THE SONG OF THE NIGHTINGALE
 

The Nightingale is not just a bird.
The Nightingale is not just a song.
The Nightingale is the song of a bird flying free.
And even if the nightingale maiden in the tale doesn’t speak, we still understand the song issuing from her heart. If we ourselves have a heart, that is.
This tale is not only meant for the little ones, but for grown people who wish to be children once again for a short while.
 

The story emerging from the puppeteers’ game entangles everyone in the magical universe of illusion, populated by emperors and commoners, buffoons and shrewd, power-hungry schemers living their lives amidst small pleasures and lofty ambitions. It all adds up to a painting that first takes your breath away, then captivates you, and by the end you become one with the characters.

The story is about people; about ideals, hopes and joys, truth and lies, verity and deceit. A never-ending clash, a pitched battle between good and evil, leading to the change we covet. And when it does finally come to pass, it is time for the tale and the storyteller to leave, their duty discharged, awaiting another opportunity to rekindle the magic.

Provocative at times, but most often disruptive, poetry infiltrates life, accompanied by its retinue of attendants (singers, painters, actors...) whom we, as a mark of our esteem, customarily dub “artists”.

The Nightingale is also about them; about their desire to bring joy or consolation, rapture and reverie. In a hostile world drowning in indifference and impassivity, art is at risk of being rejected and consigned to oblivion.

How would it be to imagine a hymn of hope, joy and enchantment rising up beneath the dome of the theatre? Wouldn’t that be just beautiful?

Traian Savinescu director of the performance