Preparations for the premiere of Part 2. Power are in full swing, but we took a little time to look back at some moments from the rehearsals that began in July. Read below for an extremely personal perspective from the artists who worked together on this show, a collective diary to offer you a sneak peek behind the scenes and a few clues about what you will see on stage next week!

July 5, 2023

Selma

The performers are caught in the blue fabric from "Love," like awkward fish.

Like high schoolers who thought having a pajama party at school was a great idea, but once they arrive, they don't really know why they wanted it. One person's movements pull another down.

I think this unfulfillment of a poetic image is "spot on," but I don't quite realize how. Everyone feels like the fabric is a bit too literal.

In the following days, Andrada appears in her red dress, and the Chronoses appear. I think they are too beautiful. I even let slip something a bit too honest, Endre catches on, I blush; I fix it with "I'd pay to have you do this at parties." That is definitely "spot on," it's a way of taking back power from those who made you feel something. Sarcasm and irony are my shield. That is also "spot on." I take notes.

Petro is working, and as a true spectator, I am moved by the way the performers respond to Petro's power. I see how she "catches" a posture or a glance and follows a thread that wasn't there before. At the end of Andrada's scene, Petro asks if she's okay. This caring attitude "is not from there." Andrada says, "I'm okay, I just accidentally got into my technical crying position," and laughs. And she is strong once again. I write in my notebook: "Andrada: I am here and I can do this."

Now that is "spot on."

July 11, 2023

Roxi

The tail game in the square. Someone says "game" and instantly you reach out your hand to the other, trying to grab their tail from behind. You have to be the last one left with a tail in the tape square on the floor to win. But you are out first, well, maybe second—such a big loser! Until another round when you make it to the final few in the square. Now you want someone else's tail too, not just to defend your own. You reach out for that thin strip of black fabric—Alexandra's tail—and boom, you lose yours! The tail game isn't in the show, but that tension and the look on everyone's faces definitely are.

July 13, 2023

Roxi

Legs sticking out from under the blue fabric of "Love," this time upside down. Watermelons devoured. Juice and seeds all over the floor. Meredith Monk and goosebumps. Ever since, we've been rehearsing with bread.

Andrada

I don't want to talk about any single day because they are mine! But, okay, I will share a tiny bit of the beautiful experience I had in this BOMBASTIC project. I'll talk about the day I sat in the audience and watched my colleagues Tavi, Cătă, and Endre work on a scene from the show, the Chronos scene. That moment instantly popped into my head when we were asked to do this. I was left with their image in my mind, they completely fascinated me! I also remember the way Petro worked with them, the directions she gave, the passion with which she spoke. But I think I shouldn't talk about that scene here—anyone who wants to see what fascinated me should come to the show!

Alexandra B.

I sketched out the spatial concept for Part 2. I brought into the room one of the props from the set of Part 1 (Love): the emblem. The emblem of the "love hoarders." We planned for it to be one of the objects reused for Power. Used, remembered, suggested, or reinterpreted. 

I removed "love" from the emblem and left a void in the middle. I placed the emblem in the same spot as in Part 1. It wasn't a good spot. I moved it to one of the back corners. It was too big and too empty without "love." Then I covered it with a fine, velvety fabric. Then I moved it in front of the door, just to get in the way of the performers' entrances and exits. Then I stuck it to one of the side walls, uncovered it, and decorated it with colorful lights, just like those statues of Jesus and Mary on Catholic altars in Latin American homes.

After the break, Petro talked to us about the show's concepts, the forms of power, and the decisions we will make in the show from the position of power given to us by our role in the team/show. And that's when I brought out my stubbornness and an image from my mental drawer: a statue, a structure, an idea, a piece of malice, a covered sensitivity that is hidden, stored away, protected for later or forever.

I moved the emblem to the opposite wall and covered it with black PVC foil.

PERFECT!

In the end, we got rid of it altogether. I lied to you! The emblem didn't just search for its position on stage and its place in the show on July 13, but over the course of several days. It's still hanging around.

July 17, 2023

Selma

We read the gods' scene. The actors are very unhappy. I try not to let it get to me, but I'm dying a little inside too, feeling guilty. I get it—it's in verse, there are pretentious words, and there are still things in there just because I like them. I don't have the strength to give them up yet; I still hope that, by some miracle, the pain of the goddess who has a mortal son will find its place. Oana notices the inconsistency—there won't be a miracle. I sweep it under the rug, but it's clear to me: that story belongs in another show. A few days pass before I say let's cut it. Petro "conducts." It seems she hears very precisely in her head how it should sound. Everyone trusts her lead, screaming on the inside. I anticipate the moment when the score becomes clear and how happy we will all be. But what if it doesn't happen? Will it really work? I imagine the scene in the "discarded" folder. Petro suggests that tomorrow we go to the countryside, to Viștea.

July 18, 2023

Roxi

Rehearsal in the barn at Viștea. We sit on the ground. Adonis draws a mermaid on my arm. Grass, stones, sand, moss on our knees. The text gets trimmed. We talk about gods—you don't know what they do or what they look like yet. The scene is repeated. Five people perched on a stone wall read the already edited text. These are the Gods, for now.

Tavi

I never thought a day would come when I would have to perform ancient theater in the voice of a master actor from the 1930s. On a July day, a handful of actors and actresses gathered in a barn in Viștea to act like Greek gods. We went through the complex text a few times, climbed up to the barn loft, and started screaming like gods in heat. We were all singing and shouting the text. I lost the logic of it many times, not putting the emphasis in the right place. It seemed funny from the outside, but the little theater critic in my head was saying nobody could understand what we were playing. I think if my college professor had seen me, he would have said my admission was a mistake and told me to perform like that at the village hall in Poplaca.

Buuut our marvelous director thought of playing with 1930s theatricality to talk about power through it. I can't say I had confidence from the beginning that the gods' scene would work, buuut I stuffed a piece of watermelon in the little critic's mouth to sweeten him up so I could start the journey toward discovering my own inner god.

Călin Deneș

ViȘTea

I found out the day before that we wouldn't rehearse at #Reactor, but in Viștea, in a barn. I didn't know where Viștea was, but I was happy to change the scenery, even though I arrived late to rehearsal. I ate watermelon. We drove there. We arrived one by one. I was in the first car. While waiting for everyone to arrive, I thought the smell of green grass beautifully complemented the atmosphere of the scenes we were working on. It was lovely outside, which helped (somehow). We started the rehearsal by reading text, a complicated text that needed a lot of explaining. It was explained. It was understood. I ate watermelon for the first time this year. We took some photos. We were in the barn because its height helped us visualize one of the scenes. The actors climbed up to the barn loft, and the rest of the team sat squeezed together on a sofa below. That was the first time I saw the gods' scene. I ate watermelon and it was my first time this summer, and I had been craving it so much. Andrada was calling out "fire" and outside it was beautiful and warm. It had become quite comical: five actors in a barn loft playing gods. They were higher than us, speaking loudly, covered by a traditional rug in the barn. Afterward, we all ate watermelon. In the evening we went home, it was already dark and you could see the stars, and nobody was in the barn anymore, and we had eaten all the watermelon; actually, there was one more we hadn't cut, but that doesn't matter. On that day we had practically started a new phase, working on the next scene.

Someone played with a ball, someone sang leaning on an imaginary bar, someone drew a mermaid, someone was hired at window number one in a tiny little booth, someone looked over the fence trying to understand what was going on, someone called out "fire," and someone else ate watermelon.

July 20, 2023

Oana

Then, one day, we started again from the beginning. On that day, someone washed the room and someone else led the warm-up, and during the lunch break, some of us sat in the yard and some didn't, and we ate together. It's possible that after the break Petro said, "right, and now I'd like to do the beginning one more time," and someone else asked, "from the very beginning?". It's possible that a negotiation followed about how we agreed it should start, what, and when. Since there were several options in the air, we probably chose the one that made the most sense that day. Once we all understood how it should start and the murmuring voices of the actors saying "Ah, yes" quieted down, we waited until we were all equally ready and began our established beginning.

And then, suddenly.

Out of nothing, or out of these threads joined end to end, once we started, we all went together. I see my colleagues on stage and those in the audience, the track Adonis worked on yesterday is playing, and I see or feel something with a very particular texture. It's the first shared feeling we all have simultaneously about this show, which we don't fully know yet, but which, on this day, we all touched together. Selma gently opens the door and I see a strip of light from outside enter with her, but our beginning is already so set that it catches Selma as soon as she enters and gently places her in her chair.

After the beginning finished, it's possible Petro said, "right, let's discuss," and turned her neck (which had no idea what was waiting for it in this project) toward the team, opening the floor to anyone who wanted to start. One by one, we all said pretty much the same thing, because on some days you just know "this is it," that you are on a good path, that something is emerging out of nothing or out of untangled threads put back together.

Twenty-something July 2023

Selma

"I like watching men tear things apart with their teeth." That's my note for that day, sometime in July. Should I put that in the text?

I look at the emblem and think it's a collection of remnants of things humanity once believed in. I see moments that are definitely "spot on." Yet, I still feel like I don't belong. I keep expecting everyone to turn to me at any moment and ask, "What are you doing here?"

The text seems useless everywhere. The images are powerful, the performers are just too beautiful.

We read a new version of the contemporary scene. I tried to refine the mechanism with different perspectives on each gesture. I think I'm too panicked to feel if it's good or bad anymore, so in the absence of my own "feeling," I just do more of what Petro suggested. She isn't sure either, but I tell myself "she's the director, I'll do as she says, she knows best." The actors are trying hard, but something is off. And that bad train scene, which I liked, was cut.

July 29, 2023 

Cătă

The day everything clicked or Entering Europe

It all happened on July 29th. On a day when the poster boy wasn't at rehearsal. I remember with love and nostalgia the day the set arrived and we had the idea to move it for each scene. That's when I got the idea to do the gods' scene standing up; I'm also very pleased with the idea I had in the yard, for us to be naked at the start, and I'm so glad it stayed. I literally woke up that day and everything came naturally: the politicians' scene, the boxing ring scene, the scene with the two rams entering, the hatchet scene... and so on. The staring contest scene, the quitting smoking scene, the piñata scene, or even the hardest scene which doesn't have a name, but I can tell you what happens in it: Andrada enters with a cake in her hand, Tavi trips and falls headfirst into the cake, while I dance to Russian music and Oana sings along with Endre:

"In the little hazelnut house, two dwarfs made their home,

along comes the hoopoe and says:

I want to live here too

pu pu puu pu pu puu

I want to live here too.

pu pu puu pu pu puu

I want to live here too."

All of this took on a new meaning and POWER found its structure. I feel like I gave it my all that day, and from there on, everything was easy. I hope my colleagues are just as excited about my ideas!

Petro

Rehearsals 16-22

It's the last day of rehearsals before the holidays. Three weeks lie ahead where everyone should stop thinking about the show and go clear their minds. This vacation vibe has been felt for a few days now; rehearsals are a bit slower and we still don't have a clear structure for the scenes.

Tomorrow is Selma's birthday. I bake a cake in the morning to bring to rehearsal. It feels more important to end this phase celebrating rather than forcing ourselves to find rushed solutions. We have our lunch break and sing "Happy Birthday" to Selma. Oana films and posts it on her story. We eat cake and laugh in the yard.

After the break, we go into the studio and start discussing one of the transitions in the show that involves moving the scenery. Oana says it can't be just a single set change and that we can set up this convention multiple times. We take each moment one by one and decide who does what. We start organizing the order of the scenes, with details for every level (performers, scenery, surtitles). Selma notes down every single moment. Finally, it flows and connects more naturally than ever. Everyone contributes and is involved in finding solutions—it makes sense! I tell Selma I feel like we are on the right track. Selma says she is excited, you can read it clearly on her face. We agree it was a good and productive day. Done! Now we can go on holiday stress-free.

Selma

The day with the absolute lowest expectations. We go through the scenes. Oana makes a comment about how the space works. Petro makes that face she gets when she receives a really good question. She approaches it systematically, scene by scene. Everyone comes alive just as much as this dry run requires, passing through everything, gradually warming up to a shared "aha!" moment. I haven't felt this on the same page with Petro and the show in days. It's that day when everyone is surprised by how things just click. Dopamine rush!

(Still, that contemporary scene is not quite right.)

August 21, 2023

Alexandra H.

it's August 21st. the first day of rehearsals after the holidays. I walk toward Reactor with a small knot in my stomach, nervous but excited. I enter the room and everything is in full assembly mode. the tiered seating is pushed aside. it smells like coffee and brand new things. on the floor—screens, boxes, screws, bubble wrap. among all the scattered things, we greet each other, some of us hug. it's boiling hot outside, and there's just as much warmth in this reunion. five of us are struggling to decipher drawings from an instruction manual. Tavi, Călin, and I assemble and disassemble the same stand about four times. basically, it's a race. it's probably the first time I've heard the word "washer," it sounds so funny. when it's done, we pat each other on the back for a job well done. slowly but surely, the whole space takes shape.

it's August 21st. the first day of rehearsals after the holidays. the day we see the space almost exactly as you will see it when you come to the show. the day I realized how much I truly missed these wonderful people.

August 23, 2023

Adonis

My Birthday

I was happy that in recent years, I've been at work on my birthday. It's always a bit awkward when it's your birthday, anyway. Lately, I've had a haze over my eyes—not in that sense, but in the sense that I think a lot about love and suffering. I watched my colleagues rehearsing the gods' scene, and I was longing to be up there doing what they do. Then I thought about how much I enjoy my presence in this show through music; of course, I couldn't resist sneaking my voice into the background too. Andrada made me a delicious cake, and my colleagues sang "Happy Birthday" terribly out of tune, and I thought about how I need to be strong during this period. Instead, Petro chose to speak differently about power in our show. I was thinking about love and how, when it's gone, it gets replaced by power—just to feel something, to hold onto something, to reclaim a right, and you can go very far with that claim. I thought about other people who have much bigger problems, and I felt silly. Oana slips up and tells me I'll have a cake for my birthday, I laugh, I love it. Petro looks at me and sends me all her good thoughts and all the strength I need. I feel lonely, yet I feel safe being with my colleagues. Doru gifted me two shirts. I think about the show and how we can't cover everything in just one performance. A few lines from a song written for the show: "P, T, Ț, splash, splosh, C, T, HA, HE, HA."

August 30 or 31

Endre

My jokes are coming off pretty well. Well, the situational ones; the physical ones aren't any different in Romanian, but even the language-based ones are working. I must admit I'm quite proud of that. I think jokes during rehearsals are absolutely necessary. Vital, even :)) In moderation, of course. But I really believe they are important because, on one hand, they give you the chance to relate to what you do from a very playful perspective, letting you discover new nuances, and on the other hand, they reveal a super honest and childlike side of you to your colleagues. And that's key. Showing your true self to your colleagues.

Anyway, besides that, I love teasing A. Fortunately, on most projects, I find someone who enjoys this way of connecting, of making friends in that classic kindergarten style: "I like you, so I'm going to say something mean to you."

A: "Hey Petro, don't you want our faces to be seen?"

Me: "And what are you going to do with that face anyway?"

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