The screenings end abruptly and the spectators, resigned, leave the theaters.

14ymedio, Darío Hernández, Havana, July 13, 2025– On a Sunday that appeared to be a cultural normality, the Teatro Trianón in Havana had a day that crudely reflects the energy crisis that has become embedded in the daily life of Cubans. An adaptation of The Hound of the Baskervilles was again a victim of the blackouts. Saturday had already been canceled, and on Sunday, a video captured the dismay of the attendees: “Again?” they complained from the seats.
At the Trianon, actors rehearse in stifling heat. Hundreds of spectators brave the congested transport system, cross half the city, and sacrifice an entire afternoon to finally face the uncertainty of the electricity grid. Fortunately, the performance was able to resume that Sunday afternoon, albeit more than half an hour late.
In the provinces, the situation is often even more critical. Just a few weeks ago, in Santiago de Cuba, the Hermanos Saíz Association website bluntly announced: “The Teatro El Portazo performance at the Santiago Theater Council has been canceled tonight due to a power outage. We apologize for any inconvenience.”
In Camagüey, the Teatro del Viento [Theater of the Wind] has also suffered prolonged power outages that have paralyzed its performances. Its director, Freddys Núñez Estenoz, denounced on social media that they had been “living in hell for weeks with blackouts ranging from 17 to 23 hours a day.” On July 3, he wrote: “We still can’t offer dates or times for performances. We can’t even guarantee that we’ll have performances. We’re waiting for something as simple as finding out the blackout schedule for the circuit where the theater is located. And we’re not the only ones. The Camagüey Ballet is also waiting for the premiere of continue reading

Under such conditions, theatrical creation becomes an act of resistance. Rehearsals are interrupted, premieres are postponed, performances are canceled. This is what happened with the play Fibra [Fiber], which the Camagüey-based collective planned to premiere on its 26th anniversary but it was postponed due to the impossibility of lighting the stage and setting up the installation.
The situation is no different in movie theaters. Last Sunday, in theaters 23 and 12, they were showing a series of favorite films by the late president of the Cuban Institute of Cinematographic Art and Industry, Alfredo Guevara. But Jacques Becker’s Cascos de Oro was only halfway through when the theater went completely dark, and the screening ended abruptly. Resigned, viewers left the theater with no clear destination, adding yet another disappointment to the national routine. Seeking emotional refuge in the movies or theater has become, for many, an additional source of frustration.
The blackouts plaguing the country are not just incidental. With outages of up to 22 hours a day in several regions, even events planned months in advance are not spared. During the International Festival of New Latin American Cinema, multiple screenings were canceled due to the power outages.

A Cuban filmmaker described that edition as an “organizational disgrace”: dark theaters, absent signage, and makeshift restrooms on 23rd Avenue in Vedado, with an unbearable stench. The reduced capacity, last-minute cancellations, and endless lines have become an inseparable part of the country’s cultural landscape.
The only show free of blackouts, it seems, was the premiere of La Colmenita, which was attended by Raúl Castro, Díaz-Canel, and almost the entire staff of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Propaganda never lacks power.
In a Cuba where even art is forced to wait for the lights to come back on, theater director Freddys Núñez summed up the general feeling with a lapidary phrase: “What’s the point of continuing to play the game that something is working, when in reality everything is screwed up…? Nothing works. Nothing.”
Translated by Regina Anavy
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