Talya Rubin, a guest at the festival Showcase, is the co-artistic director of the company “Too Close to the Sun”, Australia. She shares her impressions of the performances “Triptych” and “Cries from the Underground” with Maria Ibrishimova.
Talya, are you for the first time at the festival?
Yes, it’s my first time at the Varna Summer International Theater Festival. A few years ago, I met the festival’s director, Nikolay Yordanov, during an international event in Athens. Back then, he invited me to visit the festival and get to know its programme. The idea intrigued me a lot, but coming from Western Australia, making this trip happen was no easy task. It took me nearly two years to find the opportunity to come, so I am absolutely thrilled to finally be here.
For me, visiting festivals in different parts of the world is always valuable because it allows me to experience new artistic aesthetics, different creative approaches, and fresh perspectives on contemporary performing arts. This very diversity is exactly what draws me in the most – the chance to discover something unexpected and to see how artists in a different cultural environments think about theatre and performance.
What are your impressions of the performances from the Showcase programme so far?
I’ve just watched Triptych and among the three parts, the first one INFINITY left the strongest impression on me. In it, I found a unique power precisely in the rejection of complete synchronicity. The bodies of the four male dancers seemed to be in a constant dialogue with one another, reacting to each other without submitting to a mechanical unity. This created the sensation of a living organism, where every action sparks the next, and every movement triggers a reaction.
The dancers possessed an exceptional stage presence and impressive physical prowess, but the most interesting part was that this strength was directed toward something delicate and soft. It was this exact combination of physical energy and fragility that made the choreography so impactful. I particularly liked the use of diagonals and the way the bodies conquered the space. There were moments that quite literally took my breath away.
The choreography surprised me continuously. Instead of the expected progression of movement, an unexpected twist would follow, creating a sense of constant unpredictability. It was this quality that made the first part so captivating for me. The costumes also worked beautifully – there was something primal, almost earthly about them, which complemented the atmosphere of the performance.
If I were to offer any criticism, it would be regarding the music. At times, I felt it dictated the movement a bit too forcefully. Of course, music is a fundamental element in dance, but when it begins to define the stage action too rigidly, it raises questions for me. I felt similarly about the large hanging set piece – it was beautiful as a presence, but since it didn’t undergo any development or transformation throughout the show, it remained somewhat decorative.
The lighting design, however, was exceptional. The way the light continuously shifted the perception of the bodies and the space was impressive. The moments when the performers sank into shadow and reappeared only as fragmented images were particularly beautiful.
The second part, focused on the women, affected me in a different way. Although it connected with me less personally than the first and third parts, I was still deeply impressed by the dancers’ precision, beauty and stage presence. There was an extraordinary level of control and synchronization, and this created a completely different kind of energy. Objectively speaking, the performers were magnificent – precise, elegant, and technically flawless. The choreography was well-constructed, and the stage imagery was beautiful and complete.
And yet, I missed that sense of risk, surprise, and mystery that I found in the first part. The movements felt more predictable, and the logic behind their progression was more recognisable. The synchronisation among the performers was impressive and demanded immense precision, but for me, it generated a different kind of energy – one that was more controlled and less provocative. Together with the flowing costumes and the soft plasticity of the movements, it built an exceptionally beautiful stage world, but one that rarely surprised me.
The third part, PART OF…, caught my attention again with a different approach. The transition to a more abstract soundscape was particularly interesting. I instinctively felt that this type of sound worked much more powerfully with the choreography. One of the most memorable images was that of the two men in the circle of light, holding onto each other. There was a unique simplicity to that scene, combined with a profound emotional impact.
Performances like these always remind us that perceiving dance is also a matter of trusting your own intuition. It’s not about whether there is a single “correct” reading of what is happening on stage, but about your willingness to listen to what the images, movements, and sounds stir inside you. It is precisely in this space between the stage and personal experience that the true power of contemporary dance is born.
And you managed to watch also ‘Cries from the Underground’.
It was striking just how different the performances in the festival program are. That in itself is incredibly fascinating.
I must admit, when Cries from the Underground began, I was slightly apprehensive. Before me was an adaptation of Dostoevsky – a literary text, one actor, one chair, one spotlight, and subtitles I had to read. I thought to myself that this might turn out to be a challenging experience. Turning a literary text into theatre is always a serious challenge, and Dostoevsky is such a brilliant author that his words alone carry immense power. His understanding of human nature and psychology is incredibly deep.
Right from the start, however, I sensed something very impressive. I don’t know the actor and had no preconceived notions about him, but I immediately noticed how powerful his connection with the audience was. It was obvious that the spectators were completely with him and trusted him. This alone was spectacular, and as the performance unfolded, he gradually managed to draw me in as well.
At times, I felt a bit torn because I had to read the subtitles when I actually just wanted to watch the performer. He was utterly captivating. The way he embodied the character was so rich, precise, and physically intense that it kept commanding my attention.
I was especially impressed by how much was achieved with so few means. One chair, one light and an unplugged microphone – an object that initially seemed almost useless, but gradually transformed into many different things on stage. That transformation was one of the moments that impressed me the most. The actor’s physical presence was so strong that it managed to create an entire world right before our eyes. In a way, this felt very close to the very essence of theatre.
Of course, Dostoevsky’s text is brilliant, but what impressed me the most was how it became something alive and profound. All those complex psychological observations didn’t just remain locked in words; they came alive through the performer’s body and presence.
The most interesting thing for me was that I gradually began to feel sympathy for a character who is actually deeply unpleasant and even repulsive. At one point, you find yourself simultaneously drawn to him and horrified by him. It is precisely in this duality that I find the great humanity of the work. That is where the power of the performance lies.