A Common Miracle

By Evgeny Schwartz

Translator: Georgi Arnaudov

Director: Byurhan Kerim

Set and Costume Design: Nikol Trendafilova

Composer: Hristo Namliev

Choreographer: Yanitsa Atanasova

Starring: Georgi Zlatarev, Kostadinka Aratlykova, Georgi Nyagolov, Vanesa Peyankova, Yordan Rasin, Ivaylo Dragiev, Zhana Rasheva, Nikola Mutafov

There are moments in life when the ordinary falls apart — and something profound, inexplicable, begins to insist on change. In such moments, one must choose: to remain faithful to oneself, as one has been until now, or to dare to become someone else.

This is the heart of A Common Miracle — not simply a story about love, but a dramatic journey through it, with all the fear, doubt, and strength it demands.

A young man, once a bear, appears in the home of a Wizard — a man who has tried to renounce magic, yet whose heart still seeks miracles. There, in mountainous seclusion, the young man meets a Princess.

Two people who do not want to fall in love. And love — without asking — overtakes them.

In this world, love is not comfort. It is both curse and salvation. If you accept it, you lose everything familiar. If you turn away from it, you remain whole, but empty.

A Common Miracle tells of that threshold where the miracle is not in the magic, but in the decision to cast aside fear and bear the consequences of loving.

Schwartz writes not so much a fairy tale about miracles as an allegory of maturity, choice, the fear of intimacy, responsibility, and one’s own transformation. The fairy-tale characters here are not decoration — they are the form in which the invisible becomes visible, and what is hidden within us finds voice. The wizards here do not wave wands; they adjust reality so as to test the love of others. The princesses do not wait to be saved, but choose to set out on their own path. And the bears, transformed into humans yet still guarding something wild within, discover that the hardest thing is not to change, but to stay when love happens.

Beneath the surface of magic lie entirely real questions: can we be ourselves and be loved at the same time? What happens when feeling turns out to be a trap? When love is awakening, but also a threat? When being oneself requires more courage than being a hero?

Can we love without losing ourselves? And in truth — which is harder: to become human, or to remain?