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.
Pan, directed by Olga Zeceva & Alek Ćurčić and staged by Teatro Plus, Gijón, (Spain). Photo credit: Jovana Berar
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).
Bloop, directed by Peter Kus, Filip Šebšajevič & Gašper Lovrec and staged by Kuskus Institute and Art Production, Ljubljana (Slovenia). Author & Composer: Peter Kus. Photo credit: Jovana Berar
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.
In The Ceiling The Stars Are Shining, directed by Damjan Kecojević and staged by Little Theatre Duško Radović, Belgrade (Serbia). Photo credit: Jovana Berar
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 Pilot and the Little Prince, directed by Jakub Maksymov and staged by the Puppet Theatre Ostrava from the Czech Republic. Photo credit: Jovana Berar
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.
The Adventures Of Little Juju, directed by Renata Carola Gatica and staged by City Puppet Theatre Rijeka, Croatia. Authors: Ivana Đula & Milica Sinkauz. Photo credit: Jovana Berar
And like many others, I am afraid of my inner child — of what it might draw, what it might say, what it might write right now. I fear the snake and the elephant just as much as Juju fears the crocodile in the play The Adventures of Little Juju, staged by the City Puppet Theater Rijeka (Croatia) and directed by Renata Carola Gatica. Juju is no taller than a thumb, yet he knows the animals and speaks all of their languages. When the actor on stage says, “You know the story, but your mom and dad didn’t tell you everything…”, a chorus of children erupts from the audience: “They did!” In their tone, I recognise a note of something more — a resonance that says: adults, and parents above all, are going to ruin us. Crocodile tears fall for those who have forgotten how to play. The fear of the crocodile, the snake, the elephant — the fear of the authentic Self we abandoned in childhood, of buried ideas and forgotten solutions, of the freedom to speak, of a theatre that strips away not only the darkness of the world, but also reveals its boundless beauty — all of this is held in a single drawing that looks, at first glance, like a hat… but is actually a snake that has swallowed an elephant.
Don’t Wait For Me…, directed by Vera Rozanova and staged by Teatre “La Neige sur les cils”, Nantes (France). Photo credit: Jovana Berar
One cannot hide in the darkness of the theatre. Everything suppressed—emotions, memories, fears, truths—inevitably surfaces. The rebellion silenced above the stage, and the audience eventually spills into the streets. The little children who now attend theatre will grow into teenagers who know exactly what they are looking for in art and theatre; into students who, without hesitation, stand behind their truth; into adults who no longer accept bad acting, cheap illusions, or deception wrapped in stage lights—they refuse hollow lives.
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.
The winner of Grand prix for the overall best performance at Novi Sad Theatre Festival 2025: Macbeth Muet, created by Marie-Hélène Bélanger & Jon Lachlan Stewartand staged by La Fille Du Laitier, Montréal, Québec (Canada). Cast: Marie-Hélène Bélanger & Jérémie Francoeur
This post was written by the author in their personal capacity.The opinions expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not reflect the view of The Theatre Times, their staff or collaborators.
This post was written by Emilija Kvočka.
The views expressed here belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect our views and opinions.
