Publications

Original article on Koha.net

“No Carmen!” is a deconstruction of music and an exploration of what themes would occupy this Carmen and who Carmen would actually be. (Photo: Borut Bučinel)

By: Besartë Elshani

The Slovenian production, which reimagines the iconic figure of Carmen through a contemporary lens by shifting her from the traditional framework of opera into an experimental, physical, and political theatrical universe, has brought a unique approach to the Slovene Youth Theatre, with direction entrusted to Zana Hoxha. The music was composed by Liburn Jupolli.

“No Carmen!” appears as a unique theatrical version of Carmen, the famous opera by Georges Bizet. Written by Slovenian playwright Urška Brodar, the production takes an unconventional directorial approach in which scenes are illustrated primarily through the actors’ actions. It premiered on Thursday evening at the Slovene Youth Theatre.

The production addresses political and social themes through Carmen’s iconic character and is also intended to be staged in Prishtina, although circumstances have hindered this possibility.

This Slovenian production serves as a contemporary reinterpretation of Carmen, moving her from opera’s traditional conventions into an experimental, physical, and political theatrical world. Music plays a central role. Alongside ten actors, pianist Jozhe Šalej is also part of the cast. The score was composed by Liburn Jupolli.

“This performance is a contemporary reinterpretation of the opera Carmen and of the novel by Prosper Mérimée. It is a deconstruction of music and an exploration of what themes would occupy this Carmen and who Carmen would be,” director Zana Hoxha said in an interview.

The cast includes actors Lina Akif, Dasha Doberšek, Natasha Keser, Boris Kos, Klemen Kovačič, Anja Novak, Maruša Oblak, Ivan Peternelj, Blaž Šef, and Stane Tomazin. Choreography was created by Lada Petrovski Ternovšek, while scenography was designed by Dunja Zupančič.

According to the director, the creative process strongly relied on co-creation with the theatre ensemble.

“For me, it was important to develop a collaborative process and create together with the entire artistic team. Considering my experience, knowledge, and skills, I witnessed extraordinary organization within the theatre. The way they supported this project—with every possible resource, through the actors’ abilities and the contributions of collaborators in music, choreography, and scenography—was remarkable. It was a major undertaking and a production in which a great deal was invested. I believe we achieved a successful premiere,” Hoxha said.

One of the production’s most distinctive features is its stage form, since most of the performance unfolds without dialogue.

“Only twenty percent includes text, meaning eighty percent of the performance is without text, which is something new. It is a wordless performance,” she explained.

Hoxha described it as one of the most challenging processes of her career, emphasizing the professionalism and dedication of the Slovenian ensemble.

“It was one of the most challenging processes because this ensemble is known as one of the most professional. They are also deeply engaged in addressing sensitive political themes—not only in Slovenia but also in the region and beyond. Working with ten actors and one pianist required stamina, dedication, and passion for the project. I’m happy they took something from my way of working, and I equally gained something from these artists,” she said.

“No Carmen!” dismantles the familiar image of Carmen as a female archetype in opera. Trapped within one of Western culture’s most famous myths, Carmen in this performance tears herself away from the role written for her. Positioned between opera, performance, rehearsals, fantasy, violence, desire, and spectacle, the production challenges the way women continue to be reduced to myths, fantasies, or sacrifices.

This project marks Hoxha’s first collaboration with the Slovene Youth Theatre, and she emphasized that she is the first Albanian director to work in a state theatre institution in Slovenia.

Hoxha explained that the production addresses powerful social and political issues:

“The reviews have generally been very positive because this is considered a very special and unprecedented performance in the form I brought it. Usually performances begin and develop in a way that allows you to understand the story, but throughout our entire performance we never truly understand who Carmen is or what Carmen is, because we search for her through different contexts and themes—misogyny, chauvinism, femicide, workplace discrimination, violence, and the manosphere,” she said.

The production demythologizes Carmen by dressing her in the realities of today.

“All these themes are interconnected, and at the end of the performance we revisit the opera and the novel’s entire storyline and make it clear that we have been deconstructing and recreating what a woman today would be like, who that person would be. Would they have a specific gender? A specific age? And how would they behave in today’s context?”

The director also revealed plans to bring “No Carmen!” to Kosovo. However, this depends on the technical conditions of the National Theatre of Kosovo, which since July 2022 has operated in temporary facilities following the closure of its original building for renovations.

“Considering the stage requirements and technical demands of the performance, it is impossible to present it on the current improvised stage. We discussed bringing it next year, hoping that plans for reopening the National Theatre building will be completed by the end of the year as announced by the Ministry of Culture. I hope we’ll be able to bring it next year,” Hoxha said.

The Slovene Youth Theatre was founded in Ljubljana in 1955 as Slovenia’s first professional theatre for children and young people. Throughout its history, it has collaborated with theatre reformers who shaped Slovenian theatre during the second half of the twentieth century.

Gjilan City Theater, premiere 5 February 

“Maybe I’m not a good novelist, but I am a good liar,” admits Aida (Semira Latifi), the protagonist of Kabare 1999, adapted and updated from the classic1966 Kander and Ebb musical by Zana Hoxha. It’s a line that reflects that feeling of not really being in control of where your life is going, but still trying to make it all sound like it makes sense, even if that means bending the truth a little, trying to convince others, and maybe even yourself. 

You can feel the weight of those lies in a city like Prishtina, which the characters describe as a place where “everything can happen.” Yet the way this is said does not sound hopeful or exciting. It sounds restrained, almost a little strange, more like a warning delivered with a frozen, uncertain smile. This makes sense given when the play is set, in 1999, shortly after the war, a moment that still feels fragile, unresolved, and deeply present throughout the performance.

Though Hoxha’s adaptation follows the story of the original musical – itself an adaptation of John Van Druten’s play I Am a Camera, based on the semi-autobiographical novels by Christopher Isherwood – relatively closely and the show contains echoes of the famous Bob Fosse choreography, it never feels like something imported from somewhere else. Set in1930s Germany, the musical captured a society in which war was imminent. Hoxha’s version fits just as naturally into its post-war setting, as if it belongs to a reality where the aftermath of the war is still present, like something that hasn’t fully passed. The shift of central character to Aida, instead of the original’s Isherwood stand-in, also changes something in how you move through the story. While it’s clearly based on Cabaret, it never feels like a copy.

Nor does Hoxha ease the audience in. The show starts loudly with the iconic opening song Willkommen with some Albanian added to the multilingual mix. This is performed by Kushtrim Qerimi as the MC, his face caked in white makeup. The bodies of the dance troupe, especially those of the women, give the sense that they are there to be in service of the gaze, to be consumed, almost to the limits of discomfort. The performance puts you in a double position: you are laughing because the songs and dances are comic, but you are not fully comfortable with that. This has the effect of making you feel all the more intrigued, wanting to understand what will happen next, or simply where all of this is leading.

Kabare 1999 tells the story of Aida, a young writer from Skopje, who arrives in Prishtina and meets a man (Gezim Bucolli) at the bus station who helps her find an apartment and later a job at Klub Europa (the show’s version of the Kit Kat Club). From that moment on, things begin to unfold in a way that can be read as her “bad luck,” not through one clear turning point, but through a gradual accumulation of small situations that slowly start to define her experience.

We are also presented with the story of landlady Afërdita (Aurita Gashi), a widow who slowly finds herself moving back toward love, but in a way that feels slightly off, almost playful and absurd, where small everyday moments turn into something bigger than they should be. A pineapple becomes a proposal, and that same thread eventually leads to a wedding staged inside the cabaret, where the husband, Agimi (Ali Demi), dies. Dudija (Safete Mustafa Baftiu) brings a different kind of disruption into the home, as her nightly visitors create a tension. And then there is the older woman played by (Mejreme Berisha), who keeps coming back, always in search of her son, Fatbardhi, who was taken from her during the war. Her presence feels almost repetitive, but not in a way that becomes tiring. It feels necessary. As if the play refuses to let that absence disappear into the background. While other scenes move, shift, or even lean into humour or absurdity, she remains fixed, unable to move forward. Her search does not develop, nor does it resolve, and that is exactly the point. It interrupts the rhythm of the cabaret and reminds us that for some, the war is not something that ended, but something that continues in a different form.

Kabare 1999

The way in which the men in the play function is particularly noticeable. They are present, but rarely the main focus. They move through the scenes more as interruptions, as obstacles, or as passing forces that influence the situations of the women without fully belonging to the emotional core of the story. The man at the bus station appears briefly in Aida’s story, then disappears into the background. Others appear through Dudija’s encounters or within Afërdita’s storyline, but they do not carry the same depth or continuity. Instead, they come across more as figures that set things in motion or interrupt them, but never really stay.

In contrast, the women are the ones you keep coming back to. Their stories overlap and keep returning in different ways. That’s where the emotional weight of the play really sits. It doesn’t feel random. Kabare 1999 isn’t just about post-war reality in general, but about how it impacts the lives of these women.

The scenography, by Bekim Korça, is designed in a way that made the audience feel like part of it, like guests at Klub Europa. We were seated at small tables which were draped in red and placed around the stage in typical cabaret fashion, each with a candle in the middle and a box of matches. At one point, when the electricity went out during the performance, we were asked to light the candles ourselves. It was a simple but powerful detail, reflecting something every citizen here has experienced, especially in the post-war period. I especially appreciated how they included a moment that felt familiar to many of us. When the lights went out, the theatre turned into a space for sharing stories about the war, each from a different perspective. At one point, one of the actors, sitting among the audience, began to speak about how afraid he once was to say the words “Kosova Republikë.” It showed just how delicate and difficult that time was, when even expressing a simple thought could feel unsafe.

The play keeps moving from one moment to another, letting different stories exist next to each other without trying to force them into one direction. Some scenes stay with you without fully explaining themselves, and you find yourself thinking about them after they’ve already passed. Klub Europa becomes the place everything returns to, not to explain anything, but to hold these lives for a while. It feels like a space where things happen, linger for a moment, and then slip away again. What stays with you is that sense of continuation, that these lives extend beyond the stage, even as the play itself begins to gather them into a single, shared moment.

Kabare 1999 offers a sense of closure, though not by neatly finishing its storylines. Instead, it allows these different stories to settle, where the past is neither erased nor fully processed, but simply acknowledged.

Credits:

Adaptor and director: Zana Hoxha//Scenography Bekim Korça

Producers: Gjilan Theater and Artpolis.

Write: Fatlinda Daku

Kabare 1999

Scene from the play “Cabaret 1999,” directed by Zana Hoxha, premiered at the Gjilan City Theater on February 5, 2026 (Photo: Rilind Beqa)
By: Berat Bajrami

https://www.koha.net/shtojca-kulture/kabare-1999-liria-si-feste-e-deshperuar-plage-e-kenge-qe-smbaron

Director Zana Hoxha, drawing on Cabaret by Joe Masteroff, relocates the story from 1930s Berlin to Prishtina in 1999—a city freshly emerging from war, charged with the adrenaline of newfound freedom, haunted by the lingering smell of burned homes, the absence of people, and the rise of a “survival of the strongest” economy. Cabaret 1999 becomes a portrait of post-war Kosovo realism still searching for how to learn to live.

“Willkommen, bienvenue, mirë se vini…” (“Welcome, bienvenue, welcome…”) is the call that opens the world of Cabaret 1999—a call that sounds like a promise of celebration, but as the performance unfolds, increasingly transforms into a bitter irony. On the evening of February 5, 2026, at the Gjilan City Theater, this cabaret appeared as a space divided between two worlds: between the desire to live and the trade of wounds; between newly gained freedom and the fear of a system that devours anyone who dares to live freely.

Director Zana Hoxha, based on Cabaret by Joe Masteroff, relocates the story from 1930s Berlin to Prishtina in 1999—a city newly emerging from war, filled with the adrenaline of newfound freedom, haunted by the lingering scent of burned homes, the absence of people, and the flourishing trade of the “strongest.”

“Klub Europa” is the bubble of “happiness” — a world of carefree living and “complete” freedom beneath dazzling lights and the magic of endless music. A place where life is pleasure and full of color.

Post-war life in search of learning how to live

Zana Hoxha’s directorial choices bring to life characters who may seem ordinary at first glance, yet each complements the other; each carries their own weight, story, struggle, and way of understanding life. Every character is simultaneously layered and complex. It is a realism of post-war Kosovo still searching for how to learn to live.

The characters suppress the bleakness of post-war daily life and survive through love, sex, and pleasure in a Prishtina that embraces the individuality of those who dare, despite being deeply scarred by the struggle for survival.

Cabaret 1999 breaks the fourth wall. The audience is not merely a witness to events—it becomes part of them through laughter and dancing. The characters blend into the audience, sitting among them and sharing moments together. These moments flow naturally, creating scenes that make you lose your sense of time. The performance unfolds organically and without force—from the actors, dancers, and musicians to the costumes and scenography.

“Cabaret 1999” brings us post-war Kosovo not as frozen heroism, but as a living, chaotic reality that still refuses to surrender completely. (Photo: Rilind Beqa)

A moment that advances local theatre

University professor and director Fadil Hysaj says this is true theatre and that Cabaret 1999 elevates and advances Kosovar theatre.

“Great performances do not have a single moment; they flow scene by scene. You feel comfortable in a positive cultural sense, but at the same time you see that the actors, from the very beginning, remain entirely part of one concept—in this case, the one Zana had created—and every artist present there, from the dancers, the composer, to the actors, each one is free. There is a magical flow and there is space to express what one feels and to say it in the best possible way. The performance has breath. None of the actors want to say: ‘I will show what I can do.’ Instead, they perform within a concept. This is a moment that advances our theatre,” Hysaj said after the premiere of the performance. “This is true theatre when the chorus dances, the chorus sings, creates character, expresses thought, but at the same time all of it together becomes part of one concept, and that concept is absorbed by the audience, accepted emotionally by the end of the performance, and returned to the artists through applause, making them not forget such an event.”

“They forget the burned houses. The missing people…”

At the center of the performance is Aida, who sees the city through the eyes of someone who wants to believe, to live freedom, and to dream. She tries to maintain aesthetic distance, but that distance is broken by poverty, the need for work, her attraction to Soni, her confrontation with Claudio, the threat of the MC, and her cooperation with Ernest. She says: “I like this city. It is vulgar. It is chaotic. It is noisy. And everyone acts as if, with the arrival of freedom, all problems have disappeared.”

In this sentence there is both admiration and anxiety. Because immediately after comes memory: “But they forget. They forget the burned houses. The missing people. The destroyed families.”

This is the true drama of the performance. Not the war itself – but what happens after it. The moment when people want to live, to sing, to love, to earn money, to build a normal life, while part of them is still searching for the dead.

At the core of the play’s moral dimension stands Shyretja, the mother searching for her missing son, Fatbardh. She is not only a tragic figure; she is an ontological one. “When he disappeared, his name became irony: fate was no longer bright, but unclear, cut in half. Severed by war.”

However, Shyretja did not accept disappearance as an ending; she continued searching for information. And this story begins there: with her decision not to close the search—“because some stories exist to prove that the end has not yet been determined.”

Freedom is not forgetting

In this act of unending search, the performance finds one of its deepest meanings of freedom. Freedom is not only to live. Freedom is to remember. It is to refuse false closure.

But in contrast to this stands another world—the world of the cabaret, which is more than just a venue. It is a system. A rhythm. A way of forgetting. The MC defines this philosophy with brutality when he sings: “Money makes the world go round.” And suddenly, everything becomes a commodity—love, the body, dreams, hope. Russian, Japanese, French, American women are sold… and then Kosovar women, “young and untouched.”

“People have not only disappeared because of bullets. They have also disappeared through deals. […] Through information. Through false hope. Someone has traded in the fate of the missing. Silence.” These words by Soni, addressed to Ernest, are an open accusation. Ernest (and the MC) become the personification of primitive post-war capitalism—traders of pain who buy and sell silence, hope, and time.

In this world, freedom is no longer a given. It becomes something that must be negotiated every day. This is clearly shown in the confrontation between Aida and the MC, when he calmly says: “Here, you only have comfort when someone allows it.”

And then, like an unwritten law of the new reality: “A human being? Here, you only become one… when they allow it.”

This is precisely where the performance raises its questions: what value does freedom have if dignity depends on someone else’s permission? And what does it mean to remain human in a place where everything can be bought?

But Cabaret 1999 is not only chaos. Within it there is also a strong desire to live. It appears in small, unexpected, sometimes fragile ways, but with humor and full of love. In the late love between Afërdita and Agim, which seems almost naive, yet is a silent act of resistance against loneliness. In Dudije’s complicated relationship with foreign soldiers, where survival and gratitude merge into a morally ambiguous zone. In Aida herself, who continues to write even when she realizes that her story is no longer only about the missing, but also about those who benefit from their absence. These are not heroic stories. They are attempts to live. To love. Not to disappear.

The characters suppress the gloom of post-war everyday life and live between love, sex, and pleasure in a Prishtina that embraces the individuality of those who dare, even though they are severely affected by the struggle for survival (Photo: Rilind Beqa).

A life that does not surrender completely

For actress Semira Latifi, who plays Aida, the cabaret format has made the process of building the character easier, and she believes the performance will have longevity.

“I can say that this (the cabaret format) has helped us a lot; it has made it much easier to build a character, and it has enriched the character a great deal, both my character and all the other characters who share scenes and stories together. It is a good form of acting where each actor can show their talent in the best possible way in front of the audience, and tonight the audience received it very well, the reactions were very positive, and I think it is a project that will have a long life and a very strong audience within itself,” she said.

A life that does not surrender completely

Actress Aurita Agushi has said that the adventure of this production has only just begun.

“I am extremely satisfied (with the audience’s reactions) because the actor on stage feels the energy of the audience. You can feel their breathing, you can feel their energy. I know that our adventure has only just begun and it will be very beautiful with everyone who comes to see this performance,” said Agushi, who plays the role of Mrs. Afërdita.

In the end, the performance offers no definitive answer. It does not close the wound. It does not save anyone completely. But it leaves us with a strong feeling: that life, even when chaotic and tainted, continues to seek happiness.

Cabaret 1999 presents post-war Kosovo not as frozen heroism, but as living, messy life that still refuses to surrender completely.

“Welcome to the cabaret. And don’t forget—the lights go out when we decide.”

https://www.koha.net/kulture/grate-e-trojes-edhe-me-rrefime-kosove-pas-italise-rikthehet-ne-serbi

“The Trojan Women,” directed by Zana Hoxha and Maja Mitić, was staged at the “Tempora Contempora” festival in Lecce, Italy.

By: Besartë Elshani

The performance, which evokes the verses of Euripides and intertwines them with modern stories touching on suffering in Gaza, Ukraine, Somalia, Congo, and Kosovo, recently made its next stop in Italy. “The Trojan Women,” created through a collaboration between teams from Kosovo and Serbia, is already familiar to audiences in Belgrade and will return there in November as a work that, through the language of theatre, condemns what is happening in a world trapped in endless wars.

Kosovo’s enduring pain and the wound that still lingers today through the suffering of around 20,000 women who were victims of wartime sexual violence is one of the themes explored in The Trojan Women. The production was recently staged at the “Tempora Contempora” festival in Lecce, Italy. The collaboration between ArtPolis and the Serbian theatre company DAH Theatre, from direction to cast, became one of the main impressions left on the Italian audience.

This theme and this communication, transcending political borders through the language of theatre, will return to the heart of Belgrade in November.

The production evokes the verses of Euripides and intertwines them with modern stories. From the Trojan War thousands of years ago, the narrative extends to present-day suffering in Gaza, Ukraine, Somalia, Congo, and Kosovo—forming an endless cycle of tragedy.

Adapted by Shpëtim Selmani and co-directed by Zana Hoxha and Maja Mitić, the play is based on the Greek tragedy of the same title by Euripides.

Actors Maja Mitić, Shpëtim Selmani, Semira Latifi, Branka Stojković, Qëndresa Kajtazi, Labinot Raci, and Aleksandar Stoimenovski brought the story to life in Italy as well.

The Tempora/Contempora festival is described as an exploration of broad horizons that gives voice and space, “above all, to a new generation of artists and performers still unknown to wider audiences and the media.”

Co-director Zana Hoxha, who is also director of ArtPolis, explained that the play was very warmly received and deeply moved audiences in Lecce.

“One of the things that impressed audiences most was the connection with contemporary stories—the fact that the play begins almost four thousand years ago. It was written about the women of Troy, about women enslaved after war. But then we also bring today’s stories of war and conflict—for example in Gaza, Kosovo, and Cuba, which we used, as well as Algeria after the war with France according to Sartre,” she said in an interview.

The performance was staged at the cultural center Manifatture Knos last Thursday during the festival’s sixth edition, held from August 31 to September 6.

According to Hoxha, the production uses dramaturgical language to condemn the current chaos in the world.

“We condemn through dramaturgy what is happening today—wars that do not stop, pain that continues—and in a way we draw a parallel with the present. Audiences were especially impressed by how both teams appeared to have worked together for a long time; the cohesion among the actors made them seem like a single ensemble,” she said.

She also shared details about one of the real-life stories used in the production:

“We used the true story of a woman from Podujeva who was interviewed in the early 2000s by Associated Press. She described living alone with her parents. Her father was in a wheelchair when paramilitary forces entered and assaulted her in front of her parents. Her father later died from grief after the war, while her mother threw herself into a well because she could not continue living with what had happened. The woman herself continued to live on. Her parents suffered the consequences in different ways, which ultimately resulted in their premature deaths.”

This role is performed by Semira Latifi, who also portrays Cassandra.

“She says: ‘This is Cassandra of today,’ and ‘these are the twenty thousand Cassandras of Kosovo after the war,’” Hoxha explained.

A unifying feature of the production is that the characters communicate with one another without necessarily understanding each other’s language.

“The mother and daughter communicate with one speaking Albanian and the other Serbian, yet they understand one another as though they know each other’s language. The Serbian actors do not know Albanian at all. Throughout the entire project they understand each other through the language of theatre,” Hoxha explained.

The premiere of the production took place last October at Dodona Theatre in Prishtina. It was later staged in Belgrade at the Center for Cultural Decontamination in late November, where over two consecutive nights it presented, among other themes, the consequences of crimes committed by Serbian forces in Kosovo.

“When the play was performed in Serbia, many audience members heard for the first time that twenty thousand women from all communities had been subjected to sexual violence in Kosovo,” Hoxha recalled.

Now The Trojan Women will return to the Serbian capital after a year. In November it will be staged at Reflektor Teatar, whose mission is to promote “experimental, political, and innovative theatre forms, with a particular focus on independent performing arts scenes in the region.”

Many artistic productions from Kosovo traveling to Serbian cities encounter nationalist reactions. Last year, no such incidents occurred for the ArtPolis team, and Hoxha said they do not expect them this year either.

“In Serbia, the political situation is very sensitive right now. Student protests have continued for nearly a year. The situation is somewhat unstable and we will monitor it carefully. If it becomes dangerous for the team, I will not send them. But this is a festival organized by Reflektor Teatar in Belgrade, in a space intended for more open-minded and democratic people—not nationalists,” she said.

She described such incidents as staged.

“I believe there are groups in Kosovo and Serbia that sometimes stage incidents to gain greater publicity for a performance. We have never staged incidents and will never need to.”

And The Trojan Women still has more places to reach. Switzerland is among its next ambitions, pending confirmation.

Media: Observerkult.com
Titulli i storjes: WHEN THE VICTIM BECOMES THE CULPABLE… A PHENOMENON THAT IS NOT ONLY FOUND IN VOJČEK, BUT ALSO IN OUR REALITY
Data: 24.02.2025
Linku: https://observerkult.com/kur-viktima-kthehet-ne-fajtor-nje-fenomen-qe-nuk-gjendet-vetem-te-vojceku-por-edhe-ne-realitetin-tone/?fbclid=IwY2xjawIvIOlleHRuA2FlbQIxMQABHUYQ134tHWydrKnlP2AML8yXktsl1dG0nX3xG_xwqDxdxJnRlJrPMPZbdA_aem__R-USuPrvAgoJdxm9PvXxA

“Vojcek,” the Man Between Fate and Freedom

By Sibel Halimi

Recently, the premiere of the play Vojcek was staged in Gjakova, directed by Zana Hoxha.

In this dramatic interpretation of human fate, the main character, Vojcek, emerges as a powerful reflection on human existence and the oppression imposed by circumstances, raising the fundamental question: Is a person free, or enslaved by fate and their past?

In Vojcek, the protagonist’s childhood is not explored directly, but the presence of a young boy on stage as the personification of his memory emphasizes the weight of the past in shaping his tragedy.

This scenic element creates a powerful link between memory and fate, deepening the understanding of the roots of Vojcek’s suffering.

Oppressed in his childhood, Vojcek reminds us of Friedrich Nietzsche’s saying, “He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he himself become a monster.”

His tragedy is not a random event, but an inevitable continuity, where he, driven by violence and injustice, destroys everything around him.

Vojcek is portrayed as a broken individual, oppressed by poverty and social injustice. He is unable to rise above his circumstances, suggesting that his life has been doomed from the start. From a psychological and philosophical perspective, his childhood can be seen as a period where he is taught submission and the lack of power to change his fate. The absence of a strong emotional foundation makes him vulnerable to exploitation, driving him towards destruction.

Thus, Vojcek’s childhood is not just a dark past but an inevitable beginning to the tragedy he lives. Through his eyes, we see an individual torn between instinct and morality, between reason and madness. His drama embodies existentialist ideas, where the person confronts the absurdity of life and the external limitations that shape their fate. He is not just a victim of misfortune, but a symbol of the inevitability of suffering that defines human existence.

The adaptation by Jack Thorne and the fantastic direction by Zana Hoxha bring this dilemma into a modern context, demonstrating that Vojcek’s challenges are not limited to a distant era but are universal.

In a society where the individual often feels insignificant against the larger social forces, Vojcek becomes a mirror of our reality, prompting us to reflect on the limits of our freedom and the weight of existence.

This performance is not just a tragic tale, but an invitation to reflect on humanity – on what destroys it and on the silent hope for a different reality.

At its core, Vojcek’s tragedy is the story of a man exploited in every way – economically, psychologically, morally, and emotionally. He is the victim of a society that uses him and discards him when he is no longer needed.

The greatest irony lies in the fact that after being destroyed by all these forms of oppression, society judges him as a monster. He is not seen as a man who has suffered, but as a criminal who must face the consequences. The victim becomes the culprit – a phenomenon that is not only found in Vojcek but also in our reality.

In a broader philosophical sense, Vojcek is not just an individual, but a symbol of all those oppressed by an unjust system. He is proof of how society can exploit a person to the point where they have nothing left to lose – and then judge them for their despair.

Is Vojcek a victim, or a reflection of the society that created him? This dilemma remains open, challenging us to reflect on collective responsibility toward oppressed individuals and on how society shapes their fate.

ObserverKult

Media: Koha.net
Titulli i storjes:“Vojcek” echoes the sound of the alienated man until his tragic end
Data: 23.02.2025
Linku: https://www.koha.net/shtojca-kulture/vojceku-le-jehonen-e-njeriut-te-tjetersuar-deri-ne-fund-tragjik?fbclid=IwY2xjawItdR9leHRuA2FlbQIxMQABHeGlTlD02y1J6kDXZNbJgkXHbdvWZQf5BGfRfVDOJhLWAC_Tels7fZjb4w_aem_7IhMPRNRvyz1V6_qLDss4A

The life of Vojcek is an endless humiliation. He is mocked, despised, and degraded by everyone. On the stage of the “Hadi Shehu” theater in Gjakova, Vojcek by Georg Büchner, directed by Zana Hoxha, is presented as a more modern version of the work, with a text adapted by English playwright Jack Thorne. There, madness, the effect of inhumane labor, alcoholism, and more coexist. The ending is tragic, and in reality, it is an alarm.

Performances of such scale aim for an effect that lasts with the audience. It attempts to achieve what theater has aimed for from its very beginning – catharsis. This is the role of Vojcek, one of the works of one of the greatest German playwrights, Georg Büchner. Under the direction of Zana Hoxha, this narrative, inspired by real events, has been staged in Gjakova, and according to the director, it resonates quite well with this city. The drama is a powerful and deeply emotional portrait of suffering and the destructive effect of injustices in society.

At the “Hadi Shehu” theater in Gjakova, Vojcek is presented as a more modern version of the play, with a text adapted by English playwright Jack Thorne. There, madness, the effect of inhumane labor, alcoholism, and more coexist.

A work that stands out as a cornerstone for German theater, the play centers on Franz Vojcek, a soldier who supplements his insufficient income by performing some of the most bizarre jobs. He even “poisons” himself by participating in human experiments.

As the curtains rise, the music starts playing with rock rhythms, performed by Kreshnik Koshi. The opening love scene reveals that one of the central themes is the main character’s love for his wife, Marian, played by actress Vlora Dervishi.

Vojcek, a role played by actor Bujar Ahmeti, quickly returns to his duties as a soldier and reveals his character as a loyal and unassuming man while talking to his closest and only friend. It is Andrew, played by actor Edi Kastrati, who is a completely opposite character to the protagonist. But his financial situation is also revealed. The struggles of the working class can be summarized as the theme of the entire drama. The story takes place in Germany.

Vojcek’s life is an endless humiliation. He is mocked, despised, and degraded by everyone, especially by his captain, played by Arbies Komoni. Parallels between the rich and the poor arise, especially when the captain’s wife, Megi, played by Aurita Agushi, visits Marian, who is tasked with distributing two thousand envelopes around the city. Above the house where they live, there is a slaughterhouse that emits a strong, unpleasant odor.

When Vojcek encounters a way to earn money, his severe financial situation is reflected in the fact that he doesn’t care at all about how it’s done or what the effects and consequences are. It is a medication test to see how the body reacts to them.

“A boy who lives under difficult conditions and loves his wife very much. He wants to change his life a little by undergoing a medical test that leads him to a different mental state,” said actor Bujar Ahmeti, who plays the role that gives the drama its title.

It has been said that in the performance, Vojcek’s kindness is exploited, and his naivety is taken advantage of.

“This is a dramatization, an adaptation of Büchner’s text where the author has made a change that highlights the character of an ordinary boy, who doesn’t have a good financial situation, who undergoes the test. The people around him completely manipulate his life, misuse his kindness, his naivety, and he gradually starts to fall into the positions written in the text, which we have executed with performance,” said actor Bujar Ahmeti.

The strict diet of the doctor, played by Altina Kusari, gradually drives him towards madness. He begins to have hallucinations. He sees himself as a child running away from his mother. The young Vojcek is played by Eden Kastrati.

Actress Aurita Agushi considers the theme of this performance to be extremely emotional.

“I have been very well received by my colleagues, they made me feel at home. The process has gone smoothly. This is certainly when you work hard. The theme is very difficult, very heavy, very emotional. There are many dramatic situations, even leading to tragedy. We say that before the premiere, we were like a time bomb, but in the end, the result you saw is the result of extraordinary work, primarily by Zana, then the actors, but also the entire team that is not seen on stage,” she expressed.

Due to his severe psychological condition, Vojçek is suddenly struck by a fear of death. He turns into a monster in relation to his wife. His temperament begins to show. He faces his past, which doesn’t seem so great. He was raised without parents. Meeting his childhood self only worsens his condition.

Actor Ahmeti stated that it was necessary to thoroughly research the material to understand the character’s state.

“It’s a bit challenging because we need to research, we need to know what kind of nervous crises, problems, and concerns he has. In collaboration with Zana, the whole team, with many suggestions and proposals, we have come to this result. I hope we did good work. I believe the audience in Gjakova will receive this show well, and I hope it will have a long life,” he said.

The protagonist receives his final blow from his closest friend, Andrew.

Actor Edi Kastrati, who plays this role, said that this character reflects the behavior of the people around us and how they influence our lives.

“Andrew is one of the characters, a close friend and the only one of Vojçek, with whom we clearly saw what happened to him, how he ruined him and how he made his life miserable. A very good character who shows us very clearly that we must be very careful with the people around us, especially in these circumstances we are living in. The circle is the only concern of people. The circle pushes us to do things, conspires against us, and arranges bad situations for us. I think we’ve managed to realize what the author wanted to say with Andrew,” he said.

The play “Vojçek” lasts two hours, and it’s not easy to keep the rhythm and avoid monotony. Kastrati considered the work process both exhausting and satisfying.

“Now we are completely relieved from an emotion, as we had many emotions, to be honest. It was an exhausting show for us, but very satisfying, especially when we see that it has been successful with the audience. We are very pleased with the result,” he said after the show.

Actor Bujar Ahmeti considers it a great job by the entire team of the play.

“We are very pleased. It was an intensive job, for me it’s a great pleasure to work in the Gjakova Theater, it’s my city, and for the second time, I’m working with Zana. I’m very happy, I believe we have brought a very good show to life,” he said.

In the play, the love between the characters is fake. Betrayal is shown both openly and subtly. A strange and intriguing element is the black plastic material that extends across part of the stage. Its role is only revealed at the end when Maria wraps herself in it as a sign of protection from Vojçek, but suffocates from it. He also kills himself with the same material.

The director of the play, Zana Hoxha, said that all these events are also a result of the traumas the protagonist has gone through.

“The play is about an unfortunate person, Vojçek, who went through traumas during his childhood, which are highlighted and magnified even more when he becomes part of a medical experiment, due to the difficult conditions that push him toward this experiment. He loses the most precious thing in his life – his wife – who ends up being killed by him, and he kills himself. A tragic end, but I think there can’t be a happy ending after this,” she said.

She revealed that rehearsals started on January 15 and that there were a total of 24 rehearsal days for the two-hour show.

“There was maximum engagement from the whole team, and I’m very happy with the result because this theater is the only one of its kind in Kosovo with these infrastructural dimensions. I know that the audience tonight was moved, I was moved as well, and we’ve managed to bring out the best we could. My concept has been realized, and what I wanted with this play has been achieved. I believe tonight the spirit of this play has also reached the audience,” said director Hoxha.

The play also includes humorous scenes between the actors, but with the same effect, they do not translate well to the audience. Hoxha said that these scenes were intentionally not exaggerated.

“At the same time, very painful things are happening in parallel, and those moments of humor are cynical, sarcastic, and we didn’t want to amplify them more because then the character might end up being even more tragic than he is. I think we’ve made a play that can freely represent Gjakova on many levels,” said the director.

The music for the play was composed by Tomor Kuçi, while the stage movements were designed by Nicoletta Bonanni from England. The set design and costumes were created by the Englishwoman Grace Rumsey.

“The collaboration has gone very well from the beginning. We designed it together as part of a conceptual project, and then Zana told me that we would indeed go ahead with this set design. It’s an honor to work in such a wonderful theater, especially since this is my first professional design,” said Grace Rumsey.

Büchner’s Vojcek is considered one of the most performed and influential dramas in German literature. According to the play’s details, the author was inspired by the true story of Johann Christian Woyzeck, a barber and soldier from Leipzig, who, in 1821, out of jealousy, murdered his partner Christiane Woost with whom he cohabited.

Büchner wrote the text for the play in 1836, but it remained unfinished due to his death from typhus in February 1837. However, he clarified his intentions for the work through a letter he left behind.

“I do not despise anyone, especially because of intellect or education, for it is not anyone’s power to prevent us from becoming either a leader or a criminal – because under the same conditions, we would all become the same, or because outward circumstances deceive us all,” the author Büchner wrote.

Such a message resonates in Vojček in Gjakova as well.çeku” i Gjakovës.

Media: France24
Story Title: Balkans women stage ancient Greek play to condemn women’s suffering in war
Date: November 23, 2024
Link: https://www.france24.com/en/live-news/20241123-balkans-women-stage-ancient-greek-play-to-condemn-women-s-suffering-in-war?fbclid=IwY2xjawIO7RxleHRuA2FlbQIxMQABHT8jL43N7d1kHtq6WPrtyiOAE6dO-mPyb_DGkHUWVgOUiZ6dsF0v0ggOLA_aem_4LJBQYCotY2dP6nIQlZj5Q

Belgrade (AFP) – Maja Mitic is Serbian. Zana Hoxha is Kosovar. Their adaptation of an ancient Greek tragedy highlights not so much the devastation war inflicts on women but women’s capacity to heal and resist.

Euripides’s “Trojan Women”, first performed in 415 BC, is an acerbic condemnation of the atrocities of war. It focusses on the misery and injustices the women of Troy endure after the conflict between their people and the Greeks.

The adaptation that Hoxha and Mitic are currently staging in the Balkans has a quite distinct focus.

“In our version, we are moving forward by also taking care of each other, by finding ways to save our children,” said Hoxha, who directed the play.

It demonstrates “that amidst conflict and war, amidst hatred, women are the ones that find ways to resist,” she said of the play, being performed in Belgrade on Friday and Saturday night after two shows in Kosovo.

This production echoes the interminable discussions between the male politicians of Serbia and Kosovo who — a quarter of a century after the end of the war between Belgrade and its breakaway province — have still not concluded a lasting peace. The women negotiate on the soberly designed set.

As a Kosovar and feminist director “who still remembers war” and also the times of the former Yugoslavia, 43-year-old Hoxha said, “it was important to do this play because unfortunately it’s very relevant”.

Transcending language

In Euripides’s play, the women of Troy are married by force to their worst enemies, murdered and sacrificed on the tombs of men who fell in battle.

They are the victims of the war that follows war.

The tale needed two women to tell it, stressed Hoxha’s co-director Mitic, a prominent figure in Serbian theatre since the 1990s.

“The men, they make wars… The consequences are on women and the children of these women,” she said.

Mitic plays Hecuba, the former queen of Troy, whose children are sacrificed, one after the other, to the follies of war.

She recites Euripides’s ancient text in Serbian.

Thaltybios, who comes to tell the women of their fate, replies in Albanian.

An English translation scrolls across the back wall.

After a few minutes, listeners can no longer distinguish the different languages because the pain is universal.

“The relationship, the emotions that these actors are able to carry are more important than the language barriers,” Hoxha said.

‘Art has power’

And whether they speak Serbian, Kosovar Albanian or English, the Trojan women make audiences reflect and make them angry.

“Even our characters are angry,” Hoxha explained.

“They say like, you know, ‘fuck this shit, we don’t want this anymore.’

“‘Why are we suffering? Why do Cassandras have to exist today? Why does Andromache have to lose her child?”

At one point in the play, Hoxha recalled, Andromache says she wants to be able to walk around freely with her husband and son and not feel threatened in the street.

That feeling remains unchanged for women today, she said.

“There are only a few places in the world where I feel completely safe to be myself.”

“We are trying to change that,” she added.

“I don’t think that the performance alone can do that. But art has the power to bring you something which maybe you didn’t even know existed.”

The emphasis in Hoxha and Mitic’s adaptation on the universal relevance of the protagonists’ concerns extends as far as their costumes.

The characters dress in black leather and ankle boots — a uniform that could belong to any army in the world.

Just as Hecuba could be any grieving mother on the planet.

It’s a story about women and war “in any part of the world, in any century, in any culture, in any religion”, said Mitic.

“This is the story that Euripides wrote centuries ago, but actually we see repetition of the same model during the war, after the war — raping, criminals, everything.

“What we see in this play, we really see today (in) Ukraine or Gaza, or (in) Kosovo or Bosnia” or wherever conflict is occurring including Somalia and Sudan, Mitic said.

After an hour in front of a packed hall, the voices combine, hoping for another future: “Sometimes to live is to resist,” they say.

© 2024 AFP

Media: KTV
Story Title: Zëra të padëgjuar: “Gratë e Trojës” zërojnë rrëfimin e dhunimeve në luftë
Date: November 10, 2024
Link: https://www.koha.net/shtojca-kulture/zera-te-padegjuar-grate-e-trojes-zerojne-rrefimin-e-dhunimeve-ne-lufte

By: Col Mehmeti

The dead are no longer affected, for fear, agony, and suffering weigh heavily on those who have survived. In a marked departure from Euripides’ original work, where the curtains fall on wail and tragedy, this performance brings hope through the interspersing of moments of humor.

Today, writing anti-war appeals may seem like the easiest thing to do. Unfortunately, there are times when it’s damn hard to draw the line between single-minded anger and bloodshed for moral capital, pretense for moral righteousness, or selfish self-affirmation. However, when calls against war are raised on the foundations of human suffering amidst the wreckage, screams, and sorrowful wails, great art permeates the human conscience deeply. Against the backdrop of relentless wars that plagued 5th-century Greece, Euripides gave voice to the shattered inner worlds of the unfortunate women and the all-encompassing nightmare of war.

Created in the distant year of 415 BCE, the play Trojan Women does not bring forth the heroic battlegrounds of Troy, the bold assaults on its walls and ramparts, the intrigues of the Gods, or the schemes of warring factions. Instead, Hecuba, Cassandra, Andromache, Helen, and the chorus of grief-stricken women emerge as the tragic heroines in the aftermath of a devastating war. Winners and losers alike stand before the heap of the dead, among whom are their dearest ones, and all that extinguished world that seems as though it never existed. Through his drama, Euripides breathed new life into the Homeric past, even its darkest side, to allude to the grim and terrifying present, where the Greek city-states, mired in wars with one another, were carving themselves an epitaph of shame.

Where Euripides only reluctantly showed any resistance to the Gods for their disregard, this performance from Prishtina, full of courage and without a trace of fear, boldly declares that religion itself is a factory of violence. The ruined world of Troy has victims on both sides, but the dead are no longer touched, for fear, agony, and suffering weigh most heavily on those who have survived.

Ancient Troy, Modern Troy

Euripides’ anti-war work carries timeless and universal resonances, but its reinvention with new language, fresh voices, and contemporary touches is a powerful invitation to sit, much like the ancient Athenian theatergoers during the Dionysian festival, and experience Euripides’ latest production. Such sensations are also embodied in the theatrical performance “Women of Troy”, co-directed by Zana Hoxha and Maja Mitić, which for the second consecutive year was presented at the Dodona Theatre in Prishtina. Originating from a collaborative creative process between Prishtina and Belgrade, the two-night performance, held on November 5th and 6th, highlighted an intricate performance by the artists of the Artpolis ensemble and their colleagues from Serbia.

As early as 1965, Sartre made an adaptation of this ever-relevant drama, which served as a powerful protest against the war in Algeria. Recently, writer and actor Shpëtim Selmani took on this challenging endeavor, infusing it with a local flavor while maintaining a universal resonance. His text preserves the original framework with gods and mortals, yet its dramatic update reverberates widely in the realities of our time.

Through the voices of female characters trapped in their own misery – like the sorrowful Hecuba, the unfortunate Andromache, the doomed Cassandra, and the defiant Helen – he unravels the unceasing pain of Kosovo, with the screams, tears, and suffering of the 20,000 women who were victims of sexual violence during the war.

“All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way,” said Tolstoy, with which he opens his novel on the psychological unraveling of his modern heroine, Anna Karenina. These words could somewhat be adapted here to say that every human pain has a unique mark, one that requires effort to grasp the inner world of disintegration and psychological ruin, which often goes unnoticed.

While the στιχομυθία (stichomythia) of the Euripidean original speaks in modern language, it simultaneously gains strength against war and its atrocities. This is most clearly expressed through Selmani’s monologues (who is also part of the cast). The intertwining of two different eras is masterfully balanced through the breaking of the “fourth wall” and occasional modern references: “The whole world is our ancient Troy and your modern Troy. Thousands of horses, not made of wood, but of steel… flying. Iron Pegasi dropping bombs here and there.”

The living suffer

Beyond its technical aspects, the performance as an undertaking is far more demanding than one might expect. In addition to the challenges of a still difficult neighborhood filled with grudges, prejudices, and hostilities, “The Women of Troy” also faced an additional issue. Would the two languages of the performance, Albanian and Serbian, complement each other? As a bilingual production, the work of directors Zana Hoxha and Maja Mitić deserves nothing but praise. The bilingualism is so seamlessly integrated through the interaction of a carefully chosen cast, including Maja Mitić, Shpëtim Selmani, Semira Latifi, Branka Stojković, Qëndresa Kajtazi, Labinot Raci, and Aleksandar Stoimenovski. Therefore, it can be freely said that neither the local audience nor the foreign one could notice any inconsistency.

There are two scenographic details that truly deserve recognition: in the opening scene, sea waves are improvised, from which Poseidon emerges, mourning the fall of Troy. Combined with the sound effects of the roaring sea waves, this creates a profound sense of utter hopelessness in the face of a merciless and mute providence that has abandoned the mortals. Throughout the performance, periodically, pendants appear suspended in the air, an element that aligns with the bitter and anguished faces of the unfortunate women, emphasizing the fragility of their lives. In truth, these are marvelous directorial strategies that use such elements to highlight the heroic efforts of the women against the all-powerful forces.

In the original Greek, almost every declamation of the female characters contains bursts of pain and sorrow (in the original, there are countless instances of wailing sounds such as aiaí aiaí, ottototototoí, ió ió, aiaí, and é é, which, in Euripides’ time, were realistic evocations from daily life). While the agony of these tragic women lingers in the air, the performance as a whole is a beautiful interplay between striking dialogues, a simple yet captivating set, and music that captures the contrasting and ever-changing states of the characters.

It is a blend of Euripidean verses with entirely modern evocations, highlighting the tragic fate of the 20,000 women who were victims of sexual violence during the war in Kosovo. This mental and physical juxtaposition is best expressed by Andromache: “They forced me to live.”

It often happens, especially in moments of agony that deep existential bursts emerge: “Only the dead do not feel pain.” Where Euripides hesitantly expressed any opposition to the gods for their disregard, this performance from Prishtina, full of courage and without a trace of fear, boldly declares that religion itself is a factory of violence. The shattered world of Troy has victims on both sides, but the dead are no longer affected, as fear, agony, and suffering weigh most heavily on those who have survived.

With a notable departure from Euripides’ original work, where the curtains fall with wails and tragedy, this performance brings hope through the insertion of moments of humor. This is another example of breaking the “fourth wall,” where the author and actor, Shpëtim Selmani, revives a scene reminiscent of Woody Allen’s “Deconstructing Harry”: out of nowhere, he comes face to face with his real-life characters, full of quirks, who complain about the fates he has assigned to them. Therefore, where there is hope, there is life!

Media: Kallxo.com
Story Title: Shfaqja ‘Gratë e Trojës’, thirrjet shqip e serbisht që shkundën skenën e “Dodonës” në kërkim të paqes
Date: November 7, 2024
Link: https://kallxo.com/kulture/shfaqja-grate-e-trojes-thirrjet-shqip-e-serbisht-qe-shkunden-skenen-e-dodones-ne-kerkim-te-paqes/

By: Isa Vatovci

The most tragic story of the conquest and destruction of ancient Troy is reflected in the captivity of the Trojan women by the Greeks; Queen Hecuba, Cassandra, Polyxena and Andromache. Immortalized with the tragedy “The Women of Troy”, written by Euripides, after the end of Troy they are separated from the kings of the Greek princes as spoils of war-captives. This painful story has served the Center for Arts and Communities, “Artpolis” and a group of artists from Belgrade (Serbia) to create theater performance “Women of Troy”, showing that pain and the Trojan reality continues to live even in our time.

With dramaturgy and direction by Zana Hoxha and Maja Mitić, and with a contemporary text by Shpëtim Selmani, “Women of Troy” was shown on Tuesday 05.11.2024, at the “Dodona” Theater in Prishtina. Staged by Albanian and Serbian actors, “Women of Troy” revealed the suffering of women after the war, highlighting the violence and brutality towards them. The special feature of the show is that the Albanian actors speak Albanian, while the Serbian ones speak Serbian, throughout the show, subtitled in English. The show brings, through a feminist approach, the sensitivity and resistance of women in the face of the terror of war, from ancient Greece to the present day, where wars are the havoc The Trojan women travel back in time, re-enacting the tragedy of women who experienced the last war in Kosovo, the war in Gaza, Ukraine, and more.

The play calls for peace and an end to conflicts in the world, a call that received applause from the audience.

“Troy, a metaphor for today’s crimes”

The Serbian actress, Maja Mitiq, told KALLXO.com that “Women of Troy” talks about the war, which is currently happening in Gaza or Somalia, or the war during the 90s in the Balkans, in the former Yugoslavia. She says that art must win in the face of war. “I feel that art must always win, not war and not murder, rape, who knows how many artists these days from Gaza or Ukraine who are immigrants. We think about these people, they are from the war, they are immigrants, and that’s why I ask the screenwriter, why didn’t you include some gods from Greek mythology that could protect them a little bit, maybe we could stop these wars that are happening” – says Mitiq, who is also the co-director of the show, “Women of Troy”.

Mitiq says that “Women of Troy” will be presented on November 22 and 23 (2024) at the Center for Cultural Decontamination in Belgrade. According to her, it is difficult to bring war narratives through art. But, as he says, they are important topics for changing society. “I usually choose topics that are important for changing society, because I believe that I can make a difference,” Mitiq said.

Actor Shpëtim Selmani, who has dramatized the modern text of the play, told KALLXO.com that the purpose of the play is to show that Troy still exists today. “The idea of ​​the play is to show that the suffering of women still exists, that today Troy still exists, in the various places where there are wars, stories that are similar to ancient Greek tragedies, we rely on the work of Euripides, ‘Women of Troy’, we have an interweaving with current conflicts and we connected the situations” – he said.

The challenge of bilingualism

Director Zana Hoxha told KALLXO.com that the show “Women of Troy” is the result of a long process of work. “It has not been easy, almost a year and a half, it is one of the most difficult processes I have done in my life,” she said. Hoxha added that even though the show is based on one of the Greek tragedies, it speaks about today’s reality.

“I didn’t want to run away from what’s happening, I couldn’t make ‘Women of Troy’ without updating it, without giving a part of Kosovo, Gaza, and what’s happening in the world today” – said Hoxha.

But, a challenge for her, it was the realism of a play where the Albanian actors speak Albanian, while the Serbian actors speak Serbian, throughout the play. But, thanks to her, this is a historic step. “Obviously, it has been challenging to work in two languages ​​because none of the actors know the Serbian language, nor the Serbian actors the Albanian language. Only I know both languages ​​and sometimes I gave the indications in all three languages, Albanian, English, Serbian” – she said.

The show “Women of Troy”, according to director Hoxha, will be shown in Belgrade, Serbia, on November 22 and 23 (2024). Meanwhile, director Hoxha has already received an invitation to participate in Italy for the next year (2025).

“Revolt. She Said. Revolt Again”, written by Alice Birch and directed by Zana Hoxha, is a sharp, witty, and profound examination of what it means to be a woman, performed by an all-female cast including Natalia May, Xixi Xiao, Tanaka Mpofu, and Olive McHugh.

Our post-apocalyptic world designed by Grace Rumsey, will reimagine the previous rules and conventions that brought our society to an end. Asking what’s stopping us from doing something truly radical to save our future? Revolutionize the language. Revolutionize the world. Revolutionize the work. Revolutionize the body. Galvanise.

“Revolt. She Said. Revolt Again”, had its premiere at the Greenhouse Festival, London on 5th of September. Already it had four presentations, including on 28th of September, 2024 on FemArt Festival 12th edition.

Writer: Alice Birch       

Director: Zana Hoxha     

Cast: Olive McHugh, Tanaka Mpofu, Xixi Xiao, Natalia May                                     

Set and Costume Designer: Grace Rumsey             

Lighting Designer: Ghoti Fisher                              

Sound Designer: Aidan Gibson                        

Movement Director: Kristin Fredrickson                    

Instrument Consultant: Julia Deng Hanzu                     

Stage Manager: Ace Turner

Set and Costume Assistant: Xiaomin Fan

Production: LAMDA and Orange Tree Theatre

Here you can find theatre reviews of “Revolt. She Said. Revolt Again.”:

By Simon Jenner: https://fringereview.co.uk/review/fringereview-uk/2024/greenhouse-festival-lamda-festival-new-directors-in-association-with-orange-tree/

By Shqipe Malushi: https://femart-ks.com/revolt-she-said-revolt-again/

By Gili Hoxhaj: https://femart-ks.com/revolt-she-said-revolt-again-opened-new-paths-for-action-through-theater/