How I Learned to Drive, Heartefact

Review by Ana Bateva

Let's talk about the important things 

Although written in 1997, Paula Vogel's play How I Learned to Drive remains painfully relevant today. The play addresses the issues of grooming, child abuse and the power dynamics of intimate relationships.  Unfolding as a series of memories, the play tells a story of manipulation and abuse over the years, as played out between the teenage Li’l Bit and her Uncle Peck. 

This Serbian production, with all its emotional weight, significantly enhances the play’s impact on audiences in our region. Informed by the Balkan mindset that ‘if it doesn’t happen to me, then it’s not my problem,’ this production serves as a reminder that such issues are present here as well as in the US. If such a topic continues to worry us even today, we have no choice but to open our eyes and confront the truth.

The use of space contributes to this effect. The use of intimacy and the audience’s role are central elements in director Tara Manić staging. The actors, Svetozar Cvetković and Marta Bogosavljević, are placed in close proximity to the audience—they sit, play, and share the space with them. They expose the events of the relationship in raw detail, leaving the audience shocked by the weight of what they are saying. This closeness heightens the feeling of empathy, making the audience not just watch, but become part of the intimate journey of the characters. This choice of staging conveys the message: ‘We must talk about these things without fear, however painful they may be.’ At the same time, this intimacy also creates tension—how much of such a personal, painful story can truly be shared in public? Certainly, the experience may be uncomfortable, but it is also necessary. The presence of viewers adds a layer of discomfort and provokes thought about the boundaries between the private and the public in art.

The cast did an excellent job, with the performances of Svetozar Cvetković and Marta Bogosavljević standing out as a highlight of the play. The relationships between the pair are masterfully constructed, with finesse and depth, presenting different levels of connection between the characters. They move through the teacher-student relationship, shift into moments of courtship, and also go beyond the boundaries of what is ordinary. At times, there is understanding between them; at times, confusion; and frequently, loss. Most  impressive is the way they hug towards the end of the show, and particularly the way they arrive at it. It seems to be the culmination of their traumatic journey, becoming an urgent need for human understanding.

Using simple but effective means, director Tara Manić avoids excessive visualisation, choosing an approach that leaves much of the action to the audience’s imagination. This opens up space for interpretation and adds to the power of the experience—the lack of excessive directness allows the audience to fill in the blanks themselves, making the spectacle both more impactful and more terrifying. Because the demons in our own heads are always scarier.

Serving as an important and timely catalyst for discussions on this issue, How I Learned to Drive presents a palette of questions, some of which remain forever rhetorical. How did we get here? And how can we move forward? If ‘moving forward’ is even possible? Is it possible to justify such a situation at the expense of the love that has emerged? Who is to blame? And who is the victim? Is forgiveness possible? All of this is served up with the terrifying chaos of the possible answers and the horror of the consequences that hang in the air but remain unspoken.

Thus, theatre becomes not just a form of entertainment, but a platform for conversation that invites us not to be afraid to name the complex and dark topics in our lives. And isn’t that the real role of theatre?

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