Between philosophy, morality and human nature
 
In Faust, the pursuit of truth takes center stage—not merely as a personal journey but as a profound inquiry into where truth resides in our fractured, modern world. Davide Iodice’s adaptation of Goethe’s iconic work, presented by the National Theatre of Albania in collaboration with Sardegna Teatro, reinvents Faust to reflect the Albanian experience and the complexities of contemporary society. This production invites us to question the nature of truth itself: Is it a constant, an absolute we can trust, or has it transformed into a malleable concept shaped by social media, personal bias, and institutional agendas?
 
The play opens with a mirror reflecting light across the audience, symbolizing the pursuit of enlightenment. Yet, as he reaches out for knowledge, the light evades him – a reflection of our own world, where the sheer volume of information clouds rather than clarifies. Faust, played by Hervin Çuli, embodies the modern seeker, weary of the boundaries of conventional wisdom yet driven to push beyond. His existential crisis, rooted in questions about the limits of human understanding, resonates with an era where public trust in traditional sources is often shaky, and people turn to “alternative truths” on social platforms.

Faust’s pact with Mephistopheles is a symbolic act of defiance, representing a break from institutionalized knowledge and a plunge into subjective reality. In the play, Mephistopheles (Ema Andrea) is more than a tempter; she is the voice of skepticism, casting doubt on any universal notion of truth. Her character reflects the distrust in contemporary society towards the “truths” propagated by media and government. As she questions Faust’s assumptions, Mephistopheles reminds us that truth is often a product of power: who owns it, who controls it, and who has the means to disseminate it.

Faust’s journey through a world filled with doors and symbolic mirrors serves as a reminder that truth is elusive, fragmented, and often shaped by who holds the power to present it. Faust’s pact with Mephistopheles reflects an individual’s defiance against institutionalized knowledge and a quest to define truth beyond accepted norms. The play becomes a mirror of our time, exploring whether truth remains bound to tradition, resides in individual pursuits, or is ultimately shaped by collective consensus.

Yet, Iodice’s adaptation pushes further by grounding Faust within Albanian society, making the play a cultural as well as philosophical exploration. The figure of God (Indrit Çobani) is portrayed with a striking departure from traditional depictions, appearing in worn, mismatched clothes with symbols of Albanian identity. This image suggests a democratization of divinity, implying that the truth is not only within institutions but accessible to the humble and the ordinary. In a time when authority is questioned, this portrayal connects deeply with audiences, reminding us that perhaps truth exists just as much in common experience as in the official narratives.
 
The visual elements are particularly striking in Andrea’s dance in a bird mask, symbolizing the theme of free will as it pertains to the play’s main. The aviary placed in Faust’s room acts as a powerful metaphor for his entrapment, with Mephistopheles engaging it during monologues to underscore her role as the puppeteer in Faust’s choices. This symbol, along with the presence of trees and dim lighting, creates an atmosphere of both allure and mystery, inviting the audience into Faust’s moral limbo.
 
This adaptation’s symbolic elements—such as the recurring motif of mirrors and light—draw us into the theme of enlightenment and disillusionment. Faust’s ambition to transcend his limits echoes the modern drive to “know more,” yet his story warns of the potential emptiness of endless pursuit. His assistant, Wagner (Gert Ferra), represents conventional academia, clinging to the belief in structured knowledge, while Faust embodies the increasingly prevalent scepticism towards traditional sources. Wagner’s presence raises the question of whether truth is better preserved within the established frameworks of academia or if it must evolve beyond them.
 
Through the tragic arc of Margarita (Niada Saliasi), the play delves into the personal impact of truth’s elusiveness. Margarita’s intense love for Faust and her downfall in a world of blurred morals and shifting values reminds us of the consequences when individuals place blind faith in another’s vision of truth. Her journey reflects how the search for truth can devastate when it becomes wrapped in identity and devotion, especially in an era where ideals can shift rapidly, leaving individuals lost in their wake.
 
By situating Faust within a distinctly Albanian context, Iodice infuses the narrative with local relevance, asking: What does truth mean in Albania today? In a country with a complex political history and a young democracy, where social media now plays a significant role in shaping public opinion, this question resonates deeply. It touches on the broader dilemma of whether truth in a changing society is bound to institutional power, individual beliefs, or collective agreement. Albania’s own path toward transparency and accountability, shaped by its relationship to media and institutional narratives, reflects the broader European and global questions about the authority and accessibility of truth.
 
Ultimately, Faust does not provide a simple answer but encourages us to confront our assumptions about knowledge and power. Is truth best preserved within the confines of tradition, like Wagner believes, or in Faust’s daring, if reckless, challenge of the status quo? The play presents truth as something elusive, not a destination but an ongoing, perhaps unattainable, quest.
 
In the end, while Faust dazzles with its visuals and captures moments of philosophical inquiry, it risks sacrificing depth for style. Iodice’s production poses important questions about free will and the search for meaning but leaves these themes obscured by its own excess. This Faust, torn between visual ambition and narrative coherence, reflects the fractured nature of truth itself – a fleeting ideal, glimpsed, but never fully grasped.

Written by: Fabio Pisano (based on texts by Goethe, Spies, and Marlowe) Directed by: Davide Iodice Actors: Hervin Çuli, Ema Andrea, Gert Ferra, Besmir Bitraku, Indrit Çobani, Lulzim Zeqja, Genti Deçka, Krist Lleshi, Niada Saliasi, Ina Gjonçi Dramaturg: Fabio Pisano Light Designer: Loïc François Hamelin Music: Lino Cannavacciuolo Set designers: Davide Iodice & Laedia Hajdari Costume designer: laedia Hajdari

The performance was part of the program of the Kosovo/Albania Theatre Showcase, which took place in Tirana, the end of October 2024.

Reflections of Light, Shadows of Meaning

Even though it began with a mirror, Italian director Davide Iodice’s production of Faust suffered from an unclear vision. I mean, every classic work is a mirror indicating reflection and self-examination and it is challenging to stage such a masterpiece through this metaphor. Especially without coherence. 

This adaptation, drawing from Goethe, Spies, and Marlowe, written by Fabio Pissano, opened with closed curtains. With a director, a poet, and some actors discussing the purpose of theatre while holding a long rectangular mirror meant to “connect” with the audience. However, this postmodern touch came off as too much and even distracting, with the strong lights reflecting off and leaving the audience temporarily blinded rather than engaged. 

This opening scene got forgotten as the curtains rose. The only moment the mirror's significance became clear was in the way Mephistopheles constantly combed their hair - a precise detail which got lost in the visual spectacle. However, this subtle connection still doesn’t quite align with the postmodernist framing of the opening.

The square stage and the use of a door on each of the four invisible walls of Faust’s room was a creative choice. It not only facilitated seamless scene changes but also enhanced the play’s postmodern approach, suggesting multiple points of views, at least formally. This idea was successfully realized in an aesthetically striking and thought-provoking way. The metaphor of the door in the 'black wall' stood out as a key moment, authentically representing the temptation of what lies beyond knowledge. This directorial choice became a central image in the production.

Faust, played by Hervin Çuli, enters as a professor—an overly pathetic figure, lacking the seriousness that defines Goethe's character. This attempt to modernize Faust failed to offer any contemporary insight, and it was unclear if this character symbolized anything relevant today. (A version casting Faust as a modern programmer, for example, might have felt more relevant). 

Çuli’s portrayal of Faust lacked both presence and depth. Isolated in his bedroom avoiding his students due to his unstable mental and moral state, he presented an unrealistic image of a modern professor nowadays or even an unrealistic representation of the position of knowledge in our era. 

Covering the bedroom floor with books was a creative touch symbolizing the depth of knowledge that characterizes Faust; yet, despite being visually engaging, it added a medieval dimension that wasn’t consistent throughout the play.  

Though Çuli’s constant pacing, complaints, and cries seemed intended to emphasize Faust's dependence on Mephistopheles and his vulnerability to manipulation, he did not convey this dynamic with emotional depth.
Placing Mephistopheles in Faust’s bedroom from the very first scene, visible only to Faust, was a smart directorial choice. When Wagner (played by Gert Ferra) enters and fails to notice Mephistopheles, it subtly reinforces the idea that evil resides within us. This idea was made even clearer when, in response to Faust’s demand to leave, Mephistopheles replies, “How can I leave if I never entered?” In this sense, the idea of choosing the bedroom as the main location of the play invited the audience into the intimate world of the character and gave the impression that Faust’s drama is happening inside his head.

However, the relationship between Faust and Mephistopheles felt underdeveloped, with an unclear balance of power between them. Mephistopheles, in contrast, took a distinctly sarcastic approach, repeatedly addressing Faust as “Professor” with a biting, ironic tone  that came across more as bullying than temptation, missing the subtlety of manipulation.

Mephistopheles, portrayed by Ema Andrea in a white suit with a painted white face and red lips, presented a creative reversal of the usual color symbolism of good and evil (with Faust dressed in black clothes). There was something Joker-like in this portrayal of the character, which weakened the association with Mephistopheles as the devilish manipulator. Ema Andrea’s exaggerated, mocking energy was striking, even if at times it distracted from the story’s essence. Nevertheless, Andrea's performance delivered emotion due to her dedication to the role. She was one of the most engaging elements in the production. 

The stage design, by Iodice and Laedia Hajdari, was also striking, with details that heightened the eerie atmosphere. The costumes, trees, lighting, and Ema Andrea’s enchanting ballet performance in the background, wearing a bird’s mask, all contributed to the haunting visual landscape. 

However, other choices, such as casting God (played by Indrid Çobani) as an Albanian street cleaner with an Albanian flag scarf and a cap, singing the Albanian song “A kanë ujë ato burime” at Mephistopheles’ party didn’t connect thematically and was tonally confusing.

The theme of "free will" emerged as an essential element in the play's conclusion. Present throughout the play, through the aviary in Faust’s room, a stage object with which Mephistopheles engaged during his monologues, reinforcing his superiority and his role as the true manipulator of the play. Also, Mephistopheles' elegant performance in a white bird-like costume with slow movements beautifully captured the essence of unconscious control. 

In the end Mephistopheles tells Faust that everything has hinged on his choices—the choices he himself has made. This claim hints at Mephistopheles' own development highlighted by Ema Andrea's expressive dance movements as she leaves his bedroom  “through and beyond the door of knowledge" with a triumphant and yet tempting presence. 

The production drew on postmodern techniques common in contemporary European theatre to reinterpret a classic text. However, the fragmented modern elements and the conflicting ideas disintegrated throughout the performance and failed to evoke the desired catharsis. While often visually captivating, Iodice’s Faust focused more on looking impressive than on telling a meaningful story, leading to a thematically shallow experience.

National Theatre of Albania and Sardegna Teatro in association with the Istituto Italiano di Cultura in Tirana
Written by: Fabio Pisano (based on texts by Goethe, Spies, and Marlowe) Directed by: Davide Iodice Actors: Hervin Çuli, Ema Andrea, Gert Ferra, Besmir Bitraku, Indrit Çobani, Lulzim Zeqja, Genti Deçka, Krist Lleshi, Niada Saliasi, Ina Gjonçi Dramaturg: Fabio Pisano Light Designer: Loïc François Hamelin Music: Lino Cannavacciuolo Set designers: Davide Iodice & Laedia Hajdari Costume designer: laedia Hajdari

The performance was part of the program of the Kosovo/Albania Theatre Showcase, which took place in Tirana, the end of October 2024.

“Theatre is the art of pretending to be who we’re not” - Priscilla Felding

A director, two young actors and a show that must go on. That's what we're faced with in White People, written by US playwright Steven Leigh Morris, directed and adapted for the Albanian stage by Besim Ugzmajli.

Lewis, the older, more experienced director, played by Shpëtim Selmani, is having a professional and personal crisis. Not only does he have to direct Shakespeare’s King Lear, he also has to play King Lear in his own production, which is being performed in Tulsa, Oklahoma. 

The opening scenes are intended to confuse. The main character stands in the centre of the stage, holding a big crown. It is unsure in this moment if he is Lewis or King Lear; could it be both? The dramatic background music and the lighting helps raise the tension, enhancing our curiosity about what will happen next. The crown drops down his neck, almost suffocating him.  Even if it’s not physically depicted, we can feel the director’s sense of suffocation throughout the whole show.

The two young actors - Priscilla, played by Verona Koxha and  Doug, played by Bujar Ahmeti - find the rehearsals challenging in different ways. Priscilla is a rebellious spirit and quick to raise her voice about issues of gender identity. In fact, the character often delivers her dialogue by yelling directly at the audience. Priscilla almost quits the show because the others forget what gender she identifies as and repeatedly use the wrong pronouns. She pretends to be aware of the issues of bias and discrimination in theatre, but when faced with having to lose the role of Cordelia and to a woman of colour, she gives the impression of someone who doesn’t really believe what she says, who is more intent on telling others about what’s wrong and what’s right. She is a TikTok star, and not surprisingly, her pronouncements sound like a TikTok comment section.

On the other hand, Doug is just kind of dumb. Bujar Ahmeti makes the audience laugh with his comic approach, but they also feel pity for him. Following everyone around and doing whatever they tell him to do, he gives the impression of someone who just goes with the flow. His character demonstrates the way in which racist and sexist ideas can spread, when people are ill-informed and easily swayed.

Despite all these conflicts, the show must go on. Priscilla is not the only one whose role is at risk. A black gay English woman is supposed to soon replace Lewis, and he is stressed out about this. I couldn’t quite understand if he was mad that he was being replaced by a woman, or whether it was a question of her race or sexuality, or if it was the fact that she was an English person  coming to work in an American theatre. He seems to feel that an English Black person will never understand how it is to be an American Black person, even if they are of the same race. But what was clear, was the fact that this show matters a lot to him.

The idea of having a play inside a play, as well as play about a play, is an interesting and attention-grabbing one. Though originally written about from an American geographical perspective, the play was recontextualized for the Albania and Kosovo stage. An important question is raised during the rehearsals, which the actors break out of character to discuss: If a Roma person applies to work as a director at a Kosovo public theatre, one with all the necessary professional credentials, what would be his chances compared to other applicants? This question doesn’t have an answer in the show. Instead it allows the audience to think of their own answers.
 
I really appreciated the way that Ugzmajli directed this production. There wasn’t a moment I felt bored. He kept the plot flowing in a dynamic and gripping way. As serious as the issues treated in the show were, having them portrayed in such a comic way was far more interesting and informative. The actors switched smoothly from one role to the other, making it easy to follow if we were watching King Lear, Cordelia and Edgar, or Lewis, Priscilla and Doug in any moment. The design of the show, with dramatic background music and lighting, helped in this respect. The way in which the actors would joke around and mock the Shakespearean text, gave the impression that none of them actually wanted to get this show done. This made me ask: Why then, must the show  definitely go on?

The play takes a tragic turn towards the end. As the director’s health crisis worsens, it gets harder to distinguish if he’s playing himself or Lear. This is a moment where Lewis is alone on stage, struggling and suffering. We witness him slowly giving up everything, screaming the last lines of Lear and mixing it up with his own words. Finally a coffin is revealed, and someone falls in it. Who was it that died though? Was it the actor? Or the character? Does this mean that Lewis got to finish his Lear, or that it never began at all? Maybe something of theatre died alongside him? Maybe something of art? 

Credits: 
By: Steven Leigh Morris /Directed by: Besim Ugzmajli/ Cast: Shpëtim Selmani, Verona Koxha, Bujar Ahmeti/ Art director: Mentor Berisha Costumes: Njomza Luci / Music: Memli Kelmendi Translator: Qerim Ondozi / Light: Yann Perregaux Ass. director: Sovran Nrecaj / Sound: Bujar Bekteshi Logistic support: Adem Salihu, Lulzim Rexha, Mursel Bekteshi

The performance was part of the program of the Kosovo/Albania Theatre Showcase, which took place in Tirana, the end of October 2024.

It seemed to me that the main theme in this show was forbidden love in a rotten system in which the individual was valued only for their labour.

In this adaptation of the novel by George Orwell by director Igor Mendijsky, the figure of “Big Brother” illustrated the concept of being constantly observed and the use of brainwashing by the state. For me, one of the most impressive aspects of the production, was the director's treatment of the author's presence within their own narrative. George Orwell was there on stage throughout, performed by a woman, Arta Selimi, which gave us the idea that even though an author dies, he still continues creating, in this case through the transforming of a book into a theatre play. It also shows Orwell’s suffering during the creating process, bringing another dimension to the show.

The figure of the leader, played by the actor Adrian Morina, dominates the show. At the beginning of the play, he came across as TV presenter, making the piece feel current and accessible to the public. He then becomes a collaborator in the tasks given to the other actors and finally he transforms into an "intellectual monster".

Winston, played by the actor Ylber Bardhi, on the other hand, was the personification of freedom in this darkness system in which they live, but knowing Bardhi's work, I thought he was having a hard time with this character. In my opinion, his struggle was noticeable because he mostly plays comical roles and is well suited to comedy as a performer. As a result, Morina comes to feel like the main character because he is confident in this particular role of leader.

Winston's lover Julia, played by Flaka Latifi, was a strong, rebellious character and Latifi clearly transmitted Julia's desire to live her life as she wanted, regardless of the circumstances in which they found themselves or the approach of those around them. The feelings and emotions Latifi exhibited during the performance felt sincere and organic.

What was noticeable to me during the show was a lack of rhythm. Often it felt to me as the performers confused the tempo with the rhythm. This sense of rhythm is necessary in order not to lose the focus or attention of the public and often it was lost. As director Mendjisky, may be blamed for this issue, but this shouldn't detract from his significant work. For me, it was the time period shifts and the use of the camera which made this show remarkable.

The interaction between performers and the audience, taking personal information from the public and recording them, felt unnecessary.  It was a great symbol of being observed by the government but this interaction felt jarring, more like something you would encounter in ‘stand up’. In contrast, the symbolism of the character dressing as a pig, showing opposition to the orders given by the government hit much harder - it was a creative approach to this topic.

The way the performance showed Orwell's creative process and showed how her suffering was coherent with the suffering of the characters, was also worthy and interesting. It allowed us to feel the struggle that Orwell faced to create the masterpiece 1984.

Director: Igor Mendjisky//Scenographer: Mentor Berisha//Costume: Yllka Brada//Compser: Trimor Dhomi//Video: Yannik Donet//Translated by: Urim Nerguti
Actors: Flaka Latifi, Ylber Bardhi, Adrian Morina, Arta Selimi, Basri Lushtaku, Edona Reshitaj, Shpejtim Kastrati and Xhejlane Godanci.

Written and brought to life by Lirak Çelaj, Arbri draws its inspiration from the film 'The Father,' by French playwright and film-maker Florian Zeller. Not only did it bring to light the challenges that individuals face when dealing with dementia but also shed light on political social issues.

Throughout the performance, a significant emphasis was placed on repetition and changes in the setting, which to me appeared to serve as a metaphor for Arbri's gradual mental deterioration, masterfully portrayed by Shkumbin Istrefi.

While the storyline engrosses the audience, a unique perspective emerges, as, at times, it's the daughter, the caretaker, and other characters who seem more bewildered than Arbri himself. This twist in perception underscores the notion that, often, to a person struggling with mental health problems, those who appear 'normal' may seem 'crazy.' This seems to be the director's intention—a mind game played on the audience rather than the characters.

The show started with music, like a radio that interferes with frequencies and not one song would play until the end. Almost giving us a warning that nothing is stable with the main character. It felt a lot like a loop happening inside of the main character's head, like too many versions of realities shifting into each other, and him not being able to process any of them.

You could see that in his reaction when Ana, his daughter would tell him that she’s going to live abroad. However, the time in which he points out that’s always the same serves as an anchor for him knowing that he’s still standing in one of those realities.

The recurring time of 11:55 is accompanied by Arbër's fixation on his watch and his inquiries about  the' watches of others, possibly hinting at the watch being a cherished gift from a loved one, possibly his "deceased" daughter or wife, whose existence still provokes me, though I find it quite smart that they were not present. This enigmatic aspect continues to engage the audience, leading to questions about the wife's status – is she alive or not? Furthermore, doubts arise about Lule, the absent daughter – is she truly deceased, a war veteran, or another manifestation of Arbër's imagination?

Besides dealing with dementia as a sickness, the show really tried to highlight the troubles of relatives dealing with the condition, which, especially in Kosovo for some reason, remains a lingering stigma. To this day people feel ashamed telling others if someone in their family is suffering from this illness.

Qëndresa Jashari, who portrayed Ana, Arbër's daughter, adeptly conveyed the numerous problems she grappled with while caring for her father, including issues that strained her personal relationships and the financial burdens that exacerbated the situation. An element that got stuck with me, was when Ana starts to drink wine with her significant other and then starts crying, capturing a perfect interpretation of her feeling as she’s losing control, trying to find a sparkle of hope that things will get better, but deep down she knows that the situation only gets worse.

An important moment in the performance occurred when Arbri was admitted to a nursing home for the elderly and had an interaction with a nurse. This scene brought to mind a similar real-life incident that took place in Kosovo some time ago. While it initially seemed like Arbri might be starting to feel like a burden to others, this scene raised important questions regarding the effectiveness and ethical considerations of elder care facilities. As Arbri interacted with the nurse, it also exposed deeper, unresolved traumas, particularly related to the war. There were instances where he expressed anger in both Serbian and Turkish, suggesting that he was reliving certain unpleasant moments of his life. This situation prompts reflection on the numerous individuals who may be silently suffering from unaddressed traumas because they ignore the symptoms simply because of what people may think of them.

These roles were executed exceptionally by the actors portraying them, however while the role of Petrit/Agron, portrayed by Labinot Raci, at times felt somewhat contrived. Nonetheless, I feel like his character was intentionally designed not to be universally likable, and it presented a challenging role to perform.

Also, the play addressed a wider social-political issue when Ana sought financial assistance, citing her father's military service and the fact that he was the father of a fallen soldier. The response, "So what, are we supposed to give all the funds and money to them?" drew attention to the unsettling treatment of veterans and war invalids.

The ensemble of actors delivered a cohesive performance that harmoniously followed the narrative's rhythm. The play's dynamism is enhanced by the flexibility of scenography, which makes efficient use of props. The clever injection of humor, addressing profound societal issues without making the audience uncomfortable, adds to the play's appeal. These moments of humor resonate with the everyday jokes that many of us have heard from our own fathers and grandfathers. Nevertheless, it's crucial to remember that the underlying theme is not a jest; it pertains to an illness that demands greater awareness, understanding of its symptoms, and increased support for those affected.

Credits:
Text/director: Lirak Çelaj
Cast: Shkumbin Istrefi, Qëndresa Jashari, Labinot Raci, Daniela Markaj, Blend Sadiku
Stage: Burim Arifi
Lighting: Yann Perregaux Dielf, Bujar Bekteshi

Qendra Multimedia at Teatri Oda, Prishtina, premiere 16th October 2023

​This play took me on a journey from the beginning. Or perhaps it is more accurate to call it a quest, for meaning, answers. The appearance of a huge panda mascot at the start of the play initially gave me a warm feeling. Pandas are peaceful creatures after all .

Negotiating Peace, a new international co-production from Kosovo-based company Qendra Multimedia, is written by Jeton Neziraj and directed by his usual collaborator Blerta Neziraj. Its pan-European cast and creative team is made of artists from Kosovo, Serbia, Bosnia and Hercegovina, Italy, Czechia, Albania, North Macedonia, Ukraine, Norway, Poland and Estonia.

As is usually the case in work which is directed by Blerta Neziraj, as soon as the panda left the stage, the mood of the scene shifted into a dark, but surprisingly thrilling atmosphere. General Amadeus, played by Shkumbin Istrefi, was searching for the bones of a dead colonel called Colonel Z, a plotline inspired by Ismail Kadare’s book The General of the Dead Army, one of two texts from which the show takes its inspiration. The other is To End a War by American negotiator Richard Holbrooke, who believed that one sometimes has to use force, if necessary, in the service of peace.

The General appeared to be at a burial site looking for glory in the form of bones. “To us he was a hero, to your side a villain, I suppose”, he said when he asked people if they know anything about the subject of the search.

These filmic scenes, which are interspersed throughout the play, were intricately designed and could easily keep the audience hooked. (In fact in the play, the General dreams of a Hollywood film being made to glorify his actions).

These scenes were contrasted with those taking place over the negotiating table between members of two fictitious countries Unmikistan and Banovina, the first one being a pun on UNMIK - United Nations Interim Administration Mission in Kosovo.

Madera, from the Republic of Banovina, sits across from Daniella, from Republic of Unmikistan as they try to reach an agreement about the Green Valley. They are accompanied in these meetings by Joe Robertson, the American emissary to the UN, General Amadeus and Maria, a civil society activist, though no one seemed sure what she would be able to contribute.

Jeton Neziraj uses these fictious countries to shed light on the continually failing negotiations processes between our two countries, Kosovo and Serbia, though his research goes further and encompasses Bosnia too, the play having greater resonance in light of the wars in Ukraine and Russia and, now, Palestine and Israel.

In 1995, Holbrooke was instrumental in creating the Dayton Agreement between the presidents of Bosnia, Croatia, and Serbia, and Neziraj looks to be calling for another Holbrooke in the case of Kosovo and Serbia.
The cast, which consists of local and international actors, worked well together in the development of the scenes, and had a chemistry which they deployed effectively to the audience. However, at times, it wasn’t all that clear who the characters represented around the table, though one could get the gist of their opposing views. And the dialogue, while often amusing, was not very easy to follow, particularly because of the mixture of English

Having said this, the overall drama is complex in the way it recreates some of the dynamics of the peace agreement process in the imagination of its audience.

“THERE IS NO PEACE WITHOUT AN APLOGY” is projected above the negotiating table at one point.  This says a lot about how these discussions, held inside locked rooms and behind closed doors, ironically lack the experiences, stories and traumas of the real people who have lived through war.
Though this is a serious topic, the play also contains some comic moments designed to make the audience giggle. Though the play is long it keeps feeding you with new ideas so it never becomes boring. Often it surprises the audience. Who would expect a short BDSM dance scene in a play in which peace negotiations are being discussed?

It is a play in which you must put the pieces together and it leaves one free to look for the answers and reflect on its themes on your own.

It is also interesting and typical of the play’s writer and director, to make the drama interactive with audience, in a way that leads into an after-the-play discussion or healthy and necessary debate both within the audience and the wider community.

Though I was unclear who he was at first, the inclusion of an academic, Aidan Hehir, in the play to give his professional comment on the Kosovo-Serbia situation, enhanced the drama and gave it some much needed context about what has been going on in the Balkans lately.

This new dimension in the performance, which lets somebody from the audience be part of the play and give their professional comment on the topic being discussed on stage, connects theatre directly with activism but also highlights how a free and liberal theatre scene can be used to discuss the truths of humanity.
Some might argue it is just theatre, yet by seeing a play like this one can learn more about the approaches to what is happening with peace negotiations around the world than by listening to diplomats talking about peace.

Returning to the panda I mentioned at the start, despite its peaceful appearance, it reminded me of a story from the war. The Panda Café was the name of a coffee bar in Peja, where six young Serbs were killed in 1998. The blame  was put on the KL, though many believe these killings were orchestrated by the Serbs, as a pretext for destabilization and to exacerbate the tension between the two nations and locals at that time.
Perhaps, the panda that we saw in the play is still looking for real peace and agreement between these communities. She would never want such crimes to be repeated in the name of a nation. The panda wants to recover from the trauma that has been caused to her, yet politics always gets in the way.

In the context of my country, I would ask: What role should politics or art do in rebuilding trust between a typical Kosovan and a Serb and vice versa? How long will it take for the populations of these two countries to see their counterparts as humans first? The reinterpreting and exploiting of history goes on and on, and so does the quest of those who want to live in peace.

​The play is currently on a European tour to Germany, the Czech Republic, Serbia and Bosnia and Herzegovina.

By: Jeton Neziraj  Directed by Blerta Neziraj Actors: Shkumbin Istrefi, Ema Andrea, Harald Thompson Rosentrom, Ejla Bavcic, Martin Kõiv, Melihate Qena, Orest Pastukh  Composer Ardo Ran Varres Stage design: Agata Skwarczyńska  Costume Designer Blagoj Micevski  Choreography Gjergj Prevazi  Dramaturg:  Mina Milošević  Video Besim Ugzmajli  Lighting design: Yann Perregaux, Agata Skwarczyńska 

What if your memories get messed up, or even worse, what if they disappear? How painful would it be not to remember who you are? Dementia, as both a tragic illness and a loss of self over time, are the two key elements of the show Arbri inspired by Florian Zeller's film The Father.

Through complex scenes, director and adaptor Lirak Çelaj gave the public a view of how an individual turns into a 'nobody' when dementia affects his brain. In essence, the show has a very simple plot. It tells the story of an elderly widower, a war survivor, and his eldest daughter who is facing the big dilemma of whether to stay in Kosovo to take care of her sick father or continue her life abroad. Even though the play is focused on this dilemma, its narrative and structure are like a reverse puzzle: where the whole picture slowly deforms, in the same way as Arbri's identity. This is also true of the production’s set changes and the marvelous way in which Arbri’s house is transformed into an asylum… piece by piece, creating the atmosphere of a memory game.

The play's adaptation for a Kosovar reality, indirectly hitting the government policies for the war’s survivors but at the same time judging people’s mass "dementia" for the macabre events during the war - the young doctor / the girl's husband mocked Arbri every time he mentioned being a honored soldier - were two very strong points of the show, opening up another dimension of the text.

Another painful issue raised by the show is violence against the frail, as we see the violence of the nurse in the asylum against the old man. The old man's illness had made him forget that one of his daughters died in the war and he constantly wants to contact her, while he occasionally scolds his other daughter, the one who is taking care of him, by comparing her attitude to his dead wife in a negative way.
His relationship with his wife could have been developed more deeply, since the partner can sometimes (though not necessarily) play an essential role in overcoming the other partner's traumas. Small fragments let the audience understand that there was a lack of communication between them, but it is still not enough to clearly understand how Arbri had reached this critical state and how much influence the relationship with her wife or her death had on him.

Also, his displeasure with the caretakers that the daughter employed shows quite clearly his need to have his family close to him, and if one of the daughters had died and the other daughter was quite busy, then his only family would have been his wife, so the show seems truncated without the dead wife being discussed or evoked in any scene. Even at the end of the play, when the old man loses it completely, he calls out to his mother, a sign that his identity is destroyed and as a small child he needs his mother to remind him who he is.

Although the scene is quite painful, there should have been a growing exponent to bring him to this stage, At first, he didn't want a nurse or a caretaker but only his daughters; at one point he had to need his wife, and finally when he realizes that every person in this world stays with you for some interest, he looks for the mother who loves you unconditionally.

Within the framework of the play, the main dilemma of the daughter to take her father to a nursing home was an even bigger drama than her father's illness. This dilemma seems to have affected her romantic relationships as well. Perhaps her father often forgot the fact that she was divorced because he felt somehow guilty and a burden on her. Although the performance of Shkumbin Istrefi in the role of the father was impressive, the acting of the father -daughter relationship was generally organic, but in some cases the two performers lacked an emotional connection with each other; and this fact affected in the old man’s interpretation, sometimes finding himself enforcing/ imposing the emotion.  

Also, in my view, the show's rhythm needed to be faster because, apart from the fact that there were many repetitive scenes, the scenes had to come faster in order not to become tiring for the audience.
One phrase was mentioned often and deliberately during the show, "this disease has no improvement, on the contrary, it will get worse". The clock, which always marked 11:55 A.M. throughout the show, was an indicator of how the father's condition did not change or improve, but simply went back to point 0, regardless of the efforts of the daughter, the caregivers or the doctors. And the fact that he often blamed others for stealing his watch served as a parallel for his inferiority to others, trying to blame them for the strange situations that were happening to him.

​Regardless of the fact that the end is sad, it serves to enforce the main idea of not creating illusions in curing the disease, but the lack of communication addressed during the show is a strong alarm to remind the audience how delicately such situations should be handled and the importance of the role of family.

Who is our son?

Imagine that you have a close family member whose sexual orientation you cannot understand, that you cannot find a way to deal with or to accept. The play Our Son shows how this problem is (not) solved.

Our Son is about a family that suffers from the excessive influence of social constructs, especially common the Balkans. It is the story of a gay son who finds and accepts himself, but his parents struggle to do the same. The play's author Patrik Lazić brings many autobiographical elements into the story,

Entering the space where the performance will take place, I get the impression that there is no stage to represent a limited space for the realization of the story. In front of me I see furniture, dishes on the table, TV. It is as if I stepped out of my own and into someone else's home, with a completely similar living room. Before the beginning and during the performance, the actors - Dragana Varagić, Aleksandar Đinđić and Amar Ćorović - sit in the audience, which makes the atmosphere extremely intimate. The consequence of the removal of barriers between the stage and those who are observers of the events on it is the direct interaction with the audience - the audience becomes not only someone who learns about the family's past, but also someone who relives it together with the actors.

The play begins with a scene between the father and the mother in which they discuss the problem they have and their attempt to solve that problem. Lunch is ready and waiting, but are mother and father ready to welcome their son?

The emotional chaos that prevails on the stage before he arrives and the vicissitudes that arise when he arrives, culminate in a conflict that becomes intractable judging by the play's ending.

This early part, without the son on stage, is built on the template of a failed couple from the Balkans. While the mother is sick and awaiting surgery, the father is going through a mid-life crisis with a younger wife, dying his hair and wearing a youthful wardrobe inappropriate for his age. The parents do not understand each other, and this rift between them does not allow them to understand their son. They try to find the to the question of why he is the way he is through trivial literature from the field of popular psychology, in a book which says that homosexuality is a disease and a disorder that can be cured. That the mother and father lack the power to understand each other is captured in a single moment: they are arguing, but they are not facing each other.

The son returns from abroad. The mother and father believe that they have managed to find ways to make him into the son they want and to resolve all the disagreements that arose in the past. What we actually see following the son's appearance on stage is his ironic playing with their superficial attempts to approach him.
The book by Richard Cohen that was supposed to help them to solve their "problem" becomes the son's tool for confronting his parents with the reality that they should accept.

It is interesting that in the past they reacted completely different to the uniqueness and differences in their son's behaviour, for example, while the father resented his wish to wear women's clothes sometimes, the mother did not see anything wrong in it. In the end, however, they find themselves in the same position: they want to heal their son, not simply love him. One of the ways they refuse to accept their son is that they don't want to call his partner Nikola by his name, instead they stay in their comfort zone in which Nikola is just their son's roommate.

The performance is meta-theatrical, and the actors themselves hint at it: at one point, Dragana Varagić, as the mother,  even says that she will not play in it anymore. It seems to me that with this device the director is referring to the parents' conviction that they are in a situation they cannot control, a situation in which they are puppets in the story. Two things are emphasized by this: the parents do not want to accept their son and his choices, and yet he is not a victim in this situation because he has managed to accept himself and live his life exactly the way he wants.

The attitude that the parents and the son take during the play changes according to the development of the story. Although the parents initially have the impression that they have the situation under control and that the plans they have for their son will succeed, with his appearance on the scene, he slowly takes control. With the emotional pressure they experience, they fail to keep a calm tone: the mother screams because she was never a good enough wife and because she was perhaps too good a mother, the son knocks over the salad bowl not because he is losing control of his behaviour but because he wants to interrupt their absurd arguments and show them precisely that control is in his hands. What is clear is the father's position in this situation: the greater condemnation from the son belongs to him.

The main defence mechanism becomes humour with which he tries to overcome mistakes from the past, as well as those he is making now. While the mother and father use humour to avoid accepting the truth, the son uses it to bring the truth to the surface, with a lot of irony and sarcasm.

What cannot be overlooked is that the son is actually the one in control of the whole situation. At the very beginning of the play, before the beginning of the dialogue, he turns on the lights aimed at the stage, and at the very end turns them off. Reminiscences of the past become a play by itself directed by the son, like Shakespeare's plays within a play, in which the audience gets the roles assigned to them by the son and relives the painful past of this family.

At the very end, something like a twist happens, but not in the true sense of the word. Then it only becomes clear to us that everything they talked aboutit had the function of showing the parents who their son is. He lied to them that Nikola came with him from America, but they only found out after they resolutely refused to receive him in the house. With this, the emotional gap between parent and son becomes unbridgeable - he leaves them broken because they have fallen into the trap of their own delusion, and he leaves satisfied that he managed to make a breakthrough in their understanding, but with a bitter taste in his mouth because it had to be done that way.

Produced b: Heartefact Fund//Written and directed by: Patrik Lazić // With: Dragana Varagić, Aleksandar Đinđić, Amar Ćorović