Darkness. Applause echoes as the floodlights come on, revealing the cast bowing to the audience. Fists raised in defiance, a whistle blown—this closing tableau isn't just a curtain call; it’s a symbolic gesture. The applause intensifies, not just in admiration for the performance, but in recognition of its political stance.

Six months into the ongoing student and civil protests in Serbia, theater has become a platform for subtle (and not-so-subtle) acts of resistance. Many ensembles have voiced solidarity with the demonstrators, often through gestures that feel tacked onto plays unrelated to the struggle. But the Youth Theater’s new production of Dragon, directed by Russian artist Lyudmila Fyodorova, is different. Here, the message of rebellion is embedded in the very DNA of the play.

Schwartz’s Dragon, written in 1943, is an adult fairy tale with sharp allegorical teeth. Set in a fictional city long ruled by a brutal, three-headed dragon, the story casts tyranny not as a sudden imposition, but as a deep-rooted system. The dragon can shift into human form, symbolizing the fluid, pervasive nature of authoritarianism. While Schwartz originally wrote the piece as a satire of Nazism, Soviet authorities recognized its broader critique of dictatorship and banned its 1944 Moscow premiere. That alone speaks to the enduring potency of the play.

What makes Dragon especially relevant today is its critique of passive complicity. The oppressed citizens have grown so used to their chains that they maintain them willingly—offering young girls as sacrifices, justifying repression for the sake of “stability.” This “stabilocracy,” as the term might suggest, reflects not just historical fascism but eerily mirrors modern autocratic tendencies, including those in present-day Serbia. Enter Lancelot, the traveling knight, who aims to free the city—not just from the dragon, but from the apathy that sustains it.

Fyodorova’s direction emphasizes this allegory unapologetically. The fairy-tale aesthetic takes a back seat to stark symbolism. Andrej Zaparoški’s set is dominated by a looming metal cage—more prison than palace. Puppetry, masks, and stylized movements are used to chilling effect. Citizens wear pale, ghostlike masks with hints of rouge, appearing as zombified followers (bots, or maybe ćaci?). Elsa, the chosen sacrifice and Lancelot’s love interest, is literally caged, her presence split between a live actress (Ksenija Mitrović) and a marionette version of herself animated by Neda Danilović and Slavica Vučetić. This duality reinforces her powerlessness.

Interestingly, the most complex character is not the hero, but the villain. While Aleksa Ilić plays Lancelot with the firm resolve of a classic fairytale hero, the dragon appears in three haunting forms: as a decrepit, masked elder (body by Marija Radovanov, voice by Ivan Đurić); as a grotesque puppet head (manipulated by Slobodan Ninković and Uroš Lazović); and finally, in a disturbingly human form portrayed by Đurić himself. This multifaceted portrayal underscores how tyranny can shift, hide, and re-emerge.

The mayor, the dragon’s sycophantic deputy, is another standout. Saša Latinović gives a bravura performance, channeling a character who feigns madness to dodge responsibility. He’s manipulative, eccentric, and disturbingly familiar. Lines like “Son, I’m the mayor. I haven’t been telling myself the truth for years,” land with uncomfortable resonance. However, the portrayal is not without issue: the character’s supposed madness is partly symbolized through transvestism and feminized traits, a problematic trope that inadvertently stigmatizes gender nonconformity. This misstep implicates the director, performers, and costume design alike.

Gender representation more broadly remains a weak spot—rooted not in this production’s choices but in Schwartz’s original text. Female characters are passive, victimized, or peripheral, while men dominate both oppression and liberation. Only a radical reimagining of the script could have altered this, but it remains a limitation that shouldn’t be overlooked.

Politically, Dragon doesn’t stop at a simple good-vs-evil arc. After the dragon is slain, Lancelot returns a year later only to find the people still trapped—this time under the mayor’s tyranny. As the mayor chillingly observes, “The deceased trained them to drive anyone who took the reins.” The dragon may be dead, but his ideology lives on in the minds of the people. In the final moments, a mass of masked citizens stares directly at the audience—a stark, accusatory reflection. And yet, hope glimmers. Lancelot is still here. The chirping of a bird breaks the silence. The actors remove their masks and turn toward the sound of life. It’s a direct, if slightly on-the-nose, symbol of change. But it works.

In this turbulent moment for Serbia, Dragon doesn’t just reflect the times—it engages with them. It reminds us that the battle against autocracy isn’t only external. It’s a psychological struggle, too, against the violence and fear that settle into the soul. Real change takes time. But as this production makes clear, it is possible—and worth fighting for.

Borisav Matić

The time of frozen catharsis is now. But what kind of theatre refuses purification? Theatre performances and projects today often ignore the audience as a moral judge. However, this is almost impossible at the Novi Sad Theatre Festival. There, the auditorium is filled with the youngest ones, which is why theatre posters read “3+”, “6+”… or teenagers trying to navigate their own coming of age, to find their path and discover what are young people actually looking for in theatre — but also older viewers, parents, caregivers, teachers, grandparents, educators, fully formed personalities who, deep inside, carry an inner child ready to emerge at any moment — in the dimmed light, the playful song, puppet acrobatics, thrilling stage movement, effects — suddenly, into the spotlight.

It is an unflinchingly honest and discerning audience. An audience that doesn’t fall for cheap tricks or bad illusions. One who cannot be dazzled by glitter or sold smoke. It accepts only genuine emotion, a convincing story, and top-tier staging with no compromises. Here, the performance must be masterful, because every spectator (even aloud, unafraid, in the middle of theatrical silence) will unmask the illusion if it isn’t convincing enough. But precisely because of that, when it is convincing, the hall erupts in a collective cry of delight and a universal question: “What just happened?” This year, the Novi Sad audience was met by theatres from Croatia, the Czech Republic, France, Spain, Slovenia, and Canada, as well as our own children’s theatres from Novi Sad (Youth Theater) and Belgrade (Little theater Duško Radović).

The Youth Theater of Novi Sad has been the host of this international — one might even say global — festival for the fourth year in a row. In its nearly hundred-year existence, this institution stands as the first puppet theatre in Serbia, and countless generations of Novi Sad’s residents have grown up with its puppet and drama performances. Many lovingly refer to it simply as “The Little Theatre.” One friend of mine told me how her mother, quite by accident, always ended up buying tickets for the same play — Thumbelina (Palčica) — so she watched it countless times, and each time it felt as if it were the first. Another friend has sincerely believed, ever since the age of seven, and thanks to Hedgehog’s Home (Ježeva kućica), that this is the only real theatre in the world. I loved watching An Angel’s Fairy Tale (Anđeoska bajka), directed by Emilija Mrdaković — after whom, quite by chance, I was named — and as far as I can remember, the play was truly exceptional. Some of those performances are still on the repertoire, and alongside provocative novelties and a fresh theatrical language, they demonstrate timeless beauty and value. Still, this festival is a special treasure. It brings the children and youth of Novi Sad other and different theatrical approaches, new and exciting puppets, and wonderful people from around the world who have never forgotten how to play, and how to share that joy.

Contemporary theatre for children and youth is in serious danger from the adult world that tries to “buy” children through art, instead of truly listening to them. And yet, kids today are expressing authenticity more than ever. In the theatre, they feel at home — some even took off their shoes during the performance. Some, carried away by enthusiasm, stood up from their seats and remained standing, no matter how much they were asked to sit down, hypnotised by the plot and thrilled by the scene. Every single one of them clapped passionately and thunderously the moment the lights dimmed and something spectacular happened. These are children who are not afraid of (theatre) darkness — they welcome it with immense excitement. A time has come when children must be given the space to develop their inner worlds. A time in which theatre must learn to be silent, to wait, to watch and listen — to allow children to speak, instead of serving them answers.

During the performance of The Pilot and the Little Prince, directed by Jakub Maksymov and staged by the Puppet Theatre Ostrava from the Czech Republic, a boy, maybe six or seven years old, was sitting in the eleventh row. He could read. And he read the translation aloud to his friends, dramatically, sincerely, authentically—with such enthusiasm that everyone around him listened intently, as if to a perfect extension of the play, one no adult could ever have conceived. Theatre of the new era, for children and youth, must therefore inspire a new kind of dedication and responsibility among adult artists: how to become nurturers, not overseers? How can we create a space where children can grow freely rather than be shaped? Because in those rare and radiant moments — when a child realises that theatre is not an imitation of the world, but a space where they can change it — unpredictable magic is born.

The play The Pilot and the Little Prince, which traces the life of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, tells the story of a real man’s triumphs and defeats. Before a young audience, it unveils the world of early aviation — a time when humankind first began to part from the earth and reach toward the sky. But the performance also explores Antoine’s childhood and everyday moments, his dreams and imagination, through song, movement, and the sound of the accordion. On stage, a second, imaginative realm emerges — the puppet of Saint-Exupéry (who vanished without a trace on a reconnaissance mission, lost in the desert sands) stands opposite the puppet of the Little Prince. In the stunned silence of collective awe, a young girl from the audience exclaimed: “That’s his soul!” And indeed, it is. Because the clouds in the sky will never be just screens. Though at first glance the play may seem overly complex, filled with historical references and terms such as World War II, with models of early aeroplanes and explanations of how they worked, and scenes that evoke the terror of wartime bombing, it is, at its core, profoundly clear. And far from distant from the soul of every child in the audience. It is wrapped in a box containing the perfect drawing of a sheep.

Plato spoke of death as the separation of the soul from the body. Aristotle said that catharsis is the aesthetic cleansing of the soul of the one who observes an artwork. And a little girl in the audience at the Youth Theater Novi Sad, during a performance in Czech—a language she could not understand—understood nonetheless. She recognised the soul. She pointed to it. And she named it. “That’s his soul!” she shouted.

And you?
You must find your own soul, your own catharsis.
Perhaps in the theatre.
Perhaps right there in the dark.

Jury members Tamara Kučinović (president), Irina Somborac and Divna Stojanov, after watching the last performance of the Novi Sad Theatre Festival competitive selection, stated that they "miss" more awards, i.e. that there were additional aspects and performances that would have been rewarded if they had had space for them. An example of this is the music for the play "The Adventures of Little Juju", a bold step into the realm of experimentalism made by the play "Bloop", an award for the young actress Mina Nenadović in the play "In the Ceiling the Stars Are Shining”. All this points to the quality of this year's selection. They also praised the genre, aesthetic and thematic diversity of the selection, the opportunity that the festival offers the audience to watch non-verbal, experimental, traditional, puppet shows, theater objects...

DECISIONS AND EXPLANATION OF THE JURY OF NOVI SAD THEATRE FESTIVAL, THE FORTH INTERNATIONAL FESTIVAL OF PROFESSIONAL THEATER FOR CHILDREN AND YOUNG PEOPLE

Expert jury: costume designer Irina Somborac, director Tamara Kučinović (president of the jury) and playwriter Divna Stojanov, after watching ten performances, from May 7 to 11 at the Novi Sad Theater Festival, the forth International Festival of Professional Theaters for Children and Youth, makes the following decisions:

Award for the best overall performance

GRAND PRIX

MACBETH MUET

Theatre “La Fille Du Laitier” Montréal, Québec, Canada

The play Macbeth Muet, with its clear and accessible form of communication, creates an inclusive space for audiences of all ages to engage with Shakespeare’s tragedy. By presenting the story in a way that’s both witty and eclectic, the production makes the dark themes of murder more approachable, offering younger generations a meaningful introduction to classical tragedy—and an opportunity for catharsis.

The award for the best director

Marie-Hélène Bélanger Dumas & Jon Lachlan Stewart

for the play MACBETH MUET

Theatre “La Fille Du Laitier” Montréal, Québec, Canada

Direction employs a simple yet effective concept that highlights themes of murder and power with precision. The staging presents smart, well-thought-out directorial choices that bring clarity and depth to the symbolic language of the play. The rapid transitions and brief focus on each event lend the performance a sense of lightness and joy, enhancing its overall impact.

Award Acting Bravura

Marie-Hélène Bélanger Dumas & Jérémie Francoeur

for the roles in the play MACBETH MUET

Theatre “La Fille Du Laitier” Montréal, Québec, Canada

Actors Marie-Hélène Bélanger Dumas and Jérémie Francoeur demonstrated exceptional acting skill and object animation. Their performance was marked by impressive coordination, precision, humility, talent, authenticity, and a masterful balance of comedy and tragedy.

Award for Mastery of Animation

Vera Rosanova

In the play “ON’T WAIT FOR ME...

Teatre “La Neige sur les cils”, Nantes, France

The minimalist animation perfectly supports the mood and themes of the play. Through precise and thoughtful use of expressive animation techniques, the performance builds a strong emotional connection to the characters' struggles. The puppeteers’ ability to animate two or more figures simultaneously—shifting attention with precision—beautifully underscores the emotional complexity and warmth of the relationships on stage.

Special award for the text

Ivana Đurla and Milica Sinkauz

for the play THE ADVENTURES OF LITTLE JUJU

City Puppet Theatre Rijeka, Rijeka, Croatia

Authors Ivana Đula and Milica Sinkauz have successfully expanded, developed, and brought to life a well-known children's song, transforming it into a vivid, engaging, and inspiring adventure for young audiences. They’ve encouraged us to face our fears with courage. Their unexpected and authentic rhyming style, in harmony with original music that effortlessly supports the rhythm of the verse, is a brilliant example of how a simple textual foundation can be approached with creativity and wisdom.

Special award for collective play

actors of the play THE ADVENTURES OF LITTLE JUJU

City Puppet Theatre Rijeka, Rijeka, Croatia

Using an unpretentious story and sensitive means to manage to tell an emotional, strong, important and warning story about the little, but in fact the great Frida Kahlo, choosing only one situation from her childhood, speaks of the sensibility and deeply moral intention of this duo to adapt the story to the age for which it is intended. Covering topics such as peer violence, attitudes towards others and others, breaking stereotypes about gender roles, the importance of family support in growing up an authentic and fragile being, this play restores the hope we lost long ago and assures us, at least for a moment, that with, be all right.

Novi Sad, May 11 2025.

Tamara Kučinović, chairwoman

Divna Stojanov

Irina Somborac

The outstanding Canadian production Macbeth Muet, performed by La Fille Du Laitier Theatre from Montreal, Quebec, Canada, has been awarded Best Performance at the 4th Novi Sad Theatre Festival. The Grand Prix was awarded by a jury composed of costume designer Irina Somborac, director Tamara Kučinović, and dramaturge Divna Stojanov.

In their statement, the jury praised the production for "creating a space for understanding Shakespeare’s tragedy through a simple and accessible form of communication with the audience, regardless of age." By bringing the tragic form closer to younger generations, Macbeth Muet “offered audiences a path to catharsis through its witty and eclectic approach to one of the most dramatic of Shakespeare’s works.”

Following the performances of all seven entries in the competition program, held from May 7 to 11 at the Youth Theatre, the jury awarded Best Directing to Macbeth Muet creators Marie-Hélène Bélanger Dumas and Jon Lachlan Stewart. The jury commended their minimalist yet impactful directorial concept, which skillfully revealed themes of murder and power:

"The performance space offered intelligent directorial solutions, with a precise play on symbols and meanings. The rapid succession of symbolic images and brief focus on events gave the performance a sense of lightness and delight.”

The same production also received the award for Outstanding Acting Performance, given to two of its remarkable cast members, Marie-Hélène Bélanger Dumas and Jérémy Francoeur, for “their impressive acting skills and ability to animate objects.” The jury highlighted their “remarkable synchronicity, precision, and unpretentiousness, as well as their talent, authenticity, and skill in balancing comedy and tragedy.”

The Award for Excellence in Animation went to Russian-born French artist Vera Rozanova for her role in Don’t Wait for Me…, performed by La neige sur les cils Theatre from Nantes, France. Her performance was recognized for “a simple yet expressive animation style that created an intimate connection with the characters’ emotional struggles.”
The same production also received a Special Award for Visual Identity:

“All visual elements were stylistically consistent, playful, and functional. The puppets, in particular, left a strong impression with their simple yet expressive design, evoking warmth and a sense of home.”

The Special Award for Ensemble Performance went to the exceptional cast of the hilarious show The Adventures of Little Juju by Rijeka City Puppet Theatre (Croatia). The jury commended the group for their “dedication, unity, and energetic performance,” noting their skill in combining

The fourth International Festival of Professional Theatres for Children and Youth, Novi Sad Theatre Festival 2025 (May 7–11), concluded with the Canadian production Macbeth Muet, based on William Shakespeare's tragedy Macbeth. The play was performed by the touring theatre company La Fille Du Laitier from Montreal/Quebec, and hosted at the Youth Theatre in Novi Sad on May 11.

Marie-Hélène Bélanger Dumas and Jon Lachlan Stewart are the creators of the production and the puppet designers (alongside set and costume designer Cédric Lord), while Bélanger Dumas and Jérémie Francoeur perform in this exceptional and, in many ways, fascinating show. The performance follows Macbeth’s (Francoeur) descent from his fateful encounter with the Fates (represented by black paper “origami frogs”) and his return to Lady Macbeth (Bélanger Dumas), through interactions with key characters: Banquo (a white plastic plate with two black circles for eyes—his wife is a similar plate with a hair bow, and their son is a small plate), Macduff (represented by a knight’s glove, with his wife portrayed by a soft mitten), and the King (a playing card – the king of hearts).

Family dynamics are depicted with remarkable creativity, including both passionate and tender erotic moments and the symbolic or violent deaths of children (represented by breaking eggs), typically followed by murder. Although we are aware that these are theatrical illusions, the blood (red-dyed corn syrup) splashes convincingly across the stage, and the actors' facial expressions carry genuine menace.

The story is rich with both grim and humorous details that do not distract from the narrative but rather enhance its dark impact. Everyday objects—plastic plates and cups, egg cartons, candlesticks, signs, and scrolls—lose their original function in this new context and become integral to the eerie and bloody atmosphere. This is particularly evident in the choice of music (by Jon Lachlan Stewart), where light, nostalgic pop melodies often foreshadow ominous events.

It may seem unusual for a Shakespearean play—written by a master of language—to be performed like a silent film. However, in a post-show discussion, Bélanger Dumas explained this approach as a deliberate attempt to preserve the spirit and atmosphere of the Bard’s work without diminishing the power of his metaphor-rich and poetic language.

Macbeth Muet is the kind of rare theatrical experience where artistic intelligence and audience enjoyment are tightly intertwined.

Olga Vujović

Among the diverse formats presented at the 4th Novi Sad Theatre Festival — from puppet shows to live-action plays, from performances for toddlers to those targeting young adult audiences — the festival concluded with the wordless performance Macbeth Muet by La Fille Du Laitier Theatre from Montreal, Canada. The production was honored with three festival awards: the Grand Prix for Best Overall Production, Best Direction, and Outstanding Acting Performance.

Macbeth Muet remains true to Shakespeare’s famed tragedy — with the striking difference that not a single word is spoken. The creators, Marie-Hélène Bélanger Dumas and Jon Lachlan Stewart, who also perform alongside Jérémy Francoeur, condense the story of Macbeth into a fast-paced 60-minute piece. While largely following the sequence of Shakespeare’s original, the narrative is conveyed through movement and creative use of props, some of which double as puppets. The result is a brisk, rhythmically sharp performance in which key scenes are reduced to a few essential gestures that efficiently carry the plot forward.

The two performers primarily take on the roles of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, while supporting characters are portrayed through animated objects using puppetry techniques — though they occasionally embody secondary characters themselves. Battle scenes are rendered through choreographed duels and the spilling of red paint from small cups, while Macbeth’s spirals into guilt and paranoia are brought to life through Jérémy Francoeur’s intense, spasmodic movements. The couple’s initial encounter is presented in a stylized, absurdly comic prologue — a caricature of sex, followed by the smashing of eggs, symbolizing their infertility. Throughout the performance, the actors wear white shirts that gradually become stained with egg, paint, and grime — a visible metaphor for their characters' moral decay.

In its aesthetic and referential approach to culture, Macbeth Muet can be described as thoroughly postmodern. Drawing on classical literature and theatre, the show presumes at least a basic familiarity with Shakespeare’s Macbeth to fully grasp the storyline. It also takes cues from silent film — not just through mime and theatrical movement, but with paper title cards that simulate intertitles, providing both context and guidance (e.g., Prologue). Music plays a crucial role — not merely as background, but as an active narrative force. Jon Lachlan Stewart’s soundtrack, a collage of excerpts spanning classical, pop, and hip-hop, reinforces the show’s postmodern nature. One particularly telling moment is Lady Macbeth’s descent into madness, accompanied by Simon & Garfunkel’s The Sound of Silence (“Hello darkness, my old friend”), highlighting the production’s self-awareness and dark humor. Similarly, irreverent captions like “Macbeth just got fate-f*cked” add to the show’s ironic tone.

Yet, as with many postmodern works, Macbeth Muet’s heavy reliance on irony and cultural references risks becoming self-serving. The performance often indulges in pastiche without fully articulating its purpose, and it notably avoids deeper interpretation of the tragedy’s psychological and moral themes. With a lesser piece, such an approach might warrant a harsher critique. But here, the production’s playful inventiveness and near-flawless pacing make it hard to begrudge. Macbeth Muet succeeds in being clever, energetic, and unapologetically bold — and that, in the end, is its greatest strength.

Borisav Matić

In a time when hostility toward migrants is once again on the rise in the West—despite countless historical warnings about the destructiveness of xenophobia—migration remains an essential part of the human experience. Movement is at the heart of life itself. Whether we cross national borders or simply move from one neighborhood to another, we all experience displacement in some form. In that sense, the questions of home and belonging are deeply existential and universally human.

Vera Rozanova, a theatre and puppetry artist who left her native Russia for France in 2011, explores these themes in her play Don’t Wait for Me…, produced at La neige sur les cils Theatre in Nantes and recently performed at the Novi Sad Theatre Festival. In this poetic, darkly whimsical production, Rozanova conjures a world where houses grow legs and walk away from their inhabitants. It’s a surreal inversion of reality—where we do not leave home, but rather, home leaves us. Still, it reflects a painful truth: becoming homeless is often not a choice.

The play, aimed at children aged six and up, follows a small, gray figure on a quest to find the house that left him. Along the way, he encounters others like himself, as well as more walking houses, each with a story of its own. Rozanova, who both wrote and directed the play, also performs all the puppet roles herself, showcasing remarkable dexterity and emotional nuance across multiple characters during the 40-minute performance.

Visually, the play is enveloped in dark, bluish hues, evoking a never-ending night. Designed by Lucille Regier and Sammy Barra, the set creates a dreamlike landscape filled with lanky, tousled human figures who seem perpetually lost, as though just awoken from sleep in a world they no longer recognize. Yet amidst the confusion and loss, small moments of connection—between characters and their anthropomorphic homes—inject warmth and hope into the narrative.

Rozanova’s performance is particularly impressive not only for her puppeteering, but also for her multilingual delivery. While the play is performed in French and Russian in Nantes, she adapted it for Novi Sad with French, Serbian, and English, with English subtitles providing accessibility for an international audience. This multilingual approach subtly highlights another migrant reality: the fragmented, in-between linguistic identity that often comes with displacement. Migrants may speak several languages, yet feel fully at home in none. This linguistic and cultural ambiguity permeates the performance with a palpable sense of melancholy.

Still, migration is not only marked by sadness. It also brings richness and diversity. Isn’t it a beautiful thing that children in both Nantes and Novi Sad can engage with Don’t Wait for Me… in their own languages, while also hearing unfamiliar ones? It’s an experience that broadens horizons and deepens empathy. That’s why, when Rozanova—animating a migratory bird puppet—breaks the fourth wall at the end of the show and tells the audience, “This is my story, but it could be yours too,” it’s both a gentle warning and a hopeful promise. Migration, she reminds us, brings new challenges and sorrows—but also the possibility of unexpected beauty and growth.

– Borisav Matić

Peter Kus is known as both a musician and puppeteer, and his performances often feature inventive instruments of his own design. His latest piece, Bloop, co-directed and performed alongside Filip Šebšajević and Gašper Lovrec, was no exception. Presented by the Kuskus Institute and Art Production Ljubljana (Slovenia) on the penultimate day of the 4th International Novi Sad Theater Festival 2025 (Youth Theater, Novi Sad, May 10), the performance was a visually engaging and sonically rich experience.

The importance of water—essential not only to human life but to the entire planet—is a message that hardly needs repeating. Yet human negligence continues to pose serious threats, and Bloop aims to address this with humor and creativity. In a lab-like setting (clever and imaginative set design by Primož Mihevc, atmospheric lighting by Borut Bučine), a strange aquatic creature named Bloop suddenly appears. His arrival brings a collection of plumbing-related objects to life (playful and inventive puppets by Katarina Cakova), prompting three scientists—dressed in charming costumes by Iztok Hrga—to explore water in all its forms. The narrative, shaped by Maria Giulia Campioli, attempts to weave these elements into a cohesive story.

While the scenes are creatively staged and often delivered with humor, the overarching narrative lacks clarity. The connection between Bloop and the scientists’ experiments feels underdeveloped, making the ecological message and character dynamics occasionally hard to follow. In casual terms, the story doesn't quite "hold water."

However, where Bloop truly shines is in its soundscape. As in Kus’s previous work, the performance is filled with dazzling musicianship. Instruments made from everyday objects—plastic buckets, watering cans, metal tubs, even pumpkin shells—are transformed into sources of music, often using simple additions like pipes or strings. These sound experiments, both whimsical and precise, captivated the audience, particularly the younger viewers.

Post-show discussions revealed that children were most drawn to the physical and mechanical properties of water and the playful musical inventions. They responded enthusiastically to the hands-on, scientific feel of the performance, which speaks volumes about the piece’s educational potential.

One can’t help but wonder whether Bloop might have been more powerful had it embraced its strengths—instrument-building, music-making, and playful scientific exploration—rather than striving to fit those elements into a loosely defined narrative. Still, the performance offers a rich sensory experience rather than opens the door for children to think about ….

Olga Vujović

The Slovenian performance Bloop is a delightful experiment born from imagination, water, and the creative mind of multimedia artist Peter Kus. Children and adults alike watched the show with curiosity and joy. After the performance, Kus spoke to us about water, ecology, and the unique instruments he creates—often from the most unexpected objects.

Your play carries a strong ecological message. Water is essential to life, but many people are too caught up in the chaos of everyday life to stop and think about that. Do artists have more time or space for this kind of reflection?

Maybe we do—at least we try to look at everyday problems from a different angle. Bloop was made for children, but our goal wasn’t just to be educational. We wanted to go beyond that—using fun and humor to highlight the importance of preserving water. If we can inspire children to care about nature, there’s hope for the future. We wanted them to leave the show thinking that, every time they drink a glass of water, there might be a little Bloop in it. And they should protect it. If children grow up with an awareness of their responsibility toward nature and ecology, they’ll carry that awareness into all aspects of life.

We learned that you build the instruments used in the performance yourself—from watering cans, pumpkins, test tubes, kettles, pipes, bottles, even plastic siphons! It’s fascinating how much science—physics, chemistry—is present in everyday life, yet many children are intimidated by those subjects in school. This seems like a great opportunity to connect with education.

That’s a great idea, though we haven’t formally partnered with schools yet. What we do have is a kind of informal cooperation with teachers. Before students attend the performance, we send information to teachers so they can prepare the children. That way, after the show, the kids are ready to talk more thoughtfully about water, ecology, and what they saw. We don’t want the experience to be just an hour of entertainment—we want to open their minds to new ways of thinking about familiar things.

Do you also run workshops with children?

Yes! In the workshops, we explore how everyday objects can become instruments. The children build their own instruments and then we play them together. It’s really important for kids to understand how everything is connected. Theater isn’t just about words or literature—it’s also music, science, technology, ecology... how something is made and how it’s performed.

Do you design these instruments or actually build them yourself?

I build them with my own hands, in my workshop.

After seeing Bloop, it’s clear how imaginative your process is. Do you see instruments in everyday objects when you walk around?

All the time! I’m obsessed with flea markets—there’s so much hidden magic in the things people throw away. Each item has a story, a soul. I try to discover that story and express it through music.

Have you heard about the famous flea market in Novi Sad—the Nylon market?

Yes, I have! I’m planning to visit it tomorrow.

In Bloop, we meet a little creature who lives in the water. He might be a drop, a bubble, or an entire splash. But unlike fictional creatures, Novi Sad’s waters contain real, invisible life. If you were to make a version of Bloop here, how would it differ?

Sadly, this isn’t just Novi Sad’s story. We performed Bloop in Italy too, where a chemical spill contaminated the local water supply. Environmental disasters like that happen everywhere. That’s why raising awareness is so important. The message of Bloop—about protecting our water and our world—is a universal one.

As part of the Novi Sad Theater Festival supporting program, the audience had the chance to experience Youth Theatre performance of Dragon this evening. The response was nearly unanimous: perhaps it’s not so hard to become human again. When truth is spoken, the fractured soul begins to heal, coming back together and finding its way forward.
This powerful performance reminds us that both strength and weakness live within us—it’s up to each of us to choose which one will lead us through life.
Directed by Lyudmila Fyodorova and brought to life by a talented cast: Slavica Vučetić, Neda Danilović, Ksenija Mitrović, Marija Radovanov, Aleksa Ilić, Saša Latinović, Slobodan Ninković, Uroš Lazović, Aleksandar Milković, and Ivan Đurić.

The third day of the festival opened with two evocative performances for young audiences: Pan by Olga Zecheva (ages 3+) and Don’t Wait for Me by Vera Rozanova (ages 6+). Both productions showcased deeply personal visions and offered contrasting yet equally resonant theatrical experiences.

Pan, directed and performed by Zecheva with the support of Alek Ćurčić and produced by Teatro "Plus" from Gijón, Spain, unfolds like a lyrical fable. Accompanied by the gentle chirping of birds and an evocative score by Jose Roman Feito, the performance is set in a whimsical space of flowing curtains and ribbons. Zecheva, dressed in folkloric attire (costume design by Azucena Rico), enters carrying a mysterious bundle—symbolic of life’s core elements. Through the presence of Earth, Air, Water, and Fire, seeds sprout, grain is ground, and dough is kneaded. In Spanish, pan means bread—a more grounded and literal interpretation than the nature god some might expect.

A particularly memorable moment comes when Zecheva shapes a pliable dough face, an almost magical transformation of matter into meaning. Yet to become truly human, the dough gives way to a baby doll—charming, though perhaps limited in expressiveness. By the end, the dough returns, and a loaf is finally baked. It’s a cyclical and poetic gesture, though it left me pondering that familiar question from school: “What did the poet mean by this?”

Don’t Wait for Me, by contrast, is a hauntingly tender exploration of displacement and the longing for home. Created and performed by Vera Rozanova, and produced by La neige sur les cils (Nantes, France), the play blends French, English, and Serbian, creating a linguistic patchwork that mirrors its theme of searching across borders.

Using simple yet expressive hand puppets (designed by Lucas Prieux) placed on a specially constructed stabile-mobile (by Lucille Reguerre), Rozanova tells a story of deep emotional resonance. The visual world—projected images by Samy Barras and music by Thomas Demay—wraps the stage in a warm, melancholic embrace. The puppets, though minimal in design, brim with charm and depth.

Rozanova’s solo performance is extraordinary. Through subtle gestures, vocal shifts, and precise movement, she animates a full emotional world and brings each puppet to life as if part of a larger ensemble. Rarely have I seen a performer command such empathy and attention alone on stage.

One puppet in particular—a yellow house with legs and blue-laced sneakers—deserves a treatise of its own. It’s the kind of image that lingers, both playful and profound.

Tastes may differ, but I could gladly watch this poetic search for home again and again—homes that run away, that fly, and those who are left behind to grieve, endure, and hope.

Olga Vujović

Olga Zecheva is a Bulgarian actress and director who also works in Spain, where she created the play Pan, recently performed at the Novi Sad Theater Festival. With simple theatrical tools and a joyful story about bread, she captivated young audiences while reflecting on roots, identity, and home. We spoke with her about the inspiration behind this unique performance, her collaboration with her son, and her views on contemporary children's theater.

How did a piece of dough become the central element and inspiration for your play at the Novi Sad Theater Festival?

It started from something very personal—I'm actually intolerant to the yeast in store-bought bread. There’s something in it, some additive that just doesn’t sit well with me. So, I’ve been baking my own bread for a long time now. And during that process, I noticed how alive the dough feels. It’s like a living being—it breathes, it changes. That got me thinking: the story of bread is really the story of life.

You start with something so basic—flour, water, salt, which come from nature—and then you add your energy while kneading it. That’s why no two loaves are ever the same. It felt to me like bread is a baby, a character, a soul that wants to become something. But to get there, it needs care, time, warmth—just like us.

That’s when the idea of the four elements came in: earth, water, fire, and air. They’re our most fundamental connection to nature. But this idea sat with me for a while, waiting for the right moment to come to life on stage.

Why did you wait?

I think I just wasn’t ready. Sometimes an idea needs to ripen, like the dough itself. I wasn’t at the right stage in life to tell that story. But when my son Alek—who's also an actor and now my co-director—grew up and moved far away, I realized the time had come. That’s why we subtitled the piece Pan is life, and life is Pan. It’s about bread, yes, but really, it’s about life.

You and Alek co-directed the play. He must’ve learned a lot from you growing up—are you now learning from him, too? We also saw your other collaboration, Geometry of the Soul, at the festival.

Absolutely. If you're open, you can learn something new every day, from anyone. Alek grew up surrounded by puppetry and theater, but at first, he didn’t want to follow that path. Eventually, he found his way back to it. And while he learned from me early on, now I’m learning from him.

When you’ve been in this profession for a long time, you develop habits—structures you fall back on. Even when you try to break out of them, they’re still there, like safety nets. But Alek brings fresh energy, a different perspective. He challenges me in the best way. Working with him has reawakened something in my artistic life. We honor our differences as individual artists, and at the same time, we’re able to create together.

You’ve worked both in Bulgaria and Spain. How do you see the differences in how children’s theater is approached in those places?

Of course, our work is shaped by our background and cultural context. In Spain, I’ve noticed a shift in recent years—they’ve become more open and daring in the kinds of stories they tell children. That wasn’t always the case. Some topics were off-limits before. Now, they're starting to explore things like grief, emotional survival, and how children see the world around them—including their parents.

They’re tackling difficult topics—maybe even too difficult, some would say—but they’re doing it in a sensitive, thoughtful way. It’s about helping children understand, not hiding things from them.

Isn’t it a bit harsh to confront children with such heavy topics at a young age?

Perhaps. But as artists, many of us are tired of the same old “safe” themes in children’s theater. We’re trying to find new ground—spaces where children can engage with deeper, more meaningful subjects. I believe we need to stop shouting at children from the stage and start inviting them to think and feel with us. Either you take children’s theater seriously, or you don’t do it at all.

In your view, what drives theater today—artists, or producers and marketing teams?

There’s a bit of everything, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. But what’s essential is that we don’t neglect the artist’s creative spirit. That spirit needs to be exercised, trained—just like an athlete’s body. If we don’t nurture it, it weakens. And then we lose something vital—not just in our performances, but in the soul of the theater itself.

The phantasmagorical play Don’t Wait for Me was performed at the Novi Sad Theatre Festival by French actress of Russian origin, Vera Rozanova. Accompanied by a two-person technical team from her small troupe La neige sur les cils (Snow on the Eyelashes), she drew us into a dream where houses leave their owners — just as owners often leave them, whether by choice or necessity. After the performance, Vera Rozanova spoke first about how the idea for this story came to be. The performance, astonishingly executed with just two hands, unfolded across three languages, each one carefully chosen to speak directly to the Novi Sad audience.

How did this performance come into being? How did the idea originate?
It all started in a children’s workshop, where we reconstructed stories about people’s and animals’ lives based on photographs of their homes. I wrote the text inspired by those observations, and when someone said, “My house left without me,” it struck me as a brilliant motif for creating a play.

Has a house ever left you, strayed from you, like the one in your play?
Oh, yes. I was born in Russia, in Saint Petersburg, and my life took a dramatic turn when I went to school in France. Initially, it was meant to be just a few years of schooling, but over time it became clear that France would be my home. I realized this when I began to stutter in my mother tongue and found myself thinking and writing in French instead.

How should we talk about theatre with children, and how do we create theatre for today’s young audiences? You've shown us one way to reach them.
It’s difficult — but not impossible. The key is to be truthful and remain so. I think that when we create for children, we are always searching for the adult within them, and when we search for adults, we end up discovering the child. That’s a strange but beautiful thread where our life stories are born.

What kind of audience are children in France, where you perform most often?
It always depends on the performance. Often — perhaps most often — they lack the patience for long plays. In France, children’s theatre typically targets ages four and up. That’s the age when they begin to understand both the language and the images we present to them. I’ve noticed they behave differently when accompanied by parents compared to when they're with teachers or educators. They’re calmer and more attentive in the latter case. But then suddenly, they might burst out in a moment — and just as suddenly, quiet down again and continue watching with focus.

Are there currently any themes in France that are particularly prominent, or a genre of children’s or youth theatre that’s especially popular?
I’m not entirely sure about genres, but when it comes to themes, migration is a major one. France was once a colonial country and is now home to many different cultures that shape its current identity.
Another significant theme is discrimination, followed by homosexuality, respect for others’ languages and expressions, and the broader question of how to find common ground in our shared — and important — history.

By Borisav Matić

We often assume that the ideal life should balance both security and freedom. But this idea overlooks a harder truth: freedom and security often stand at opposite ends of the spectrum. To gain one, we usually have to give up a bit of the other. True freedom comes with risk, while security often demands limits. This trade-off is true in our personal lives, in society, and especially in childhood—when growth itself requires stepping into the unknown.

On the second day of the Novi Sad Theater Festival, two performances tackled this very tension in their own unique ways. Though stylistically different, The Adventures of Little Juju and The Pilot and the Little Prince both explore a key idea: there is no growth without stepping outside the comfort zone.

The Adventures of Little Juju – City Puppet Theater Rijeka, Croatia

Aimed at children aged three and up, this charming production is based on the popular children's song by Žarko Roja and Petr Bergam, adapted by Ivana Đula and Milica Sinkauz and directed by Renata Carola Gatica. The story follows little Juju, a boy who enjoys a quiet, cozy life at home with his parents and animal friends—except for one thing: he’s haunted by an irrational fear of crocodiles.

To overcome this fear, Juju must do something brave—visit a real crocodile at the zoo. What begins as a terrifying journey turns into an adventure of self-discovery. Not only does Juju overcome his fear, but he also forms an unexpected friendship with the crocodile, who, inspired by their meeting, decides to leave captivity and return to the Nile. The result is a gentle metaphor for growing up: real development comes only when we take risks and confront what scares us.

The production is lively and imaginative, with strong musical elements and a playful atmosphere. The cast sings and plays percussion instruments live (music by Ivana Đula), creating a vibrant, fairy-tale mood. Alena Pavlović’s minimalist white costumes and set allow for fluid scene changes, while Sanjin Seršić’s lighting enhances the dreamlike world. The performers bring a range of characters to life with energy and warmth, using only minimal masks and costumes—letting the story and performances shine.

The Pilot and the Little Prince – Ostrava Puppet Theater, Czech Republic

If there’s anyone whose life captures the spirit of risky freedom, it’s Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. A pioneering pilot in the early 20th century, he risked his life in untested aircraft long before aviation was safe. He then took another creative leap with The Little Prince, a poetic novella that was far from guaranteed success. And ultimately, he gave his life flying in World War II, standing up against fascism.

Given this thrilling biography, it’s a missed opportunity that The Pilot and the Little Prince, by the Ostrava Puppet Theater, takes such a safe and factual approach. Adapted and directed by Jakub Maksimov, the play draws from Peter Sís’s illustrated biography of Saint-Exupéry. While informative, the production feels more like a history lesson than an engaging piece of theater.

Using puppets, flying models, and visual effects, the play retells scenes from the author’s life. At times, the visuals—especially when the action speaks louder than words—offer striking and memorable moments. But for the most part, the play relies heavily on narration, limiting its emotional and imaginative potential. The young audience was clearly engaged by the occasional bursts of visual creativity, but overall, the production remains cautious, even static.

This is especially unfortunate given its intended audience. Children and youth deserve theater that not only educates but also dares to be bold. Ironically, while celebrating a figure who took great risks, the production itself avoids them. It stays well within its comfort zone—reminding us that, in both life and art, playing it safe rarely leads to something extraordinary.

Jakub Georgiev comes from a family of actors—his parents even founded a theater in Ostrava. In The Pilot and the Little Prince, he plays the role of the Little Prince. After the performance, he shared his thoughts on the role, working with director Jakub Maksimov, current themes in Czech youth theater, and what it’s like to perform for young audiences.

What was it like working on this kind of play?
It was quite a challenge, mainly because the show involves a puppet that has to be animated by several people, and I’m on stage for 90% of the time. It demanded full concentration and teamwork, especially with the director. Improvisation played a big role—Jakub Maksimov encouraged us to explore scenes freely, so the script evolved a lot during rehearsals. It was also the first time our theater had tackled this kind of production, which made it all the more intense.

The story touches on the life of a historical figure known for his curiosity and expansive worldview. What emotions did that bring out in you?
I really enjoyed it, even though it was tough. The Little Prince means a lot to me—I love the book and what it represents for so many people’s childhoods. Our play isn’t based on the book itself, but rather on the dramatic life of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. I reread the book during rehearsals, and even though I’m 25 now and a new father to a five-month-old son, I still felt like a little boy at heart. It was a joy to be part of this story.

The children in the audience seemed intrigued from the start. At first, they were unsure what language the performance was in—some thought it might be English or even Slovenian. They tried to follow the subtitles but eventually gave up and simply followed the story visually. What was your impression of their engagement?
That’s a great observation—and also a complicated question. If we really knew what captures kids' attention best, we’d be making the greatest theater in the world! Children’s concentration is fleeting, and today we’re competing with fast-paced content like short videos and social media, which can be addictive. Still, literature like The Little Prince offers depth that sticks. It’s rich material that means something different to everyone. Theater is trying to keep up with the speed of digital life—but maybe the answer is the opposite.

To slow things down?
Exactly. Maybe slowing down is the new speed. Maybe we need to encourage children to sit down, take their time, and really immerse themselves in a story.

Do you think the audience managed to do that tonight?
Yes, they were wonderful. I only regret that not everyone had a clear view of one of my favorite moments—the scene between the Little Prince and the Fox. It’s such a beautiful and meaningful part of the play. I saw kids standing up, trying to see better. That curiosity means a lot.

What kinds of plays do you enjoy performing—and watching?
When I perform for children, especially as a puppeteer, I love fairy tales. But I also enjoy drama—I grew up with it, thanks to my parents. As an audience member, I like plays that move me emotionally, that shake me up. I want to cry in the theater.

Are there any noticeable trends in Czech puppetry or youth theater right now?
Definitely. There’s a strong focus on themes that matter to young people—especially older kids and teens. Topics like sexuality, gender identity, and LGBTQ+ experiences are coming to the forefront. These aren't taboo in the Czech Republic, unlike in some other countries. For example, we're currently working on a play about the incel subculture, intended for audiences 14 and up. It’s about toxic masculinity and involuntary celibacy—important, relevant issues that young people are grappling with. I think it’s vital we address these topics honestly in theater.