Theatre is where we gather — to remember, to feel, to face ourselves. It is not a place of escape, but of confrontation. In Sarajevo, we return to the stage not just to recount history, but to mourn the fragile thread between love and violence, and to ask: how does friendship survive when the world demands enemies?

This is not just a war story. It is a story of three friends — Mirela, Aleksander, Slobo. Bound by childhood, separated by war. Torn by belief, fear, and duty. Through them, we witness how easily a friend becomes a stranger — and how unspeakably hard it is to unmake that distance.

But theirs is not the only gaze. Peter, a foreign conflict journalist, enters their lives with a camer  and a thirst for the story. In documenting the war, he becomes part of it. The line between witness and participant blurs. What is the role of the outsider? Of the lens? What does it mean to observe suffering — and when does observation become intrusion?

Theatre lets us feel what headlines numb. In the flicker of a glance, in a trembling breath on stage, we see ourselves — not as soldiers or civilians, not as victims or monsters, but as people once held by love, now lost in the storm of identity, ideology, and narrative.

This play asks you to come closer. To sit with discomfort. To hold your breath in silence as a friendship breaks — and a camera rolls. And maybe, in that shared silence, to remember our shared humanity.

Because theatre, at its best, breaks the spell of forgetting.
And friendship, at its truest, defies the logic of war.

Suggested donation/ tickets: R165

Read the review in the Mail & Guardian

Hell is others: Sarajevo and the tragedy of intimacy