A cheerful look behind the scenes: An autofictional work diary - Event Horizon / Part I

At the end of June, we are getting ready for another wonderful premiere here at Reactor! We are talking about the show Event Horizon (Orizontul evenimentelor), a production created within the multi-annual cultural program "Metamorphic – collective processes." Here, we explore the impact of the multiple crises of recent years on our personal lives, as well as on our work. Read on below for a sneak peek into the first part of our creative journey—a collage of a (partially) fictionalized personal journal from the lovely people who worked together on this show.

Robert Kocsis

May 2023 – one year before the reform

Having a chat with Mihai at a May 1st barbecue. I tell him I want to stay close by his side during the creative process. He tells me that I'll be right there with him.

December 2023 – a few months before the reform

The whole team gets an email asking us to write a list of at least 50 things we believe should be saved/resolved for the future. We gather in the rehearsal room, read them out loud, some of us want to save the planet, some want to stop the decline of spoken languages, and in the end, we realize many of us simply want to save our teeth!

Oana Mardare

December 17, 2023

It's the very first day of our first phase of work, generating content for generating a text about generating changes and emotions. We must be as generous as possible! We do an exercise where we project ourselves into the future, looking right out of this window here at Reactor. Ica is the most generous. The mulberry tree is bare.

Ana-Maria Marin

December 17, 2023 – workshop

During today's warm-up, I observe the micro-aggressions of ants, the friendship of people made of chewing gum, and newborn drool.

Mihai, along with Ioana, suggests an exercise: "Do a vocal improv. You are on a beach. Describe the place, human awkwardness, the bodies."

I head to the back, into the library. On a shelf, Miruna Runcan is basking in the sun. Right next to her, Leta Popescu is sipping a martini. Jacques Lecoq is floating on a swim ring. I am so thirsty! A boy has a thick mole on his collarbone. His mole looks just like the microphone I'm speaking into. A girl with a mustache comes over and whispers something into the mic. Then she kisses me on the forehead. Her breath smells of sewage and sweet vanilla. An elderly woman, who looks just like my grandmother, is bright red—totally sunburned. A tall man is cracking an egg on her back. They are both waiting with great anticipation. From his rear, a thin, dark tail emerges, hanging all the way down to his ankles. He walks past me and the tail tickles my nose. I take a deep breath and yank it out of his rear. He doesn't even notice! All his attention is captured by Jacques (or maybe by Leta).

I return from the library back into the rehearsal room. I get excellent feedback. I'm not really paying attention, though. I have a massive urge to sneeze and can't focus. I think I have an allergy. Or maybe it's just Andrada's mustache tickling my nose.

December 19, 2023 – workshop

Question of the day: What does your micro-universe look like?

Mihai and Ioana propose an exercise to the team: "Do an improvisation. Step into a utopian world and describe it." I observe. Ioana says this utopia can be more than just sci-fi, it can be a time we have lost: "What residual flashes do you have on your retinas?"

Doru says he has long hair and is lying on his back, just breathing. He also says his nostrils are dry from the hot air. Personally, I think they are dry from wiping away snot too often. In his world, people don't eat anymore, "it's a waste of time." Then why on earth do I see him bringing something tiny and viscous to his taste buds???

Andrada is in a tunnel with lots of lines, "like those in Star Wars." She reaches Spain. She tells a fairy, "Hola, guapa!". She doesn't look like Oana, but she knows it's her. "Muy muy, besos besos." Next, she arrives in Greece, smashing plates!

Oana sees only houses from her window. No apartment blocks, just houses with lovely green spaces. In the world she accessed, money no longer exists. "We don't work for money anymore, things have simply relaxed, people don't even work more than they want to." In this cozy community, Andrada is in charge of yummy food and Mihai takes care of agriculture.

In Cătă's metaverse, there is peace. Silence. Still, everything is good and peaceful. He is up on a mountain, caught in an avalanche. What a thrilling counterpoint!

Szilárd uses a technology that lets him communicate with plants. "I listen to the plants." His living space "is modular, it changes and becomes an office, a basketball court, a theater." He also mentions there are no more cavities in his world!

Oana Hodade is making some cool boom-tish-boom-tish beats. It sounds like she's walking around with a microphone right among the cells.

Last day of the workshop, 2053

Andrada does another improv exercise, an immersive journey back into childhood. She describes how she breaks open freshly baked bread. How beautiful she is and how wonderfully she tells the story! Her body reacts as if she were right there. Andrada breaks open the bread.

What job would you have had if you weren't actors?

Cătă says he would have been in a band. I can totally see him as a rock star! Doru would have been a pilot. Andrada, a butcher. I would have wanted to be a "friend for a day." Or to attend funerals. Or to dress up in a giant mascot costume, like that big white bear on TikTok that gets invited to surprise parties, with a long tail coming out of its rear, just like the one on the beach. Or a therapist. Or working with my dad on the drilling rig.

Robert Kocsis

January 2024 – even fewer months left until the reform

I talk with Ioana about researching the theme of archiving and communities for the show. I start thinking about what would make sense. I hang out on YouTube, throwing in key words. I read articles about various objects sent into outer space for archiving. I learn that the best way to archive is on ceramic elements. There are people who archive all possible information just in case we run out of electricity. I find speculative theories saying we can access all information through meditation. I find out we can archive data in DNA. I reach the theme of communities, starting by writing about the communities I belong to—that's the best way. I send the email with the information I found. I completely forget to mention how the Oreo cookie recipe is archived in Norway, right next to the Svalbard Global Seed Vault!

April 2024 – The first days post-reform

We enter the rehearsal room again. I realize that Alex and Chris are assistant directors alongside me. Oh my, I'm so happy! During breaks, we talk about rehearsals, what kind of theater we love, and we crack all sorts of jokes. Ana Maria Marin and I make sure we always have yummy juice during breaks. It feels so good to be in the post-reform era with these wonderful people! We read the text for the first time. We share our thoughts. We think about what remained from our very first meetings. And off we go on this amazing trip!

Oana Mardare

April 3, 2024

It's the first day of our second stage of work. Mihai sets up the space and the theatrical convention that will keep us within the boundaries of this room until the premiere. Ioana has finished the first draft, which we read together. It is incredibly rich and dense. In her notebook, there are diagrams, notes, charts, lines, percentages, and calculations. Is playwriting a sort of physical geometry mixed with chemistry? Our show is a true laboratory!

Buds have finally appeared on the mulberry tree!

Ana-Maria Marin

April 3, 2024

Let's dive in!

5 characters in space are looking for a language to lay the foundation of a shared organism. They search for movements with great care.

Mihai parks his capsule in front of the gate, leaving the hazard lights on. Mihai enters the room and starts asking us questions. The questions sound like a ticking metronome... or like hazard lights flashing... I can't quite tell. How do you organize your workspace? How do you sleep? How do you eat? What rituals do you have? What physical exercises do you do? What tools do you work with? What connections do you have to other worlds, to your family?

April 45, 2026

to try, to try even if it all seems in va(mzi)n

Doru is trying to find out how algorithms work. I am chewing on the algorithms.

The consciousness of performativity walks into the yard, gets into the van, and honks the horn. Then it gets out of the van and leaves through the gate.

April 4, 2024

Today's menu is: pretzels, something intimate, and something durational

Andrada is tap-dancing with her shoes in her hands. Oana is snug in her little nest, in her cocoon. Cătă and Szilárd are like little animal cubs play-fighting. They grab each other's noses. Szilárd attacks like a cobra!

April 6, 2024

small victories and interfering with the slow-worm echinacea

I reach my monologue. Ioana asks, "What would it be like to vomit yourself out?". I let the sounds of this moment flow into sweet honey. And then into the mud.

April 10, 2024

"an ache of being". This "ache of being" thing is so powerful. It's so good. "an ache of being"

Doru immerses himself in this trip about snow. He is sledding. He is on Turzii Street. He slides all the way down Turzii Street and bumps into a fence in Romană Square. Doru thinks that hairy rhinos look rather shy.

Cătă is teaching Kuku how to fall. Cătă is dressed in a suit made of nuts, sockets, and cables.

Andrada leaps into the stomach. The abyss awaits her. I am a Wolf. Gotcha, Andrada!

Robert Kocsis

April 2024 – We've been in post-reform for a few days now

The set design is starting to come together. The sound, too. I get emotional every single time during a scene with Oana Mardare. I can't wait for the theater to be packed when that moment comes! During the break, I share a glass of Pop-Cola with Mihai. He shows me a music video by the band YACHT—it's a great reference for what he wants to achieve in the show. I head home. I have a brand new band constantly playing in my headphones!

Oana Mardare

April 11, 2024

In just a few days, the leaves have exploded into green! And we just went on with our work, as if there were nothing extraordinary about this magic happening.

Ana Maria Marin

April 11, 2024

Just going with the flooow

We are working on the birth of this consciousness. Today is the baptism. I am a little piece of meat. I am a little piece of meat. I am a little piece of meat.

We are two colleagues, two friends playing around. It is so much fun!

She misses her grandfather's grandmother's grandmother.

April 17, 2024

Today's to-do list: discover with innocence and wonder

I am a microbe. I meet 3 other microbes: Chris, Alex, and Robi. We become friends. They are my new microbes! I get feedback from them, from my new microbes, and then we talk about other bacteria. Afterward, we order pasta from our neighbors. It is absolutely delicious: pasta with parmesan, fresh parsley, and goalkeeper shrimp!

Mihai tells us, "things came together so beautifully today."

Oana Mardare

April 18, 2024

Since we've set up the fourth wall, I find myself looking out the window much more. The windows are like two eyes—if I close the right one, I can see what it's like to be outside. If I close the left one, I can see what it's like to be inside. If I close both, I am left all alone. The trouble is, I can't breathe with my eyes closed! So, I just pretend to be asleep. Nobody needs to know—everything we do here is incredibly real.

April 23, 2024

Happy birthday, Mom! And Shakespeare. I'm thinking of you both.

Ana-Maria Marin

April 29, 2024

A sort of touching of an answer

I love what is happening. Scene 18 is delightfully kinky. Is Scene 22 about the coming-of-age phase?

Let's make this song more dreamlike, more melodic, more furry.