---

The last premiere of the 2024-2025 season at the National Theater in Cluj-Napoca, Mr. Harpagon's Brave New World, superimposes a well-known story onto a contemporary context, addressing difficult questions. Italian director Roberto Bacci returned to Cluj to stage Michele Santeramo's play, and the result concerns us all. The moral dilemmas debated in it are ours, everyone's. For this reason, the audience becomes a collective character, responsible for the general passivity of the crowd in the face of misfortune.

 

Interview with the author Michele Santeramo - conducted by Anca Șugar

Anca Șugar: How do you justify the transformation of Harpagon from a classic miser into a child trafficker? Is this a critique of modern capitalism or an exploration of human morality under extreme conditions?

Michele Santeramo: My fantasies, a series of characters inspired by great classics, do not deny their origins-they show how those origins have changed along with the evolution of society. In this case, Harpagon does not deny his greed; he has simply understood that his "box" full of money-the one he finds at the end of the final act in Molière's The Miser-exists everywhere in our world, in every human life that can be exchanged. Harpagon knows very well that one can expect anything from a human being when placed in extreme conditions. He has no illusions about that.
On the other hand, his perspective is not intended as a critique of modern capitalism, but rather as an invitation to awareness: we only protect what we consider precious. If children were considered precious, perhaps they wouldn't be killed so easily.

A.Ș.: The character of Marianne is both a victim and an accomplice. Do you believe that such inner conflicts reflect the real experiences of human trafficking victims, or do they reduce them to mere pawns in a larger story?

M.S.: Marianne says about herself that she is used to being worthless. Her gratitude toward Harpagon stems from this realization: I was worthless, you saw a talent in me, and you made use of it. I listened to the testimony of a person who told me what they had to endure during their journey to land in the West. That story became Marianne's story. A true story that happened to a real person-terrible and ordinary. Harpagon is kind to her; perhaps he is the only person who has ever shown her kindness in her entire life, and that is where her gratitude toward him comes from.

A.Ș.: The play ends without a clear conclusion: Harpagon avoids making a decision. Is this an artistic choice meant to emphasize the absence of solutions in the face of systemic evil, or does he simply refuse to take a stand?

M.S.: This Harpagon is convinced that circumstances are more decisive than any choices one might make. For that reason, he doesn't judge anyone, because he knows that the victims of circumstance are beyond judgment. When faced with the terrible choice he must make, he ultimately refuses to choose, believing that the most atrocious and difficult things happen on their own. The tree does not decide to grow; it simply grows-that's what he says to justify himself. It's his belief, not mine. When I discovered it while writing, I couldn't resist including it as his point of view.

A.Ș.: The play parodies Molière's The Miser, but sets it in a world where children are literally sold. How did you manage to avoid trivializing the real tragedy of human trafficking through satirical exaggeration?

M.S.: The character of Harpagon-exaggerated, cynical, convinced that he is working for the good of humanity-is what allows the text to leap into the grotesque, into provocation. On stage, however, what we see above all are aspiring parents who buy children to save their own lives and those of their children. Thus another theme emerges: that of parenthood at any cost. Harpagon knows he is dealing with people who need to feel like fathers and mothers in order to fill their lives. The cruelty of buying a human being can also stem from pure and beautiful feelings. Everyone here acts out of love. But it is not self-evident that an act of love produces only love-just as it is not certain that an act which seems evil, such as buying a child, necessarily stems from evil.

A.Ș.: The audience is placed in the role of passive witness to Harpagon's crimes. Do you blame the spectators for their complacency, or is this meant as a mirror of how our society treats exploitation?

M.S.: In Fantasies, the audience is an active part of the performance. They are recognized by the characters on stage, involved in decision-making, spoken to directly. I don't believe they are guilty; they have opinions that this play tries to bring to light. Harpagon wants to start a conversation-he has no answers about what is good or evil, but he wants to raise the question. Thousands of children disappear every year. What happens to them? Can we talk about it?
I'll leave a question here, one to which I still don't know the answer: buying a child destined for hunger, poverty, or a life in war is certainly illegal, but I ask myself-is it truly a crime? Harpagon doesn't provide answers, but he poses that question to each of us. And others, up to the extreme one: What would you be willing to do to save your own child?
These questions are meant to place the spectator in an active position: everyone will answer for themselves-but at least they will have asked the question.

 

 

Interview by Anca Șugar with director Roberto Bacci

Anca Șugar: Mr. Bacci, how did you approach directing this radical adaptation of a Molière classic in such a contemporary and brutal context, where child trafficking becomes the ultimate metaphor for greed?

Roberto Bacci: I discussed this text with Michele Santeramo for a long time. It’s a normal process for us, one that usually takes many months, during which we search, develop different themes, adjust or test various endings. This gives me time to reflect deeply on the meanings of the text and their relevance to the world we live in.
We didn’t necessarily set out to talk about the greed of the world, but rather about the loss of the value of life. After this long process, I’m ready to stage the text knowing its most hidden aspects. In this way, I can also think carefully about the roles to be assigned and, therefore, about the actors—as if I already feel them performing their roles inside me.

Then, part of this introspection transforms itself, and I let many things change during rehearsals, paying special attention to what the actors are able to feel and propose. They are the ones who largely guide me in creating the performance, while I can suggest, improvise, or develop ideas starting from what emerges during rehearsals. If I had the entire plan perfectly prepared, I would only get from the performance something I already know—and then it wouldn’t be worth staging it.

A.Ș.: The play involves the audience directly, turning them into silent and guilty witnesses. How did you build this tense relationship between stage and audience?

R.B.: Under the gaze of the actors, and with the house lights kept on, the audience no longer feels protected by darkness. Instead, they become, so to speak, involved and encouraged to form their own personal opinion about the choices Harpagon will make.
Therefore, the dialogue with the spectator is privileged, alongside the one between the characters on stage. These are questions that concern us all; they don’t remain suspended in the air or confined to the theatrical narrative alone—they are questions that summon each person to respond and assume moral responsibility for a choice.

A.Ș.: How did you work with the actors to maintain the fragile balance between the grotesque and the human, especially in scenes where Harpagon rationally justifies what is, essentially, a moral crime?

R.B.: Before defining Harpagon as a moral criminal, his subject and his choices must be thoroughly examined. There is, of course, the criminal aspect of selling children for money—but we should also evaluate what it means to live in a society where every life, every existence, can be priced. Not only that of children, but ours as well, every day.

For instance, I often receive countless online offers for things I need—things only I was aware of. Isn’t that also a way of buying and selling myself? Similarly, children—without realizing it—are placed on the market by wars or disasters that leave them alone in the world. Today, every life is appraised in money.

A.Ș.: Marianna is a key character, a symbol of corrupted innocence. What did you want to communicate to the audience through her evolution from victim to “solution” in an economy of cruelty?

R.B.: Marianna finds her own solution by putting herself at Harpagon’s disposal to expand his trade even further, innovating it with new strategies. In a sense, there is no other way out but collaboration—as a means of survival.

A.Ș.: Did you feel the need to tone down the brutality of the text, or on the contrary, did you decide to amplify it in the staging to shock and provoke the audience?

R.B.: Once a text is staged, it reveals surprises within itself—as it always does. In building Harpagon’s character, while working with actor Radu Lărgeanu, we discovered a comic vein that proved very useful in concealing the character’s truly tragic nature. This allows the audience to better accept the story and, at the same time, to uncover by the end its tragic dimension and the questions hidden within the text.
Questions addressed especially to today’s parents: what meaning does the phrase “my son” acquire, and what lies behind that statement of possession—beyond an obvious declaration of affection?

A.Ș.: In a world marked by war, refugee crises, and huge social divides, what role does theatre still have? Can a play like this change perceptions—or even behavior?

R.B.: I believe that theatre devoted to telling edifying or dramatic stories has lost much of its historical function. My attempt, and Michele Santeramo’s as well, is to deconstruct the machinery of theatre as much as possible and to return to a tense, interrogative relationship with the spectator—with the social individual.
For this reason, the questions our performances raise are directed above all toward ourselves, toward who we have become. This was the case with Il Nullafacente, and it is also the case with Harpagon.
Moreover, in Michele’s creative universe there is always the theme of phantoms that emerge from the past of theatrical culture—like Molière’s Harpagon. Three hundred years later, a miser returns to us, updated but still possessed by the vice of greed—disguised now as a philanthropist who “does good” for the world in order to exist even today, even if only as a phantom.

A.Ș.: The casting process for such a text must have been a major challenge—what qualities did you look for in actors capable of sustaining the moral and emotional intensity of such a performance?

R.B.: The casting was made easier by working with actors I’ve known for many years—people I’ve already collaborated with, whom I value and love deeply. With these actors, any endeavor is possible, because they have complex tools and can handle any challenge.

A.Ș.: How would you envision this performance being staged in a “civil” space—for example, a waiting room, a train station, an airport, on the street—somewhere the spectator wouldn’t feel protected by the convention of being inside a theatre?

R.B.: It’s true, it’s difficult to stage this kind of performance in a theatre where the audience is protected by the “fourth wall” and remains enclosed in anonymity. Precisely for that reason, I insisted that the lights in the house stay on, so that the actors’ eyes can often look directly into the eyes of the spectators.