Mladi levi 2026: Friends or Who Speaks for me When I Cannot?
The critical reflection of the performances at Mladi levi festival 2026, which took place from 22nd to 29th August 2026 in Ljubljana.
Since my first encounter with Bunker, their Drugajanje festival and the Old Power Station, Mladi levi festival has often been mentioned as this cool manifestation that showcases various types and genres of performances, both local and international production. As I couldn’t attend last year, I was adamant on coming to Ljubljana this summer for Mladi levi and see what it was all about and was it worth the hype. (Spoiler: yes, it was and I’m looking forward to next year to attend again, fingers crossed.)
One of the things that surprised me the most were the ticket prices of 1€. Usually, tickets for festivals aren’t this affordable, they are 20-50 times more expensive from my theatregoer and critic experience. This way the festival is financially open to everyone interested, not just the well-off theatre connoisseurs. As part of the festival, the shorter programme ‘manifest less’ took place during a two-day period. It was dedicated to discussion and reflection on working in the arts and culture sector. Sadly, I wasn’t able to attend it so I can’t give my first-hand impression.
However, I did manage to see other performances such as Phenomenal Reality Part I, Temporale (A Lesbian Tragedy), Declarations and Hamlet or F.O.M.O. Each of these shows varies in terms of genre and themes they deal with. Beton Ltd.’s Phenomenal Reality is a minimalistic exploration of power dynamics demonstrated by the three Beton’s performers (Katarina Stegnar, Primož Bezjak and Branko Jordan) with the three academies’ students (Maja Kunaver, Čarna Lampret and Peter Podgoršek) that sets an uncomfortable atmosphere between the two groups (makes me curious to see Part II in the future and how their dynamic will evolve). The main Beton Ltd. trio asserts dominance over the performing space before the younger trio joins them in moving the set-up. Whatever the main trio asks from the youngsters, they oblige with visible uneasiness on their faces. Temporale by Silvia Calderoni and Ilenia Caleo is a collage of non-verbal almost surrealist sequences followed by Caleo’s short Sonnets of Despair, centred around motifs of nature and love. Similarly, Declarations choreographed by Maja Delak, is another piece that stages poetic text by Jordan Tannahill on his mother’s passing due to illness. Unlike Temporale, Declarations are recited along with the movement and the performance itself can be considered more of a contemporary dance piece. The same could be said for Hamlet or F.O.M.O. by Francesca Berardi, but it’s further extended with a private installation I had the opportunity to do which was reminiscent of a mindful exercise on the question of creativity in childhood.
But as I expected, the performance that I enjoyed the most and had an emotional impact on me was Dora or Who Will Stitch the Vests? by Andreja Kargačin and her childhood friend Dora A., who currently lives in asylum in Croatia because of her involvement with the Serbian student protests. It was performed at the Academy of Theatre, Radio, Film and Television, making it a suitable choice, not only space-wise, but contextually too. Even though I’ve seen photographs of the play, I was surprised by the first part – the exhibition of Dora’s belongings that were part of her everyday life during the protests until her political exile. As the audience entered the auditorium, we were first directed to check out the exhibition. Some of the objects are a ‘fancy’ reusable water bottle, a megaphone which will later be used during the performance, Dora’s plane ticket to Dubrovnik that turned out to be the last time she left her home country and her personal documents like passport and ID which are now invalid. This is later discussed in the performance as a curious sensation in regard to being in political exile and living in asylum, which was the most interesting part, personally, which I will get to later.
Kargačin leads the audience throughout the exhibition and gives an introduction before moving to the central piece, a black board on which the actress Natalija Stepanović writes bits of the conversation Dora A. took part in days before one of the major protests in March 2025. Participants of the conversation were discussing how and what to organize for it, which included Dora’s plan to buy some DIY materials and stitch them to reflective vests. Little did they know, the conversation was wiretapped by BIA (Serbian Security and Intelligence Agency) so the recording of it was played on numerous pro-government broadcasters as ‘proof’ for ‘overthrowing’ the current government. Luckily for Dora and several of her colleagues, they were in Croatia for a panel on the current state of affairs in Serbia. While Stepanović writes out the words that caused Dora’s exile, a couple of performers (Dražen Horvatić, Đorđe Živadinović Grgur, Lazar Tešić, Lazar Tirić and Miloš Janjić) dressed as policemen in heavy equipment infiltrate among the spectators and ask us for our tickets, as if they’re asking us for our document of identification, or in this case proof that we’re allowed to be at the show. Finally, the officers divide us in three groups and in an order, we can slowly take our seats. Even though you can be aware that it’s part of the performance, their presence and interactions cause a kind of weird tension – similar to intrusive thoughts when one walks beside police and starts to overthink if they did something wrong and they are going to be taken away. This Kafkaesque situation is later explicitly referenced in mentioning The Trial and Josef K., who was arrested for an unknown crime on his birthday, which happened to Dora too.
The policemen are credited in the show as dancers, which is sort of funny if we think about how in reality they do dance to a government’s tune, or here to the tune of Kargačin direction. During the performance, they attentively watch a cooking pot in which Kargačin and Stepanović (who takes on the part of Dora) prepare carrot soup like it’s a dangerous object, reminiscent of the vest stitching mentioned in the disputable recording and its conspiratorial potential. They also function as stagehands when later they remove the exhibited objects, including the actress like she’s a statue, a gesture that strangely materializes the piece and therefore Kargačin and Dora’s friendship story. Especially after Kargačin mentions how she keeps these artefacts for her friend, for when she comes back.
Besides the performers, there’s another person on the stage that isn’t like the others – the legal advisor Emina Đuran Milić who sits on the far stage-left side. There’s a screen behind on which we can see her legal interruptions for specific scenes or phrases used during the show that (I think?) she writes on her laptop or maybe has prepared beforehand. Either way, the screen itself isn’t that noticeable, and neither are her comments, so the performative potential seems lost on it but her role for the play is, first and foremost, to make sure none of the performers face any possible legal consequences. She rightfully points out how similar actors and lawyers are – both should be well-versed and spoken at their workplace, be it a stage or a courtroom. However, lawyers’ actions can have factual outcomes, their performative speech affects a person’s legal status, like how Dora A. was exiled ‘by law’ and is tried in absentia. While reading the law on freedom of artistic speech, Đuran Milić relates to Kargačin on topic of feeling meaningless of their function or action, be it a lawyer or an artist (another potent point I want to discuss later in the text). However, she does remind us that verdicts are given ‘in the name of the people’, emphasizing the sad irony of the corrupted governmental and judicial systems that only seem to be effective when it suits the most powerful of the people, not the actual majority of people.
Finally, I’m coming to what are the most valuable and interesting parts of the play – the friendship and being in exile. The correspondence between Kargačin and Dora (played by Stepanović) takes on the epistolary form; both of them recite text from the letters they wrote each other like monologues on various topics, every time starting with ‘Dear Dora/Andreja’. As I’ve mentioned before, Dora speaks on her political exile as a condition, which it is because it’s her continuous status de jure that she’s sentenced to. There’s ambiguity to being exiled from your homeland. She starts off optimistic, seeing exile as a beginning of a new life and identity since she was again, legally stripped of her birth-given one. However, her initial optimism quickly fades, taking on a more realistic tone and feeling of hurt due to injustice and separation from her old life. There’s also determination in proving her identity, despite her documents being invalid and remembering what happened and caused her current situation. She describes her relationship with Serbia as toxic and exile like a break-up, adding a little whimsy imagining her homeland as a toxic person, like Carrie has with Big in Sex and the City.
Going back to the feeling of personal meaninglessness and powerlessness, this was a very emotional part for me because I relate to it in general. Kargačin expresses strong anger and frustration towards the system that led to her friend’s exile, but she feels helpless and that she can’t do anything to change the situation. It’s a very real feeling of cynicism that isn’t hidden behind the veil of naiveté and belief in better tomorrow. It’s heart-breaking, but sadly true, altruism and activism do come at the price of burning out too, a topic that only recently gained attention. Both Kargačin and Stepanović deal with the high emotional states on stage by eating the carrot soup they made at the beginning. This scene of them eating and crying is really amusing again, because it’s relatable to find comfort in food as it is with many people.
Towards the end, actual Dora A. does perform with Kargačin and Stepanović via a video call and she gets to direct how the show ends despite the artist being absent, as Kargačin jokes. Surprisingly, Dora does show up on stage and it’s a touching moment between the two friends who hug it out. This is also a rare opportunity for Dora to perform on stage without the need for Stepanović as an actress. As expected, Dora’s monologue talks on the recent happenings in Serbia, the truth about the protests and its problems too. As it’s mentioned during the performance, the main issue is finding common ground and goal in the community – there are still some insurmountable differences within the protesters which makes it difficult to imagine another ‘reality’.
All in all, this is a very touching piece on friendship during hardships that touches on vulnerable personal feelings. As a whole, it feels like it is dedicated to their relationship and Dora A.'s exile story which works well as a medium for re-telling it as a case study over and over again. It may be a strong political theatre piece itself, but I don’t think it would be as emotionally impactful if there were no personal relations, feelings or people put into it. Yes, it gives facts on an event in a documentarist fashion – but it goes beyond it, taking on a relatable and tangible turn, helping a friend and doing the most in our own capacities of political and/or artistic capabilities. And those are usually more meaningful than we believe them to be. Nora Čulić Matošić (1998) studied Comparative Literature (MA) at the Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences in Zagreb, Croatia. She has written theatre criticism for the Croatian radio programme Theatralia and web portal Kulturpunkt.hr. She took part in the Critic's Residencies programme of the Beyond Front@ international project, of which Bunker was also a partner. In 2026 she visited Mladi levi Festival as a guest critic.
