As a woman raised in a house full of books and art, with a mother who has always been a promoter of culture, it pains me to witness how very important sectors of local culture are being dismantled and devalued. When I was a child, my parents dragged me to many of the world’s greatest museums and the most anticipated theatre plays. Back then, I used to protest a lot, but they all had a big effect on me, which I started noticing in my 20s. They offered me so many perspectives on life, made me curious about the world around me, and fostered my empathy and sensibility. At a time when the Ministry of Culture is changing the law so it can directly appoint the people who run public cultural institutions, restricts independent artists with experience from applying for the position of director of the National Theatre, and underpays museum employees, our society needs people who fight against injustice, who have the courage to speak up, protest, and get involved.

So, in the February edition, I put together a short list of people who fight for culture and whom you should know about, with the help of actor Alex Călin, one of the active voices sounding the alarm when necessity calls. Theatre critic Iulia Popovici writes about the constraints of Romanian theatres and why it’s important to understand that even if halls are sold out, precarity still exists behind the curtains. We continue with two interviews that invite people to connect: poet Alina Purcaru talks about the power of poetry to center us, while Carla Boboc discusses with Ruxandra Iacob the importance of going out rather than connecting over a screen, and why she’s bringing back offline dating through the concept event Date me, maybe?, co-organised with Mihai Ivașcu.

We close this rich edition full of hope that, in times of darkness, someone still keeps the light on, showing us that despite the underfunding and closure of many necessary cultural hubs, culture can still thrive in unexpected places, such as the newly opened Apollo Cinema, where Ana Maria Sandu enjoyed a cinematic evening with friends, which she writes about in our closing column, The Showcase. As always, I leave you with some of my favourite places I’ve been to or things I’ve done in the past month. And this edition is all about the tropical sun and sandy beaches of the Seychelles in Editor’s Picks. I hope there’s a lot for you to discover, learn, or simply read in this latest edition. And if you enjoy it, please like it, share it, leave a comment. It’s almost a year since I started working on this curated newsletter, and it would mean the world to me to know you enjoy it.

Laura x

The Romanian Theatre Between Overproduction and Uncertainty

Even a single show, among those produced in the complicated year of 2025, can give an idea of the extent to which the theatrical production model in Romania today is beginning to creak. Literally. During the play I attended a few nights ago, the Plexiglas elements of the set seemed amateurishly designed. Every time one of the doors attached to that Plexiglas wall opened, the entire ensemble, in all its parts, swayed menacingly. The play is very good, impeccably acted and directed, with a shocking relevance, and the set designer is a professional with many awards under his belt. So how is it that the set seemed to have been manufactured in a mocking manner? We were told that there was no money, cheap materials were chosen, and that Plexiglas expands and contracts uncontrollably between the heat of the hall and the cold of the warehouse. Perhaps it was just an accident, not a noticeable effect of the administrative and budgetary chaos caused by a new wave of austerity measures over the last six months. Otherwise, Romania continues to produce many spectacular stage designs.

The defining phenomenon of Romanian theatre over the past 15 years has a name: overproduction. Accustomed to a “natural” and semi-captive audience, with social practices in which going to the theater was passed down in the family and used as a way to spend free time with friends, producers suddenly found themselves faced with a new reality: theaters continue to fill up, but only for 20–50 performances, not several hundred, and they sell out in one or two years, not four or five. There are still spectators, but they are always the same ones. Bucharest has two million inhabitants (and growing) and fewer than 10,000 theater seats per evening (and declining, as one after another the old spaces are being closed due to seismic risk). It is not difficult to have full theaters. It’s hard to have full theaters for the same show over a longer period of time, to recoup at least some of the money spent, and not to exhaust the actors with too many roles at once.

Outside Bucharest, the problem is even more pressing. Most cities with theaters are aging and slowly depopulating, and spaces with hundreds of seats are increasingly difficult to fill. The solution found throughout the country by every manager to the problem of a loyal but limited audience was simple: more premieres. Something new every month. Basically, different shows for the same audience. The novelty could have come from tours, from presenting productions from one city in as many other cities as possible, and the audience might not have been the same, and yet here we are. The overproduction of public theaters empties budgets, overwhelms private or independent productions, and creatively exhausts all artists, especially directors, because it’s not as if the vision involves inviting artists who are just starting out, so the pressure is strictly on the success of the premiere. The lack of interest of producers in the new generations (who have little to gain from the Romanian stage’s predisposition to multiply annual productions) is even more visible due to a contextual accident: no one seems to have noticed that there were no graduates in 2025. The absence of an entire year of debutants can be blamed on the transition from three to four years of undergraduate courses in theater.

Because of overproduction, the visibility of each show is increasingly reduced. A lot of gems in contemporary Romanian theater are well buried under the huge pile of annual productions, fighting for attention with unequal marketing weapons. Prestigious public theaters in Bucharest attract more attention than new producers entering the market can; it is easier to find the program of a public theater than that of an independent venue, and the former can afford to sell tickets on ticketing platforms, while the latter cannot. Furthermore, it is easier to attract audiences to Grădina Icoanei than to a new industrial space at Podul Ciurel (where Lumina Center holds its theatrical performances), and in the jumble of titles, a show with stars is more tempting than one with unknown actors. Everyone is fighting for the same limited audience, on the same social media channels, in the general cacophony.

From the perspective of theater enthusiasts, concentrated almost exclusively in Bucharest and on social media groups, theater seems to be thriving. But the picture beyond the Dâmbovița River is increasingly grim: the announced merger of the two theaters in Râmnicu Vâlcea, each with another institution unrelated to the performing arts, went unnoticed because, in fact, no one had known for a long time what was going on there. Or in many other theaters in various counties, which are slowly dying in a vicious circle of political pressure and underfunding. And it is not a natural, unstoppable death: theater is thriving in small Hungarian towns, where performances are part of linguistic identity, just as it is thriving in Galați and Constanța. Beyond community culture and the individual energy of managers, no one knows exactly why. And for half a year, politicians have been promising, announcing, and threatening (it’s unclear which of these more) major reforms of the theater system. Only it’s very fuzzy what, why, and how they will be reformed.

Iulia Popovici is a theatre critic and a performing arts curator. She collaborates closely with Observator Cultural.

6 people fighting for culture that you should know about

If you rewind the tape of the few political debates that have taken place in Romania over the last two years, you will notice that you can count on the fingers of one hand the moments when culture and education have appeared in politicians’ speeches. These are subjects discussed in the public sphere only reactively: either during protests (such as the Bolojan Law or the recent protests by museum curators) or in the wake of scandals (the change in the Romanian Literature curriculum, the election contest at the National Theater of Bucharest, or the closure of the Lumina Center).

As there are few voices constantly concerned about these fields, and they must be supported and their efforts appreciated, we have compiled a short list of several personalities who deserve to be followed for their courage to speak openly and responsibly about the importance of Culture and Education.

Radu Vancu

Professor at Facultatea de Litere & Arte in Sibiu, poet and author of the novels Transparență and Paradis and an active supporter of the civic movement Vă vedem, Radu is one of the most consistent voices drawing attention to the devastating effects of austerity measures in education. He was recently part of the Romanian delegation to the Cairo Book Fair. Very active in the public sphere, his opinions garner numerous reactions and spark necessary debates.

Gianina Cărbunariu

A theatre director with productions staged in Avignon, Munich, Bratislava, and Madrid, Gianina’s plays are based on extensive research and tackle uncomfortable, rarely discussed topics, such as polarization in society, the consequences of the anti-abortion law during the communist era, the Securitate files, and the transport of toxic waste from the West to Romania. She recently launched Va urma, a volume of 10 political plays. Her latest productions Două ore cu pauză and Stela can be seen at Excelsior Theatre and Nottara Theatre respectively.

Mihai Radu

Works as a journalist at Recorder and Cațavencii. He is also a screenwriter and the author of several acclaimed novels (Sebastian, ceilalți și un câine, Respiră, Repetiție pentru o lume mai bună – the latter staged by Radu Afrim at the National Theater of Bucharest). You can watch him on the Recorder show called Ce ne enervează?, where he tackles with humour and irony the most important topics on the public agenda.

Katia Pascariu

A theater and film actress, Katia can leave you speechless, whether you are the audience watching her on stage or her acting partner. She is one of the most socially involved artists. For over 15 years, she has been performing political theater in schools and disadvantaged communities alongside her colleagues from the Political Theater Platform, while also working with teenagers, the elderly, and marginalized communities. She participates in protests against domestic violence and constantly speaks out about abuse in academic circles. You can go see her in plays at Replika, Teatrul Evreiesc or Stagiunea de Teatru Politic – some of my favourites are Toată liniștea din lume, and Acrobații.7 zile din viața unor profesori de țară or soon on the big screen in Sorella din Clausura, where she plays the lead character Stella, for which she has won an award at Locarno Film Festival in 2025.

Mihai Călin

An actor with over 25 years of experience, theater director, and active civic citizen. He has repeatedly taken a stand on the protests of museum curators and the flawed organization of management competitions in cultural institutions. For me, Mihai Călin is an example of an artist with sound principles, both artistic and human, and with constant involvement in the life of society.

You can see him play at TNB in Mary Stuart, Exil, Secundar, Procesul lui Eichmann (which he also directed), or in films such as The New Year That Never Came, Metronom and 5 Minute.

Mihaela Michailov

Mihaela wears many hats. She is a playwright, co-founder of Centrul de Teatru Educațional Replika (which celebrates its 11th anniversary this year) and professor of playwriting at UNATC. She was also the curator of the National Theater Festival between 2023-2025. She has written over 20 plays, translated into 7 languages, about migration, power relations in education, children growing up without parents, the marginalisation of vulnerable groups, and the history of the LGBTQ+ community before and after ‘89.

If you find time to visit the Replika, buy a ticket at one of her extremely sensitive and relevant plays. I recommend Pe limba ta, În zori, lumina e mai aspră, or Toată liniștea din lume.

Alex Călin is a theatre and film actor. He performs mainly at the Excelsior Theater and most recently played the role of Marin Preda in the film Moromeții 3. You can find him at protests for education and culture, but also on social media, where he voices his opinions, sometimes sensibly, sometimes not, about things he believes in

Date me, maybe? About the concept that’s taking dating back offline

I met Carla Boboc, one half of the duo behind the concept Date me, maybe?, on Dragobete. It was 2024, and I was at an art exhibition themed around love. A little over a year later, she told me over coffee that she was thinking of organizing an event where she would play matchmaker for other people who, like us at the time, had lost hope in love or the courage to try again. That’s how date me, maybe? was born: a dating event organized by Carla and Mihai, two incurable romantics.

An event that is, first and foremost, about community, and whose importance is evident in people’s current need for real, tangible, offline interaction. If I were to give my opinion, I would say that this is also reflected in the “maybe” in the title, laden with gentleness, doubt, and shyness. I have participated several times in the evenings organized by Carla and Mihai, each time from a different position: as a member of the audience, coming out of curiosity, or as a guest. Each time, I left filled with hope, giggling at the idea that maybe, on one of those evenings full of mystery and romance, someone blushed at the sight of a person who sparked their interest.

Carla has always been pursued by love. That’s how I met her, and that’s how I find her today. More about this, and about the beautiful concept she created out of a desire to seek meaning in love, in the interview below.

Hello, Carla, my dear friend!
Good to see you!

So tell me, how was the idea behind Date me, maybe? born?

It came about out of fatigue. Both my colleague Mihai and I realized that we were tired of dating and talking to people online. I had started to feel unsafe talking to people I didn’t know outside other contexts. It’s a story we tell at every edition, because we enjoy remembering it so much. We were in Corfu, sitting on the beach, and I was confessing to Mihai my struggle, while he was confessing his. And then we thought: what if we created a context where people could meet physically, in Bucharest, on dates? We thought of a PowerPoint presentation format out of nostalgia. We’ve all done this kind of presentation at least once, but we’ve never had fun with them. We created this context where people can come and introduce themselves through their friendships. That is, they come in pairs of friends, like the two of us. If I were single, you would introduce me and say how wonderful I am, but you would also know my flaws and could help me find the right person.

So it was born both out of need and desire.
Yes! And I think that in Bucharest, we need to get to know each other physically, because everyone already knows everyone on the internet.

What’s the most fulfilling part of organizing a dating event?

That connections are created. After each edition, we talk to people and they tell us they either reconciled with their exes or found someone new. Some of them told us, between two dates, that it was super cool, only for it to turn out to be a big fail, but at least they met someone and now they’re friends. We don’t suggest or promise anyone that they will find the love of their life at Date Me, Maybe? The most fulfilling thing for me is that a community is formed. That people take responsibility and come open to meeting others. I’m really glad that people show up!

What do you look for when selecting presentations from people who apply? Can you tell me a bit about the selection process?

We look at the average age first. For example, edition #5 was all about millennials. We had people between the ages of 29 and 42. So it’s important that the people who sign up are in the same age range. Then we look at how interesting a presentation is. This is a subjective criterion: the more it shocks or delights us, the more likely it is to be selected. Finally, we try to make everything as diverse as possible. We aim for a balance of women and men. One criterion we look at very carefully is that the presentations are polite and respectful, and that we don’t have 20-year-olds looking for dates with 50-year-olds, because that’s not one of our values. We’re also preparing some queer editions in the future, where we’d like to involve members of the community in the selection process.

Each edition also has a host who moderates. What’s their role?

They are there to tell us about their dating history. Mihai and I refrain from doing that ourselves. We trust that our guests have learned something from their dating experiences and that they can now present their past as creatively as possible. For example, in your presentation, you played a game with the audience. Other guests talked about how they found love and now don’t even think about dating anymore, they’re head over heels in love! We’ve had guests who read poems about how important love is in their lives. We’re excited that from now on we’ll be able to organize slightly more niche editions and involve guests directly in the selection process.

Based on the idea that video killed the radio star, do you think online dating apps are detrimental to romantic interactions in real life?

I think they can be harmful in the sense that things often remain superficial. It seems very easy to create a persona online. But in order to truly get to know either a friend or a potential romantic partner, you have to be yourself. And it’s very difficult, when moving from online to real life, to become that person.

How would you encourage people to give a dating event a chance?

I think that, more than we realize, we all draw strength from community. Whether you have many friends or just a few, whether you like going out or not, we all feel good with at least one person in this world. The goal is not to come to Date Me, Maybe? with the mindset of finding a date, but to meet people who are there for the same reason as you. If you tell yourself that and are kind to yourself, then at the very least you’ve done something interesting that day.

And lastly, what plans do you have for Valentine’s Day?

I’ll be at date me, maybe?, the Promiscuous edition! We’re throwing a big party at Random House on February 14, with music provided by DJ Alexia. There will also be a date me, maybe? station where Mihai and I will offer dating advice.

Ruxandra Iacob is a content creator with an artistic background and an endless list of hobbies. When she’s not filming a new vegetarian recipe in her kitchen, you’ll find her in row 8/9 at the cinema watching the latest A24 film, already preparing her next movie review.

Inside Clivaj Fidelitate: on writing, crisis, and liberation with Alina Purcaru

Alina, why do you write poetry? And what has this new volume of yours – Clivaj Fidelitate , brought you or changed in you?

I write poetry out of a real need to express myself in this form, which seems to me to be the most personal and through which I manage either to answer some questions, or to ask myself some questions, or to look at the world around me and at my life, or to take myself by the hand and save myself from falling. And that’s what I was left with after this volume, too. I looked more clearly at some moments in my life that otherwise seemed to swallow me up. And I discovered I have the courage to write about topics that are not necessarily typical for poetry – like domestic work, the codes we wear in our clothes, about all kinds of forms of harm and injustice that we, as women or girls have to deal with. And this whole process gave me a feeling of liberation.

So, in a way, you could say it was also a therapeutical process for you?

It was a form of concentration, and if that can also be translated as therapeutic, then yes. A way of consuming my energy and my need for clarification in an attempt to find the most appropriate expression for all this emotional rollercoaster that can be destabilizing in everyday life. Writing centers me, it gives me a kind of net that contains me with everything that is incongruous, with everything that is wandering, with everything that is, ultimately, crisis. Because by writing, I managed to find an area of solidity in the middle of a period that I felt was a kind of whirlwind, both on a personal level and looking at the world around me.

I have often participated in conversations debating how a person’s perception of a text or a film changes depending on their emotional and mental state. Do you think that a person can change their opinion about a poem or a volume of poetry depending on the stage of life they are at?

Absolutely! I think reading is one of the most intimate things. The mechanisms we set in motion when we read are related to our inner architecture, which also changes from day to day. Not fundamentally, but we have some extremely sensitive systems, we are constantly affected by something around us. So the way we integrate a text also changes from one moment to the next. That’s why I strongly believe in rereading. On the other hand, I don’t think there are necessarily these privileged moments when we can get closer to poetry. Just notice how popular poetry accounts on Instagram are, where their posts just appear in your feed. And no matter what you’re caught up in, if it’s a verse or a poem that speaks to you, it will touch you immediately and take you out of your flow. You pause and let the connection, the encounter with poetry, happen.

Clivaj Fidelitate it is also about the countless places we pass by without paying attention to them, or things we have and show off. When did you start consciously noticing all these spaces and things?

I believe that in times of crisis, whether personal or, as I said earlier, triggered by everything that is happening in the world, you become much more aware of what you have and what you don’t.

I asked you this question because people’s tendency is rather to be always on the run and disconnected from reality, and I believe you have to be very present in the present moment to be so aware of yourself and everything around you.

Yes, I recognize myself in this description, and I think it’s a point I’ve reached after many conversations with close friends, with people I admire, with books and films that look at the situation around us and try to make sense of it or understand it. In other words, it is not necessarily just an individual effort, but also a form of attention gained over time, as a result of encounters and conversations that stay with you and shape you.

Are love and death the only things that could still change something in this world?

I want to believe that every day we will find resources to imagine possibilities and worlds that are much more forgiving for everyone and everything. But love and death seem to me to be the extreme forms through which we can understand change. And anything that comes close to them in intensity has, in my view, an extremely powerful potential to set change in motion. If I ever give up believing that change is possible, I don’t think I can write anymore. Because I would have no hope and I would find no meaning.

You can find Alina’s book in all libraries or on Cartier’s website.

The long road back to the movies: Cinema Apollo

The writer Radu Cosașu referred to Elisabeta Boulevard in his writings as Sunset Boulevard, as for a long time it was home to most of the city’s cinemas: Arpa, Palas, Femina, Regal, Corso, Trianon, and Capitol. At Corso and Capitol, already decrepit but still open to the public after the Revolution, I saw some films during my first years as a student in the mid-90s. The tickets were cheap, the ladies at the box office were bored, it smelled of mold and urine from the toilets, and you could expect a rat to run across your feet at any moment. But that amused us rather than scared us. I don’t think we cared too much; the pleasure of watching a story on screen was always greater than the discomfort of the space.

One evening in January 2026, I walked down the same Elisabeta Boulevard, then turned onto Brezoianu Street, towards the Universul Palace, where the Apollo Cinema was being inaugurated. Their first screening was the feature film Sorella di Clausura, directed by Ivana Mladenovici. A lot has changed in these 30-odd years. This time, I plunged into the fictional atmosphere of the 90s, thus emotionally recovering a world that was torn apart, absurd, miserable, tragicomic, and surreal at the same time, but experienced in a cool and friendly screening room, which I enjoyed like a child and which contrasted sharply with the Bucharest depicted in the film. Even for these sensations alone, it is worth living in several eras.

I still feel sad when I walk past the Studio or Patria cinemas, both abandoned and gloomy for too long, like ghosts left over from other worlds. I don’t like malls, with their fairground hustle and bustle, so until now I have made a habit of going only to Elvire Popesco at the French Institute. Apollo will become a perfect place for those who need an intimate, central space to enjoy a film.

I don’t think there could have been a more suitable title for me to inaugurate this new cinema in downtown Bucharest. On the way back, thinking about the movie I had just watched, I felt I had recovered an important part of my life. The madness of the 90s has immense fictional potential, and Ivana Mladenovici has managed to talk about it with love and abjection, to make a reference to Salinger. Katia Pascariu is simply memorable in the lead role. In Sorella di Clausura, you discover a whole diversity of characters who remind you that in that new, cruel, and passionate world of transition, anything was possible. We come from far away, and sometimes, in order to remember, we need a new cinema where we can go, sit comfortably, wait for the lights to go out, and for the film to start playing on the screen.

Ana Maria Sandu is a writer and journalist at Dilema. Her most recent books are Salvatorii (Polirom Publishig) and the children novel O croazieră spre zgîrie-nori (Frontiera Publishing).

EDITOR’s PICKS

Every month, I share with you the things that caught my eye during my trips around the city or around the world. Below, you’ll find my latest obsessions and the places I recommend. This time, we travel together to the Seychelles Islands, an outstanding archipelago in the middle of the Indian Ocean, where the weather is always perfect for a swim.

An island we’ve been to and totally recommend is La Digue. It’s very small, and the only transport you can rent is bicycles. It was so relaxing to listen every day to the sound of waves or birds chirping, with no cars, just good vibes.

The most beautiful beach we’ve been to was Anse Cocos (La Digue). It can only be reached on foot (by taking a short hike) or by boat. It has a bar with delicious tropical juices and fresh seafood, as well as a petite lagoon for swimming.

If you love nature, I recommend hiking to Anse Marron (La Digue). It’s a six-hour trail that will take you across several beaches and through the jungle, with breathtaking views everywhere you look. Keep in mind that it’s not for beginners and can only be done with a guide. We were very lucky with Gerard; he taught us many useful things about the local biodiversity. You can check him out here.

A hotel I stayed at and loved is Paradise Sun, in Praslin. From the attentiveness of the staff to the design of the rooms, to the birds waking us up every morning and the beautiful beach just a few metres away, it had everything we could have hoped for.

And lastly, a restaurant we enjoyed … well, there were two. Le Repaire, an authentic Italian place on La Digue, perfect for romantic and delicious dinners. And Les Laurier on Praslin Island, where we had the best fish ever, truly. A local snapper with coconut sauce. My mouth waters just at the thought of it.

Now book that flight to this tropical paradise. I promise you won’t regret it.🌴