Raul Coldea - on the future and the ends of the world!

This March, Reactor is absolutely thrilled to present the very first premiere of 2023, and our first co-production created alongside the wonderful team at the "Andrei Mureșanu" Theatre in Sfântu Gheorghe! Raul Coldea, a dear long-time friend and collaborator of our space, is both directing and writing the play "Gliese 445". We asked him to share his heartwarming thoughts on this exciting project and what it was like working with these two fantastic artistic teams.

While working on "Habituare," I had a dream. I don't remember my dreams very often—it only happens when they are incredibly vivid. But the feeling I woke up with that morning, about a week before the premiere, is still crystal clear in my mind!

I dreamed we were at Reactor, putting the finishing touches on "Habituare" with just a few days left until the premiere, when our rehearsal was suddenly interrupted by a nuclear attack alert on our phones. We ran from the theatre and found shelter wherever we could. A few of us ended up in the same spot, with no news of the others. We stayed there for a couple of days, and then, at the exact date and time the show was scheduled to start, through a spontaneous, beautiful collective gesture, the play began! We were in the basement of an apartment building in Mărăști Square, and the shelter was packed. And so, the show started! Just as long and delightfully quirky as it is in real life, but without any props or costumes. Something truly magical happened—we all shared a sort of absurd experience that none of us had asked for. Yet, the sheer absurdity of putting on a play right there made everything, paradoxically, make perfect sense!

When I first started thinking about the play I’m working on now, back in 2020, I hadn't had that dream yet. The war hadn't started. We were all preparing to emerge from the pandemic, hoping to learn something valuable from it. I was deeply inspired by how art was perceived during lockdown. I was fascinated by the distinction between essential and non-essential workers. I was captivated by the lovely artistic moments popping up in windows and across the internet all over the world. I thought to myself: what an exciting time for art! Maybe things will truly change. I thought a lot about the creative environment and how independent artists managed to stay strong during that time. Honestly, those are the exact same things I’m thinking about today!

For "Gliese 445," we started with a wonderful question for everyone on our artistic team: What if this were to be our very last theatre show? During our joint improvisations in Sfântu Gheorghe last summer, when the teams from the Andrei Mureșanu Theatre and Reactor met to get to know each other and create together, a beautiful answer filled the air. If this were our last show, we would love to experience care, trust, and absolute freedom!

It has been—and still is—one of those wonderfully smooth and joyful processes that we try to savor as much as possible, free from the usual pressure of a premiere. I think I’ve always dreamed of this! I worked for the first time with Mihai Păcurar, and what a joy to meet such a warm, attentive person who is fully present in the creative process and never hesitates to be vulnerable—a true artist who joins you wholeheartedly with all his knowledge and essence, wherever you are, on stage or behind the scenes. Another magical discovery has been the incredible actresses from Sfântu Gheorghe! Each of them brings such unique energy and an open heart to a theatrical language we were all exploring for the very first time, which isn't always the most intuitive or comfortable. They are a magnificent troupe, and I am so happy to have met them—I would recommend them to anyone! And let's not forget the wonderful crew behind the scenes in both theaters. You probably know the classic story of independent theatre, where the people on stage are often the same ones working hard behind it! If you don't, you'll get a fun, subtle little hint during the show.

First, we worked in Sfântu Gheorghe, and then we came to Cluj to build (more or less) the same magic at Reactor. I actually moved away from Cluj a few months ago, so returning to the city I called home for 12 years was incredibly powerful. It brought a beautiful mix of emotions: anxiety, joy, nostalgia, sadness, and a massive zest for life! I was absolutely delighted to work at Reactor again with people I met ages ago, friends I've worked with constantly over the last 9 years, or partners I've shared the stage with just once, whether months or years ago. Every single person here is essential to me, and I’d probably need two or three more blog posts just to tell you all about them. I am so glad we know each other, and so happy we don’t take things for granted. We really try to work with care and find joy in doing this together!

On March 8th, I’m heading back to Sfântu Gheorghe for our final run-throughs there, and then I'm coming to see the third performance live in Cluj! This journey between the two places is something that deeply fascinates me. The way we project our hopes and desires across the distances between us. What we see—and what we would love to see—in that space. What we hear, and with what intensity. Beyond the play itself, which physically unfolds in two different places, there is a lovely space for reflecting on our collective hopes and longings. It’s like a playful archaeological dig where we discover all kinds of... treasures! Real objects and imaginary ones. Just like when we were kids, trying to dig a hole to the other side of the world, finding last year's plastic toys, water, fossils, and, of course, that little worry of whether we'd finish our grand excavation before lunchtime!

When people ask me what the play is about, I happily tell them it's about the end of the world! Those who know me well laugh and say, "Again?" I laugh along, we share a few jokes, and then I dive right back into rehearsals. It is truly touching for all of us to step back from our busy lives and reflect on the fact that we are making theatre while the world, at least for now, has gone a bit wild again. But hey, it's happened before! We look back at moments in history. We gaze at the tiniest details and the most distant stars, just like in quantum physics. We draw amusing, intellectual parallels and metaphors. We like to say theatre is a bit like Schrödinger's cat experiment. We just hope it all resonates beautifully!

I've explored the theme of "the end of the world" in my recent shows, playing with the length of moments, with silence, and with sound, because the world around us is so full of vibrant extremes. My warmest wish is for the audience of shows like "Habituare" or "Gliese 445" to feel deeply moved, to laugh, to feel inspired, and to prioritize a sensory or emotional experience over the idea that we must have all the answers to the world's problems. Personally, I haven't felt like I have them for a while. During rehearsals for "Gliese 445," we often asked ourselves what kind of theatre this is, or if it's even theatre at all. I honestly can't say! We have precisely planned moments, a script that remains the same every time but doesn't follow a traditional plot, and scenes that will be different every single night—though we don't necessarily want to call them "improvisations." Who knows, maybe the absolute best performance has already happened during a rehearsal! And that is the beauty of it. We are so excited to see how the energy in the room will transform us the moment the audience walks in for the first time. That's the enduring magic of theatre—we didn't invent it, but we love it!

In the end, I'm still left with that wonderful question: What if it were for the very last time? Because theatre is beautiful in the way it is always the same, yet always happening for both the first and the last time, all at once! So it feels only right to ask ourselves this, and perhaps, somewhere in the multiverse, it will mean the world to at least one person. Or to some entity whose existence we can't even fathom. May it bring something wonderful to our future—whether that future is tomorrow, or 40,000 years from now!