Theatre critic Veneta Doytcheva on“Illusions” by Ivan Viripaev, directed by Galin Stoev, SPUNK Company (Toulouse/Paris, France), part of the festival’s international selection.

I think this production of “Illusions” is an exceptionally beautiful and significant theatre event. I wouldn’t say I’m surprised, because it was anticipated with entirely justified hopes. Here we draw both on what we know from the work of director Galin Stoev and on the specific nature of Ivan Viripaev’s playwriting. But regardless of the high expectations, it is always exciting when a performance not only meets them but exceeds them. In this case, we witnessed exceptionally good theatre—exciting, infectious, contemporary, and profound. In a word, I would say that this is one of the faces of contemporary theatre in its most powerful manifestation. From a dramaturgical and staging perspective, the production is minimalist. In a sense, it returns to the fundamental and profound foundations of theatre—to the actor as the heart and soul of the performing arts, as its primary and absolute means of expression. At the same time, it turns to theatre as a testimony to human life, to human destiny, and to the most essential questions of existence. That is why the production is both a reflection of contemporary theatre and a confirmation that there are eternal, timeless theatrical values that will always remain vital and relevant—strong text material and a vivid vision for its stage realisation.

I would like to say a few words about Ivan Viripaev’s intriguing approach. The author tackles the big, eternal questions with a seemingly light, almost dismissive attitude. But as he unfolds the various versions and possible answers, he gradually convinces us that there are neither easy nor definitive solutions to these questions. The answers are always complex, ambiguous, and—in a certain sense, quite in the spirit of the title—illusory. We can never be completely sure that we have found the definitive answers to the great human questions. This does not mean, however, that we should not constantly ask them and seek meaning through them. The most beautiful thing about this play is that it begins as a seemingly familiar story of taking stock at the end of life. Two elderly married couples, having traveled a long life’s journey, share their most important thoughts with one another in their final days. Among them, the theme of love inevitably stands out—as a feeling, as a force, and as a connection between people. From here on, the play begins to unfold numerous versions of the question of what love actually is. Is it a feeling? Is it a force? Is it meaning? And gradually it becomes clear that people do not possess definitive answers. But that doesn’t mean they don’t feel the immense significance of this force. The characters are elderly—in their eighties and nineties. They are neither naive nor inexperienced. On the contrary—they have lived long lives and experienced much. And yet they realize they know far too little. Even the last surviving character, who outlives the others by ten years, continues to learn something new about these very same themes—love, the meaning and significance of life.

The other major question that Viripaev raises goes beyond love. It is the question of the very foundation of life. I wouldn’t simply call it “meaning.” At the end of the play, it is described as a constant yet simultaneously unattainable presence in the world and the cosmos—a force before which all of us, both the dead and the living, remain to some extent helpless. What is this fundamental basis of the world and life? This is the big question around which the text revolves.

If this is the dramatic material, its impact on the audience would not be the same without Galin Stoev’s directing and without the work of the acting ensemble. On stage, we see young actors playing the roles of characters in their twilight years. This choice is exceptionally provocative and, at the same time, entirely effective, because it lays bare the essence of what is happening and frees us from external details and mundane characteristics.

The decision to distribute the various parts of the stories among different performers is particularly effective. There is no strictly fixed connection between a single actor and a single character. The narratives, memories, and confessions pass from one actor to another. This creates a sense of universality. We believe that the stories belong to specific people, yet at the same time we recognise in them something universally human and close to each of us. This flexibility and adaptability of the actors’ presence is in perfect harmony with the dramatic material. Moreover, it transforms the performance into an open dialogue with the audience. Each actor speaks simultaneously on behalf of the character and from the perspective of a contemporary young person who bears witness to what the playwright has written and inevitably filters it through their own sensibility. The play treads the line of delicate dark humour. The audience reacts with smiles and laughter where appropriate, without in any way diminishing the seriousness of the issues raised. On the contrary—the humour makes the conversation even more human and accessible.

That is precisely why I would describe “Illusions” as one of the beautiful faces of contemporary theatre. The production demonstrates how conversations about the most serious topics can be conducted in a communicative, artistic, and lively manner—without unnecessary pretentiousness and without putting the audience to the test to see if they can “decode” complex messages. 

This is undoubtedly an achievement of the director, the actors, and the entire creative team. And the audience’s reaction made it clear that they were grateful for the beautiful and meaningful theatrical experience.