have occasionally obscured the journey toward the truth which was hidden behind the masks, he showed great potential and promise for the future.

Pietonul Aerului / A Stroll in the Air

Gabor Tompa, an experienced and insightful connoisseur of Ionesco’s work, directed another performance of an Ionesco play, A Stroll in the Air. In this work, the central character, Monsieur Berenger, a recurring figure in Ionesco’s oeuvre, retreats with his wife and daughter to a quiet corner of England, where he unexpectedly discovers that he is able to fly, thus defying the laws of gravity.

Through a dramatic exploration of this unusual trait, Ionesco, with his characteristic absurdity and satirical touch, critiques the English reception of the flying Berenger. Although they mock him, laugh at him, and belittle him, Berenger remains aloof and immersed in his own world, dreaming of something greater as he nurtures his own utopia. When he declares that humanity needs to be able to fly, others cannot understand him. For Ionesco, Berenger is one of the last remaining romantics, a figure out of place in a world that cannot understand him.

Set designer Adrian Damian proposed an intriguing and perhaps mocking set design, reminiscent of an endless playground where everything appears artificial and exaggerated, much like the playful music of Vasile Șirli. In this universe of colors, spatial arrangements, and shifting lighting, objects lose their materiality and transform into abstract forms, absorbed by the vastness of the sky. This vastness, in turn, evokes a desire to take flight. The sky is, after all, one of the central motifs in Ionesco’s work, both prosaic and dramatic. Intimating the style of Robert Wilson, the blue sky in the opening scene suggests an undefined spatiality that borders on mysticism. In such an environment, Berenger feels ready for great flights. When his wife, Josephine, suggests that the euphoria he feels is somewhat abstract, Berenger quickly responds that it is, in fact, quite specific; it is a physical happiness that elevates him. Those who gaze at him are bewildered and fail to decipher his behavior. For Berenger, this moment represents an epiphany, a kind of spiritual uplifting, and thus mirrors numerous instances in the Christian tradition with similar transcendental moments. However, Berenger is unable to sustain this spiritual ascent, and at some point, when he comes back to earth, he is confronted with a harsh reality: the world as seen from above appeared to be beautiful. In this sense, one might interpret the play as a parable of the defeat of the human spirit.

Tompa, a skillful interpreter of Ionesco’s linguistic codes, brought this dreamlike, melancholic, yet delightfully absurd and cartoonish universe to life. His direction highlighted the emptiness, the superficiality and the lack of depth in human relationships, all set against the backdrop of a world ravaged by war, more specifically World War II.

Cum S-A Indragostit Domnul Gherase de Clara Smith / How Mr. Gherase Fell in Love with Clara Smith

The central narrative of the playHow Mr. Gherase Fell in Love with Clara Smith, which features an elderly man seeking companionship through an online dating program, is not only intriguing but also very contemporary, resonating with the experience of millions of people today.

The play also addresses several modern issues connected to this online search, such as fraud, cybercrime, violence, blackmail, the exploitation of the vulnerable, the need for tenderness and human fragility. Although the playwright and lead actor, Cosmin Stanila, had a very good idea for his text, it could have been even more effective had there been a more dynamic, unexpected and polished interplay between the digital image and the live, real-time performance, the here and now of the stage and the somewhere and sometime of virtual reality. Furthermore, the sheer scope of the main themes somewhat overwhelmed the 90-minute runtime of the performance.

Director Doru Vatavului tackled the various aspects of the narrative with care, ensuring visibility for all themes developed. Yet there were moments when greater flexibility and innovative spirit were needed to shift more smoothly between the real and the virtual worlds, in order to foreground the elusive and dangerous elements of online relationships.

Conclusion

Although I may have had some minor doubts or questions as an audience member at certain performances, I thoroughly enjoyed a thoughtfully curated festival that was both focused and well-balanced. The experience was truly enriching. It was a beautiful and challenging journey, navigating the spaces between truth and illusion, similarity and difference—an exploration that only theatre, the ultimate topos of the real and the imagined, can provide. And this journey continues about 450 kilometers away, to another National Theatre in the country’s capital.

PART II

Illusions and Truths, Shadows and Light: National Theatre Festival, Bucharest

She She Pop, Yael Ronen, Mercurian, Afrim, Dead Center, Clemens Bechtel, Purcarete, Majeri, Serban, Carbunariu, Ostermeier, Parr, Donnellan: these were some of the names featured at this year’s Bucharest National Theatre Festival, which concluded on October 28th. The festival, abundant in choice, diverse in themes and rich in stylistic and aesthetic proposals, presented a compelling array of performances.

 In contrast to previous editions, the organizers of this year’s festival informed us that the 2024 edition was not intended to be “a showcase of Romanian theatre,” but rather a representation of the broader artistic choices made by the festival’s curatorial team, consisting of Mihaela Michailov, Calin Ciobotari, and Ionut Sociu. The program emerged after the organizers viewed over 250 performances from Romania, Moldova, Austria, Belgium, Switzerland, France, Germany, Ireland, Poland, Portugal, and Serbia.

In what follows, I will focus on only a few of the performances I attended, mainly due to constraints of space. The first production to be reviewed is La Cativa Oameni Distanta De Tine, written by Romanian novelist and poet Dan Coman and directed by Radu Afrim.

La Cativa Oameni Distanta De Tine / A Few People Away from You

The two stories that comprise La Cativa Oameni are set within the confines of the family circle. Much like the dysfunctional families depicted in the works of Eugene O’Neill, Tennessee Williams, and other exponents of psychological realism, the members of two families portrayed in this production experience the dead ends of their choices, their behaviors, or the choices made by others.

In both plays, the central figure of the narrative is a mother who is deeply intertwined in the various stories of loss, defeat, disappointment, immigration, abuse, remorse, as well as moments of humor and hope. In the first story, the son (Marius Manole) returns from Cluj, hoping to restart his life, while the daughter (Flavia Giurgiu) lives in the United States, having married an American man, Christopher (Ștefan Iancu), as a means to acquire a legal resident permit. Their mother (Natalia Călin), creates a fantasy world for herself in which she enjoys an imaginary love affair with a police officer (Marius Bodochi), in order to cope with her loneliness in rural Romania (Bistrița). As emigration has scattered the family members to various locations around the world, they communicate only virtually, primarily through the WhatsApp application.

In the second more somber story, a mother (Mirela Oprișor) emigrates to Austria to care for an elderly woman. Her work requires her to leave behind an elderly alcoholic husband (Bodochi) whom she no longer loves, and a son (Iancu) whom she loves. Despite the difficulties she faces, she does not want to return to her native home; ultimately her son and her husband come together.

While the thematic interests of the two family dramas lend themselves to deeper introspection, the director chose a gentler directorial approach. He maintained a rather subdued tone and refrained from heightening dramatic tensions or pursuing intense climaxes. Instead, he allowed a mild atmosphere to prevail, one which was sustained by continuous individual narratives. It was as though everything had emerged from the pages of a photo album, with the director turning each page slowly and tenderly, offering well-targeted explanations, but without attempting to recreate any deeply painful immersions and intimate confessions, which could have transcended what was expected. All in all, it was both distinctive and engaging performance.

Anatomia Unei Sinucideri / Anatomy of a Suicide

With Anatomy of a Suicide, British playwright Alice Birch won the Susan Smith Blackburn Prize. The play premiered at the Royal Court Theatre in London in 2018, under the direction of Katie Mitchell.

In this work, the playwright investigates the implications of having a mother who commits suicide and the extent to which suicidal tendencies may be passed on genetically to her children. Around this complex theme, Birch skillfully weaves parallel stories of three generations of women, from the 1970s through 2023, who all suffer from an unspecified mental illness.

On one narrative level, we meet Carol, the mother, on another Anna, the daughter, and on the third, Bonnie, the granddaughter. Although these women live in different time periods, their stories unfold simultaneously and their speech overlaps; clearly, managing such instances of simultaneous dialogue poses a major challenge for the director.

We first meet Carol (Ioana Alexandrina Costea) when she is discharged from the hospital after a suicide attempt. We then see her daughter Anna (Fatma Mohammed), a drug addict, as she struggles to build a normal life for herself. Finally, we are introduced to Anna’s daughter, Bonnie (Nikoleta Lefter), who has inherited her grandmother’s house and wants to sell it. Although the three women are directly related, they display very different temperaments: Carol is melancholic, lost in her world, and thoroughly defeated; Anna, more extroverted and unstable, detests the way her husband treats her; Bonnie, skillfully portrayed by Nikoleta Lefter, suffers from isolation and loneliness.

While the performance raises more questions than it successfully answers, it is ultimately quite captivating. On the one hand, I considered whether the direction might have benefited from a greater sense of intimacy; on the other hand, I found myself wondering if the playwright had actually intended for the audience to feel more like an observer and less of a participant, and the clinical perspective a deliberate choice. This possibility was reinforced by Alexandra Badian’s set design, which closely mirrored the London production: a bare, minimalist world with precisely placed objects. Five mysterious doors open and close, defining scenes, entrances, and exits. It was a functional set that easily transitioned between various locations, such as a hospital room, bedroom, or kitchen.

As for Diana Mititelu’s direction, she followed the narrative simultaneity but did not fully clarify the space, making it somewhat difficult for the audience to follow the overlapping narrative layers. For someone unfamiliar with the play, it was not particularly easy to follow. Nonetheless, it was a beautiful performance of a complex and challenging text.

Anomalia / The Anomaly

Anomalia, a production of Teatrul National Marin Sorescu in Craiova, offered a utopian forecast for the future of humanity, with the direction, choreography and music by Natasza Soltanowicz to support the dramaturgy of Joanna Kowalska.

The performance begins with a setting that immediately signals its intentions: a cold office environment where employees behave like puppets under the command of their superior. Each scene is marked by a crucial transformation that forces individuals to continually redefine their positions, behavior, and identity, as each change is accompanied by music and electronic fragments.

The images unfold gradually to depict the absurd and largely irrational entrapment of the individual, transforming them first into a machine and then into an animal, ideas inspired by the spirit of posthumanist thought. However, the key issue is not whether these ideas are fresh, but rather if their sheer volume can be fully realized within the confines of a limited-duration performance. The many fragments presented in rapid succession were intriguing, yet none were given enough time or space to be fully developed and dramaturgically supported to form a cohesive whole. Much was left suspended in mid-air, unresolved.

Despite this shortcoming, there were moments when the imagery, choreography and music combined to create a poetic and otherworldly atmosphere. Such instances foregrounded the well-rehearsed coordination of the Polish group In Between, their stage chemistry and the handling of unconventional directorial suggestions, as well as the numerous exceptional musical interludes.

Oedip / Oedipus

In contrast to modern Shakespearean adaptations, the revival of Greek classical works remains a significant challenge, a truly complex endeavor both in terms of re-writing and directing. British playwright Robert Icke clearly understands this challenge well, as it is reflected in his approach.

 In his adaptation of Oedipus, Icke does not merely offer a reworking or a simple readjustment or appropriation. He takes a more radical and risky approach, transforming the ancient prophecies and adventures into breaking news. He continues the original story through the desire to retell it differently, in a new geographical and historical context, using a technique that we might call, in cinematic terms, a sequel, one that keeps the end of the story perpetually open, allowing for the possibility of multiple changes. In this way, the original narrative becomes a permanent continuation, a continuum that provokes conclusions about its ending with each new iteration.

Icke extracts from the original myth the key thematic elements which he deems essential, such as the play of power, the corrupt machinations of politics and the thirst for knowledge and love. He then places Oedipus in the role of a rising populist political star and constructs around him a savage battle for dominance, one that touches on themes of origin and citizenship. As the play was written during the presidency of Barack Obama, the references to his own origin and citizenship were unmistakable, since issues about Obama’s birthplace were constantly featured in the media. Oedipus is pressured by both the public and the members of his team to produce his birth certificate in order to establish his origins, or else risk losing the election.

Icke’s choices show that a return to the Greek tragedy with such extreme coincidences can hardly be believable, so his first priority is to ground it and make it more familiar. He achieves this by gathering all the protagonists around a family table. The opening scene is one of the most banal, at the threshold of which passions, enmities, rivalries, confessions, love affairs and gossip erupt. Oedipus’ two children, Eteocles and Polynices, are constantly bickering, while Antigone is present but is far from the innocent girl we know; at one point, she makes a sexual advance toward Creon and exposes her breast. Also present is Merope, a guest from Corinth who will inform them of the death of Polybus. Oedipus’s behaviour is defined by ignorance; everything he does is wrong, and his mistakes set off a chain reaction.

 Immediately following the initial family gathering, the play is swept up in scenes of tension, suspense and violence. Oedipus begins making promises, even before the outcome of the election is decided. He promises to solve the mystery of the crime and hopes to open the file on the mysterious death of Laius, which the playwright attributes to a car accident in which the driver fled the scene. Politically immature, Oedipus exacerbates rather than solves the problems. Creon, the political fox, futilely advises him to shift his focus from the past to the present, but Oedipus insists on following his own instincts. He wants to show everyone that human beings are the masters of their fate. The playwright, however, disagrees, arguing that human beings are always subjugated by forces beyond their control. Ultimately, the play forces the audience to question whether there are things that might be better left unknown.

Icke wrote a modern play based on an ancient story, one that leads to catharsis in its own way. By excluding elements that could estrange the audience, he achieves what is impossible for most: he brings the tragedy closer to the reader and places it within human reach. He saw the play as the tragedy of an entire family, not just an individual, and he supported his idea dramaturgically. In the end, everyone emerges defeated. It is as though the playwright is telling us that no one can settle into certainty, and that anything can be overturned at any one moment.

The seasoned director, Andrei Serban, delivered a performance with a fast, breathless pace. Known for his classical adaptations, he launched his international career in the US with the famous Trilogy of Medea, The Trojan Women and Electra in 1971. In Oedipus everyone is chasing something, which he depicts as an endless back-and-forth of bodies, news, and emotions. Nothing remains in front of the spectators’ eyes long enough to serve as an anchor. Everything is overturned swiftly, enhancing the suspense running through the events. Spectators wonder who did it and why, and what will happen. His directorial handling of Oedipus drama raises the question of how much responsibility people bear for their mistakes, whether they are committed unknowingly, under pressure, or under the shadow of a prophecy; whether or not they are innocent or guilty, and if guilty, if love, passion, and the sense of connection die along with the guilt.

Serban’s stage work rightly kept the political love story of Jocasta and Oedipus at the center of the narrative, culminating in the final scene where, having learned the truth, they are joined in a final passionate sexual encounter before Jocasta exits and commits suicide. Thus ends a family drama that certainly moves, disturbs, and perhaps, for those opposed to adaptations, irritates.

The setting for the performance at the Bulandra Theatre, by Carmencita Brojboiu, initially imposes a cold, office-like atmosphere reminiscent of an election campaign: a series of tables, with computers, a coffee machine and a digital clock ticking counting down to the announcement of the results and the end of the ordeal.

Vlad Zamfirescu portrayed Oedipus as a loud and sometimes hysterical character, brimming with energy yet tender as a father when needed. He navigated with passion the hero’s journey from ignorance to knowledge, embodying the role with all his being. Cerasela Iosifescu as Jocasta was also very good. Seemingly a light and relatively indifferent character with a strong erotic connection to her husband, she later becomes a tragic figure. Upon learning of their incest, she does not hesitate to surrender sexually to Oedipus in a shocking scene.

A well-composed figure, the politician Creon and also Oedipus’s campaign manager was realistically presented by Andi Vasluianu. Serving as Merope, the mother of Manuela Ciucur had a continuous and meaningful presence, while the children, Antigone (Ilinca Neacșu), Eteocles (Matei Constantin), and Polynices (Eduard Chimac), displayed youthful energy and enthusiasm.

My main objection was the portrayal of Teiresias, played by the disguised Ana Ioana Macaria, whose performance felt out of place, as though she belonged to a different play entirely. I also have significant reservations about the use of ancient Greek in her dialogue. Given the otherwise realistic tone of the performance, it seemed jarring and out of sync. It came across as rather pretentious.

Overall, Serban successfully blended the new and the old, conceptualizing the play in the style of a young director while at the same time drawing on his vast range of experience. The closing, though obvious, was powerful: all the actors were lined up on the stage and blindfolded, with Oedipus standing alone at the center while leading them. He has found the truth, while everyone else remains blind.

Povestile Bunicilor Soptite Fiicelor de Mamele Lor / Stories of Grandmothers Whispered by Mothers to their Daughters

The play Stories of Grandmothers Whispered by Mothers to their Daughters was authored and directed by the prominent Romanian playwright and director Gianina Cărbunariu, who is currently enjoying a successful career in Europe and clearly merits our attention.

In the current postmodern era, there is a concern with the concept of the political and the means to highlight it. This focus of interest is appropriate, provided that individuals first understand clearly what political theatre entails, especially in an era in which the concepts of city and ideology have eroded. Against this sociopolitical backdrop, the director, Gianina Cărbunariu, developed a set of related themes as she explored the ease with which the familiar or the common seems unfamiliar and uncommon in political discourse. She also questioned whether any degree of familiarity or commonality would allow for an astute political commentary, and whether it is possible to define with precision that which is familiar within our own personal domain.

These are some of the thorny issues prompted by the investigative lens of Cărbunariu, who chose to address a highly controversial topic, Decree 770, a law in effect in Romania from 1966 to 1989, during the Ceausescu dictatorship. This decree criminalized abortion, treating it as murder and imprisoning women who sought abortions; the same decree also banned contraception. The aim was to increase the population and strengthen the power of the state. Statistical data reveals that thousands of women lost their lives in their attempts to terminate unwanted pregnancies and thus assert control over their own bodies.

The performance, without being loud or pedantic, subtly suggested that such dark stories may very well resurface in our lives today, in a context where violations of human rights, authoritarianism and populism persist and have become part of our daily political life.

A clear indication of Caburnariu’s gendered intentions is the the use of male actors at the outset who claim the right to narrate stories about women. To that end they do not hesitate to harass, intervene, and coerce aggressively and crudely, as they demand to give voice to the experiences of the so-called voiceless women. But the women resist; they take the floor and with their stories, the evidence they provide, the newspaper accounts and testimonials, they reveal the facts of this dark period that directly concern them. They describe the dangers they faced as they sought to control their own bodies and decide their own their fates, thereby forced to defy the state that sought to reduce them to submissive housewives and reproductive vessels to fill factories with workers. In the second part of the performance, we hear the story of a young woman who miscarried at home and was charged by the authorities with manslaughter. Her refusal to have children was treated as a crime, and she was punished accordingly.

By means of flexibility and astute placements, the direction intentionally fractures the official narratives of the law and therefore creates space for the women’s fragmented testimonies to emerge, revealing hidden wounds and unspeakable thoughts that haunted and continue to haunt the country’s recent history. I found these themes both compelling and highly relevant to our current times, yet I believe that the impact would have been greater if the directorial choices had been somewhat bolder and more unpredictable. More specifically, I felt that a targeted defamiliarization was missing from the performance, a more disorienting or interventionist and unpredictable directorial language which would invest more in the style of the writing and allow it to engage more with the theme of the writing. This would have helped the familiar material shed its cloak of intimacy and become unfamiliar and alien, thereby compelling us to reencounter it from the start. However, this is a minor concern, as I learned from the experience and I was prompted to reflect further on the themes developed.

Conclusion

With Carbunariu’s documentary theatre, my experience at this year’s Festival of the National Theatre of Bucharest came to an end, having provided much input for thought, reflection and introspection, along with spectacular images, high-level performances and fruitful queries. Above all, I left feeling hopeful that theatre can help change the world, no matter how slow the pace or small the degree of change. 

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*Savas Patsalidis is Professor Emeritus in Theatre Studies at Aristotle University of Thessaloniki, where he has taught at the School of English for close to 35 years. He has also taught at the Drama School of the National Theatre of Northern Greece, the Hellenic Open University and the graduate program of the Theatre Department of Aristotle University. He is the author of fourteen books on theatre and performance criticism/theory and co-editor of another thirteen. He is on the Executive Committee of the Hellenic Association of Theatre and Performing Arts Critics, a member of the curators’ team of Forest International Festival (organized by the National Theatre of Northern Greece), and the editor-in-chief of Critical Stages/Scènes critiques, the journal of the International Association of Theatre Critics.

Copyright © 2024 Savas Patsalidis
Critical Stages/Scènes critiques, #30, Dec. 2024
e-ISSN: 2409-7411

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Creative Commons Attribution International License CC BY-NC-ND 4.0.