Bitola = Monodrama
Bitola = Monodrama
26th International Monodrama Festival – Bitola 2025
by Lasha Chkhartishvili
Photos by Diogen Hadji-Kosta Milevski
The words “Bitola” and “Monodrama” have grown into almost symbolic synonyms. The International Monodrama Festival has become inextricably linked with the city of Bitola — a prestigious and historically significant international forum that brings together accomplishments in playwriting, directorial innovations, and outstanding solo performances. Over the course of more than a quarter of a century, the founders and curators of the festival have devoted tremendous effort and dedication to transform the Monodrama Festival into a cultural hallmark of the city.
The 26th International Monodrama Festival – Bitola 2025 once again presents an outstanding program. Credit for this goes to Ljupka Pajevikj (the festival’s queen mother), Vlatko Ilievski (Acting Director of the NI Centre of Culture – Bitola), and Blagoj Micevski (Festival Selector). The jury members are: the charismatic and forever-young artist Risima Risimkin from Macedonia, the sharply intelligent Emre Erdem from Turkey, and Lasha Chkhartishvili — that is, me, from Georgia — the most aggressive jury member, yet well-meaning toward all. In my opinion, the organizers made a spot-on choice in selecting the jury: one is a practicing and successful artist, another — an experienced and well-known writer and director who has been connected to theatre for decades, and the third — a critic. The combination of these three professions strikes a fine balance between emotional sensitivity and categorical judgment.
The festival opened in the Bitola National Theatre Hall with the performance of "D (As Desdemona)" by Skopje Dance Theatre (choreography and direction by Risima Risimkin, music by Toni Kitanovski), delivering a striking aesthetic experience for the audience. A more detailed analysis of this piece can be found via the following link: [link not provided in the original].
Below, I share my subjective reflections on the performances featured in the festival’s competition program:
“PARADOX”
Theatre “Maska” – Jelenia Góra, Poland
Author and Director: Krzysztof Pulkowski
Actor: Krzysztof Rogaczewicz
The collaborative work of Krzysztof Pulkowski and Krzysztof Rogaczewicz is inspired by two of Joseph Heller’s novels: Catch-22 and Closing Time. The performance delves into the theme of war, its devastating consequences, and the psychological toll it inflicts even on those who never take part in it directly. Sadly, the issue of war and its implications remains ever-relevant. Despite the thousands of films and plays created about its horrors, wars continue to erupt across the globe. Whether directly or indirectly, we are all involved. War touches everyone — even those far removed from the front lines. In this sense, the festival’s decision to open with a performance tackling such a pressing, universal theme was both timely and resonant.
Rogaczewicz’s monologue begins with wartime footage. The action seems to unfold within the sterile confines of a psychiatric ward — a white-walled space suggestive of clinical isolation. The protagonist, a former military pilot, appears in uniform. Certain costume elements — especially the elongated sleeves — evoke associations with psychiatric patients’ attire. The actor does not engage in direct communication with the audience; he is enclosed within a figurative aquarium, directing his speech mostly heavenward. This staging choice establishes a deliberate barrier between performer and viewer.
Throughout the performance, Rogaczewicz portrays multiple characters, giving voice and embodiment to various figures — some grotesque, some caricatured, others more psychologically nuanced. He employs illustrative techniques, physically enacting his texts, and although we encounter overtly caricatural moments, there are also instances of genuine sincerity. At times, he sheds theatricality altogether, achieving a rare stage authenticity, emotional truth, and dramatic credibility.
War footage (and not only war footage) recurs as a visual refrain, functioning as a kind of artificial partition that interrupts and segments the performance. This imagery intrudes upon the stage with the same abruptness as the actor’s repeated exits and re-entries from the same wing — always the same direction, always the same rhythm. These entrances and exits feel unmotivated and devoid of dramaturgical purpose. The director, Pulkowski, offers no justification for the character’s movements: no emotional logic, no scenic intention, no dramatic context. This undermines the play’s rhythm and tempo, interrupting its overall dynamic flow. These are among the weaker elements of the production.
Rather than recounting a specific narrative or event, Paradox unfolds as a broader war chronicle, encompassing the horrors of multiple epochs. As such, the piece functions more as a work of artistic-journalistic expression. Toward the end, in a symbolic gesture of protest, the protagonist briefly disrobes — a moment followed by a rather banal theatrical device: blood splatters, rendered in a markedly different visual style. This results in a kind of aesthetic eclecticism, bordering on inconsistency.
In Paradox, Krzysztof Rogaczewicz conveys pain, madness, irony, and grotesquery — at times delivering emotionally raw expressions that capture, with disarming sincerity, the irreparable consequences of war.
“WHO KNOWS WHY?”
National Theater – Bitola; “Kupola” Association, North Macedonia
Based on works by Fyodor M. Dostoevsky
Director: Damjan Chitkushev
Actor: Ane Blazhovski
Who Knows Why? speaks to each of us. We have all, at some point, experienced despair, felt overwhelmed by nihilism. And yet, hope inevitably emerges. Faith stirs within us, and with it, the desire to live — to fall in love with life once again. Even under the harshest of circumstances, when the world is shrouded in darkness, human beings search for meaning. They envision a brighter tomorrow, engage creatively with reality, and in doing so, transform it. This production by Damjan Chitkushev and Ane Blazhovski raises essential existential questions: What kind of world are we living in? What is its true nature?
Sometimes, life resembles a dream — hazy, unreal. But there is always the possibility that a dream may become reality, provided the individual is imaginative enough. The play suggests that human beings are capable of anything — even changing the fabric of their own existence — so long as they possess purpose and perseverance. These are the feelings and reflections the production awakens in its audience.
The themes explored above are conveyed with remarkable originality by both director and performer. The stage is transformed into an intimate space — a personal haven, part home, part study — evoking warmth and familiarity. The director makes effective use of live video projection, offering an alternative visual layer that brings the character even closer to the audience. Through this lens, we observe the subtlest facial expressions, inner states, and psychological nuances — nothing escapes us. The projection becomes a kind of onstage partner, functioning not merely as an aesthetic device but as an active participant in the dramatic action. Every detail is meticulously calibrated; the precision is striking. The use of multimedia in this performance is not ornamental — it heightens and deepens the actor’s emotional expression, enriches the visual texture, and amplifies the overall theatrical experience.
From the very first moment, actor Ane Blazhovski establishes an unbroken connection with the audience — a connection he maintains with unwavering intensity until the final bow. This young performer commits himself fully onstage; his work is grounded in emotional honesty rather than theatrical affectation. His performance is sincere, vulnerable, and remarkably present.
The only notable drawback — in my view — lies in the excessive use of stage smoke. It not only causes physical discomfort for the audience (at one point, several spectators appeared nearly suffocated by the density of the fog), but also impedes visibility. The haze becomes so thick that we can no longer clearly see the actor’s face, his expressions, or the subtlety of his performance. In a production so reliant on nuance and intimacy, this visual obstruction undermines the work’s impact.
"THE STORY OF MR. SOMER"
"Castle Theatre" - Klaipeda, Lithuania
author Patrik Ziskind
director Alvydas Vizgirda
actor Aurimas Pintulis
If I were asked to describe this performance in a single word, it would be “refined.” Yes, what we witnessed was a refined production—refined in its theatrical and acting culture. Director Alvydas Vizgirda and actor Aurimas Pintulis represented their country’s rich theatrical tradition with dignity. It was a performance where the directing remained invisible yet palpably present, subtly embedded behind the scenes. At the center stood Aurimas Pintulis, who brought his message to the audience at a high professional level. He did not act; he lived on stage.
From the moment he appeared, he established an immediate connection with the audience and, for an entire hour, held their undivided attention—never letting go, never relaxing his grip. Aurimas Pintulis is a charismatic actor. It may be unexpected to find such charisma, measured emotionality, and even a touch of southern expressiveness and temperament in a Lithuanian actor—but he possessed it all.
Tasteful music was interwoven throughout the performance, sounding from afar. It never disturbed, never distracted—instead, it built atmosphere and deepened the audience’s trust in the actor. Pintulis exhibited a fine-tuned stage culture. Even though I didn’t understand the Lithuanian language, each sound, each breath was audible—even when he performed in physically challenging positions: leaning backward or with his back to the audience. Not a phrase or word was lost. Thus, we can confidently say: we were watching a master.
Aurimas Pintulis succeeded not only in embodying his own character but also that of the piano teacher. Through his voice and the mimicry of the elderly teacher, he conjured before us the image of an aging, irascible woman—difficult in temperament, but not evil. Hence, the key scenes—especially those involving the piano—were profoundly compelling. The actor’s movements to and from the piano could be the subject of a separate discussion, no doubt bearing the mark of directorial precision.
This was a performance where a single actor, without the aid of set design, multimedia, or other devices, compelled the audience to submit—to follow the arc of his monologue, with full attention and engagement.
"KRIEG"
production Macedonian Center ITI / PRODUKCIJA, N. Macedonia
producer and director Ivanka Apostolova Baskar
actor Zdravko Stojmirov
I am not entirely sure whether “KRIEG” should even be reviewed as a theatrical performance—because, quite simply, it isn’t one. It is cinema. Or rather, not even cinema; and if it is cinema, it is bad cinema. There is a global consensus that theatre remains the only truly “live” art form. Theatre cannot exist without live communication.
Throughout the screening of “KRIEG,” I naively anticipated that at some point an actor would emerge from the shadows behind the screen—someone who had perhaps been sitting quietly at the back of the stage, waiting for their moment. But the screening ended without that moment ever arriving. The actor never moved. He only came forward at the end, merely to bow, as if to bid us farewell.
It is not my place to question why such a work made its way into the program of a theatre festival. But it is my professional duty to evaluate what I saw.
What we witnessed was a recorded performance—a video of an actor acting. What we were offered was a performance of performance: excessive theatricality and only the faintest trace of sincerity. It seemed, at times, to follow postdramatic theatre conventions—repetitive sequences, layers of “acting within acting,” an actor portraying the act of performance itself, in both literal and conceptual terms.
Zdravko Stojmirov employs affective gestures in the film, many of which we no longer see in contemporary theatre precisely because today’s stage demands authenticity. The age of “let’s pretend” is long gone. Cinema and television, moreover, are mediums that fundamentally reject artificiality—they rely on the integrity of the image. Here, however, the actor deliberately deceives, striving to convince us of the reality of a performance that feels entirely fabricated. The result is a cascade of falseness radiating from the screen. Onstage, such artifice might be tolerable; on camera, it is not.
To be fair, it must be said: the actor dies convincingly on screen—several times, in fact. Each death is different, each rendered with technical precision. Yet the repetition dulls their impact. Death, when overused, becomes not tragic but tiresome.
“KRIEG” feels like a product born of the pandemic era, caught awkwardly between the spheres of cinema and theatre—a hybrid that resembles a bat: belonging neither to the birds nor the beasts.
"LYRIC DRAGONFLY"
theater "MikrOPERA" – Zaragoza, Spain
director Amparo Nuguez and Zelia Lanaspa
author and actor Zelia Lanaspa
The true gem of the festival was the product of theater "MikrOPERA," titled "LYRIC DRAGONFLY," created by directors Amparo Nuguez and Zelia Lanaspa, as well as author and actress Zelia Lanaspa. This petite Spanish actress unleashed a true storm of temperament and emotion on the stage of Bitola. From the very first minute, she engaged the audience interactively and held them captive for 100 minutes without letting go, without letting the energy drop or the viewers grow tired—in fact, we couldn't even realize how much time had passed. If the performance were to start again immediately, I’m sure not a single spectator would leave the hall, but rather stay for a second viewing, confident that the experience would be completely different the second time around.
Zelia Lanaspa’s character is deeply ironic; she jokes so much about herself that even the most critical viewer is left with no room to criticize her. She mocks her height, her level of English, her vocal abilities, and in doing so, turns the audience into her fans and allies. The performance is delivered in English, with the actress apologizing for her English skills, but no one remembers this at all because she entertained the audience so thoroughly. She uses illustrations and simultaneously justifies them herself, making every word and action clearer for the audience.
Zelia Lanaspa’s character also mocks opera singers. During the performance of one aria, she grimaces comically just like opera stars who try to produce more sound from their diaphragm to captivate the audience. She joked a lot about drama and melodrama, although her character carries a great sadness. She even made a lighthearted joke about the jury. In short, she made us all laugh heartily and gave us great pleasure. Although the actress exaggerates emotions, it doesn’t annoy; on the contrary, she does it in a very funny way. Zelia Lanaspa doesn’t sing spectacularly, but she turns this flaw into a secondary factor, which is perfectly normal considering her character.
Zelia Lanaspa is a versatile artist — she can sing opera arias, manipulate puppets, transform into multiple characters on stage, change several costumes, and still captivate even the passive and reserved Macedonian audience interactively. Although she expended enormous energy throughout the 100 minutes, in the final scene she still pours immense energy into the hall. I believe the audience shared their positive energy with her as well.
The performance, directed by Amparo Nuguez and Zelia Lanaspa, brought lively and colorful tones to the festival program.
This performance truly made an impact on me; specifically, it taught me that you must have faith in yourself and believe in your own abilities.
„THE EYE“
National Russian Drama Theatre – Chingiz Aitmatov – Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan
by Vladimir Nabokov
director and actor Alexander Panin
"THE EYE" is a solo performance by Alexander Panin, based on the novella of the same name by Vladimir Nabokov. The actor puts all his strength and energy into the performance, striving for its success. He gives himself fully on stage, never slowing down for a moment, maintaining a constant flow of energy, dynamic presence, and a tempo-rhythm that steadily rises toward the climax.
Panin performs the piece bilingually, delivering the text first in English and then in Russian. He adds physical illustration with his hands, which, while creative, ultimately shifts the performance into another dimension — disrupting its structure and interrupting the narrative flow.
Although Alexander Panin possesses both talent and diligence, the impression remains that tackling a monodrama may be premature for him at this stage. From a craft perspective, he is still maturing; his performance reveals a lack of experience and technical refinement. There is a youthful, somewhat unpolished quality that is evident throughout the piece.
Panin presents a visual monologue, employing several theatrical devices — including disembodied eyes that serve as characters. He alternates between first- and third-person narration, shifting fluidly from authorial voice to character. He transforms the monologues into visual scenes, reading the text with expressive intensity.
Had Alexander Panin worked with a director, the performance might have been more polished and structurally sound. Even the most seasoned actors benefit from an outside eye — someone in the audience who can provide feedback and see what the performer themselves may not perceive from within.
"MEDEA"
Lagodekhi Drama and Puppet Theater - Lagodekhi, Georgia
director Razden Kervalishvili
actor Madonna Shubitidze
It came as no surprise that Georgia presented Medea at the monodrama festival. The myth’s central figure remains profoundly relevant, having inspired countless interpretations across time. Razhden Kervalishvili’s production focuses on a key moment in Medea’s life—when she must decide how to exact revenge on Jason. The director’s concept of connecting this inner conflict to a traditional Colchian craft—wool processing—is intriguing, yet ultimately underdeveloped. On stage, various traditional tools are presented, which Medea, portrayed by Madona Shubitidze, approaches periodically. However, these actions feel more technical than thematically integrated.
The same is true of the actress’s performance. She unleashes a fierce, almost mythical energy—shouting, expressing force—but the intensity feels performative rather than emotionally grounded. Her rage seems externally imposed rather than arising from an inner struggle. In contrast, Shubitidze achieves genuine emotional resonance in the moments when she sings traditional Georgian songs. Her singing resembles a mournful cry, conveying both sorrow and farewell—an emotional rupture with the happiness she once knew.
The Medea that Shubitidze embodies is passionate and volatile—constantly in motion. She revisits her past and contemplates her future, fearing only herself, as she prepares to commit another horrifying act. The moment of her children’s murder passes almost incidentally on stage. Medea holds two white balls of yarn—symbolizing her sons—and kills them in a way that is completely hidden from view. What follows is not action, but introspection: a continuation of her monologue, reflecting on what has already been done.
Kervalishvili’s production is less concerned with the portrayal of events than with Medea’s psychological self-examination. Despite considerable physical movement, it is the spoken text that dominates. In fact, the words might be more powerful read than performed. Everything on stage is real—except water. This lone symbolic element disrupts the production’s otherwise consistent stylistic and conceptual coherence.
Shubitidze presents us with a furious, vengeful, wounded woman—one who cannot accept betrayal or abandonment. Throughout the performance, she manipulates threads of yarn as though weaving a trap like a spider’s web—one in which she ultimately ensnares herself.
"LET THERE BE ART!" - USA
author, director and actor Ronald Rand
“LET IT BE ART!” is a refined and thoughtful solo performance by American actor, director, and playwright Ronald Rand. The play brings to life Harold Clurman—one of the most influential figures in American theater—offering a compelling portrayal of his life and legacy. What we witness on stage is a true master at work: an actor who seems to do very little, and yet every gesture and word he delivers feels authentic, convincing, and utterly direct.
Ronald Rand embodies Clurman with subtle precision. The audience is drawn into the narrative of Clurman's life—his studies in Paris, the founding of The Group Theatre, and his relationships with iconic figures such as Stella Adler, Lee Strasberg, Clifford Odets, Marlon Brando, and Konstantin Stanislavski. Rand portrays Clurman as a richly layered personality, modulating his voice, gestures, and facial expressions to animate various characters from Clurman’s world. His performance is both emotionally resonant and technically refined, allowing the audience to immerse themselves in the theatrical cosmos Clurman once inhabited.
Rand creates a character who is warm and likable, inviting the audience into his story with charm and subtle wit. The production is primarily built around narration—there is little physical action on stage. Fortunately, Rand proves to be an exceptional storyteller. For over an hour, he sustains a captivating rhythm, never losing focus or allowing the audience’s attention to falter. He does not sing, dance, or perform acrobatics. His sole instrument is the spoken word—and he wields it with remarkable skill. His ability to engage, communicate, and convey meaning is his greatest asset. As he imitates a variety of both well-known and lesser-known figures, he brings them vividly to life, allowing the audience to imagine their presence visually. Through these imitations, the unique traits of each character subtly emerge.
At certain moments, the monologue risks becoming monotonous, but Rand smartly infuses these parts with humor, maintaining the performance’s rhythm and emotional tone.
Ronald Rand’s performance is a masterclass for aspiring actors who might consider taking on a solo show. His work offers a valuable lesson in the power of restraint, clarity, and connection with an audience.
"ALMA MAHLER"
"Eastern Theatre“, Lublin, Poland
author Sasho Dimoski
director and actor Denise Ababei - Romania
Sasho Dimoski’s novel Alma Mahler is a rather expansive literary work that reflects the life and inner world of Alma Mahler, the wife of Austrian composer Gustav Mahler. The novel was first published in Macedonian in 2014 and translated into English by Paul Filev in 2018.
Alma Mahler mainly focuses on Alma and Gustav Mahler’s ten-year marriage, with each chapter dedicated to one of Mahler’s symphonies. The novel is structured as a monologue, where Alma contemplates her personal sacrifices, her love for her husband, and the loneliness that accompanied life alongside a musical genius. Dimoski’s prose is poetic and emotional, lending the text the quality of a monodrama. Alma is portrayed as a woman who seeks closeness to her husband’s genius at the cost of her own identity and creative expression.
This lyrical-dramatic work was adapted into a monodrama by director and actress Denise Ababei. The director makes inventive use of projections, which bring memories to life, intensify emotions, give weight to small details, and visually support the portrayal of Alma’s pain and inner world. The performance is conceived as a dramatization of diary entries — the actress reads them aloud while simultaneously conveying their content through physical and visual expression. Three doors are placed on stage, though their metaphorical or scenic purpose is unclear. This ambiguity is heightened by the blocking: at one point, the actress runs between the doors, circling them like a frantic, unstable woman. It gives the impression of nervous energy without clear dramatic purpose — she appears to wander aimlessly onstage.
The actress’s expressivity becomes so exaggerated that it feels artificial, stripping the character of sincerity and simplicity. Emotions and dramatic peaks feel theatrical and mechanical rather than internalized or deeply felt. While she wears an elegant green dress, her overly stylized speech and forced emotion prevent the audience from fully believing Alma’s story. There’s a palpable disconnect between performer and viewer.
The performance unfolds with a fluctuating rhythm — alternating between moments of intensity and dull repetition. Although the director proposes an original formal concept, it falls short of full realization. The actress clearly strives to establish a connection with the audience, yet fails to truly engage: she avoids eye contact, never directly addresses the spectators, and instead stares into the distance while striking stylized poses. This further alienates her from the audience. Scenic actions repeat so frequently that the visual vocabulary becomes tiresome — watching the same gestures over and over begins to wear thin.
"DECAMERON"
State Puppet Theatre Sliven, Bulgaria
dramaturg Nina Mazur
director Nevena Miteva
actor Ana Petrova
The final surprise of this year’s festival was very pleasant, though not entirely unexpected. Nina Mazur is a well-known and accomplished playwright, Nevena Miteva is an internationally recognized director, and I’m familiar with Anna Petrova’s work. So I expected their collaboration to be strong, and those expectations were fully met. The audience was clearly happy and satisfied. I believe the mayor of Bitola will not regret funding the monodrama festival, as the community attending the performances left feeling joyful and uplifted. Anna Petrova genuinely made the audience laugh and brightened the atmosphere.
Nina Mazur’s Decameron is a Decameron of a new era. It is based on selected stories from Giovanni Boccaccio’s famous collection but is qualitatively different and distinct—a fresh take on the classic. Nevena Miteva’s production draws on Boccaccio’s most captivating tales, blending themes of betrayal, cleverness, folly, innocence, the tarantella dance, and unrestrained passions into an explosive mix.
The performance is dynamic and interactive, actively involving the audience and creating a lively experience. Anna Petrova first enchanted the audience, then skillfully led them through the narrative.
Typologically, Anna Petrova is very funny and endearing. She dances—perhaps not perfectly—but her dancing is charming because it’s sincere and true to her character. Petrova demonstrates great talent, acting skill, and a remarkable gift for improvisation, as well as excellent communication techniques with the audience.
She directly interacts with several audience members, who become part of the performance, but most importantly, the audience as a whole becomes ƒpart of the play.
The director’s presence is subtly felt everywhere, yet the actress never loses the tone, humor, and self-irony of Nina Mazur’s text. This is why Decameron became one of the festival’s most significant and memorable events.
The International Monodrama Festival has concluded. The jury officially announced the winners:
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The Grand Prix was awarded to the Spanish performance “Lyric Dragonfly” by the theater MikrOPERA from Zaragoza, Spain. The directors are Amparo Nuguez and Zelia Lanaspa, who is also the author and lead actor. The performance is distinguished by its lyrical atmosphere and intimate acting, providing the audience with a profound emotional experience.
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The Best Director award went to Bulgarian director Nevena Miteva for her staging of Nina Mazur’s “Decameron.” The production was presented by the State Puppet Theatre Sliven, with Ana Petrova in the lead role. The play stands out for its interactivity and dynamic stage conception.
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The Best Actor award was given to American actor and director Ronald Rand for his performance in “Let There Be Art!” Ronald Rand is the author, director, and lead actor of the show, whose performance left a strong psychological portrait and direct emotional connection with the audience.
The performances demonstrated a high level of creativity and established a memorable connection with the audience, clearly showing that monodrama is a theatrical form that transforms human emotions and storytelling into a unique and captivating experience.
The festival once again confirmed that monodrama continues to evolve, innovate, and foster creative dialogue between the audience and the performer. International collaboration holds special importance — the union of creative forces invited from different countries further enriches the theatrical scene.
Looking forward to future editions, we can say that this year’s festival successes set a high standard and encourage us to continue exploring the limitless possibilities of monodrama.