The eighth production presented at the 2026 Aranya Theatre Festival is The Red and the Black, produced by the Krakow New Bathhouse Theatre from Poland and directed by Bartosz Szydłowski.

For a production coming from Poland — a country with such a rich theatrical tradition — this adaptation feels unexpectedly disappointing. Compared with the depth and complexity of Stendhal’s original novel, the theatrical interpretation appears somewhat thin. The dramatic writing lacks the weight of the source material, the performances and vocal work feel relatively ordinary, and the visual design — including lighting and stage installation — often appears conventional and dated. Although the production incorporates contemporary theatrical techniques such as handheld cameras and multimedia projections, these elements do not create a sense of innovation; instead, they sometimes produce an impression of familiarity and repetition.

The performance revolves around a central question: who is responsible for Julien Sorel’s death? Two jurors interrogate people connected to Julien, attempting to uncover the true “culprit” behind his downfall. However, the investigation unfolds in a way that feels emotionally distant and dramatically underdeveloped. The characters become simplified representations rather than complex individuals, and the monologues often approach the surface of the characters’ conflicts without fully entering their inner worlds. Some deliberately provocative scenes involving sexuality attempt to add intensity, but instead create a strange contrast — within The Red and the Black, the adaptation seems to find more “yellow” than “red.”

The richness of Stendhal’s original novel — the psychological complexity of its characters, the contradictions of human desire, ambition, and morality — is largely absent. The experience feels like waiting for precious shells to appear after the tide retreats, only to discover that what remains on the shore are plastic bags and empty cans.

When I first read The Red and the Black as a university student, the question that remained most powerful was: who truly pushed this brilliant young man toward irreversible destruction?

Julien Sorel’s death was never merely the result of a personal conflict or an individual act of revenge. It was the final movement of a larger tragedy — a “symphony of death” composed by the state, society, and religion, where every note carried a shared responsibility.

First, the invisible and overwhelming force of history became the first force crushing Julien’s ambition. He was born into an era defined by the violent confrontation between “red” and “black” — revolution and restoration, ideals and authority. Julien’s spirit was divided by the contradictions of his time. Although he carried a burning sense of heroism and admiration for revolutionary glory, he was forced to wear the black robe of the clergy simply to survive. His desire to enter a larger world repeatedly collided with the walls of an old social order.

Secondly, the deeply corrupted social structure became the cold architect of his downfall. The restored French society depicted by Stendhal was a magnificent prison built upon hypocrisy, superficiality, and social hierarchy. In a world that rejected talent and courage while worshipping birth and status, Julien’s resistance was destined to become a struggle against an impossible system.

Yet Julien himself was also part of this tragedy. His death was not simply an execution imposed upon him; it became a form of self-awakening — a final act of dignity. In his final moments, Julien no longer seeks acceptance from the world that rejected him. He recognizes the emptiness of the society he once desired to enter and chooses, ultimately, to stand rather than kneel.

This is the Julien Sorel created by Stendhal: a man who comes from hell, dreams of reaching heaven, and passes through the human world — only to be destroyed by the very world he hoped to conquer.