On March 8 2025, SA and the world lost an icon, and I lost a friend — someone who has been with me throughout my whole life in the theatre.
It is impossible to measure the impact Athol Fugard had on the world, on SA, and on the global theatre community. His work didn’t just shape SA theatre, it shaped how we, as artists and audiences, see the world, how we understand our responsibility as storytellers and how we find the courage to speak the truth, even in the darkest of times.
I first “met” Fugard in school in the 1990s, though not in person. It was through his plays that I first encountered him — those fierce, intimate portraits of people fighting against systems too vast to change but too cruel to accept. Master Harold ... and the Boys, The Road to Mecca, Boesman and Lena — each play, a lesson in humanity. His words were my first introduction to a theatre that wasn’t just entertainment but an act of defiance, a mirror held up to the world, a call to action.
In 2011, I was incredibly lucky to begin working at The Fugard Theatre, a space that bore his name and carried his spirit. But I didn’t begin as a director or a producer. I started at the bar. And it was there, pouring glasses of wine after previews of The Birdwatchers, that I first met Fugard in person.
There was something magnetic about him — a presence that made the room stand still. Not because he demanded it, but because he carried the weight of so many stories, so much truth. Fugard’s warmth and humanity, his ability to make anyone he encountered feel like the only person in the room, was evidence of his total understanding of people. He didn’t just see you; he made you feel seen.
My memory of him in the Fugard foyer is something I will always hold dear. He knew everyone’s name. The moment he walked in, the already warm foyer of the Fugard would somehow feel brighter, as if it were drawing actual energy from him. He had an unshakeable belief in the power of theatre, but he also had a wicked sense of humour and a generosity of spirit that made him as much a mentor as a legend.
As I moved through the ranks, working alongside the incredible Fugard Theatre family, I had the absolute privilege of being part of his newer works — not just watching from the sidelines but helping bring them to life. And then, finally, I was given the chance to direct his work.
I remember when I was asked to direct The Road to Mecca for The Fugard in 2018. A few weeks before rehearsals started, I was visiting Fugard, sharing a glass of wine on his stoep in Stellenbosch. Nervously, I asked him for advice, eager to hear how he thought I should approach it. His eyes took on that fierce, considered glare for a second — one that anyone who knew him will recognise — and he looked at me, smiled, and said: “Keep it simple.”
And that was it. That moment has never left me. Those three words, spoken with such certainty, have become a guiding principle in my work and in my life as a director.
Fugard understood something fundamental: theatre is not about grandeur or spectacle; it is about truth. It is about stripping everything away until all that remains is a story, a heartbeat, a connection. That’s what made him a master of the craft. His plays never hid behind elaborate distractions. They confronted, unflinching, the realities of being human — of love, of loss, of injustice, of resilience. And in that simplicity, there was profound power.
That lesson is one I carry into every rehearsal room. Every time I work with actors, every time I block a scene, I hear his voice “keep it simple”. It is not about impressing; it is about revealing. It is about allowing the truth of a moment to stand on its own.
Fugard’s work is steeped in SA soil, but its roots run deep through the entire world. He gave voice to those who had been silenced. He held up a mirror to apartheid — to its violence, its absurdity, its human cost. But more than that, he showed us the personal within the political.
His characters — Hally, Sam, Willie, Boesman, Lena, Zachariah, Morris, Sizwe, Styles, Buntu, John, Winston, Piet, Gladys, Helen, Elsa, Dawid, Veronica, Roelf, Simon, to name just a few — are not symbols; they are people. They are us. That is what made him different. That is why his plays will never stop being performed, why his words will never stop being relevant.
His influence on me, both as an artist and as a person, is immeasurable. To have witnessed him at work, to have seen the way he shaped a play, the way he crafted dialogue with such precision, was one of the greatest honours of my life. I carry those lessons with me in everything I do, and I will spend the rest of my career trying to do justice to what he taught me.
Athol, I will never forget you. I will honour you in every way I can — in my work, in my life, in every rehearsal room, in every performance that strives to tell the truth.
Rest well, gentle Athol. You will never be forgotten. Your voice will never be silenced.
• Karvellas, a theatre director and producer, was the artistic director of the now-closed Fugard Theatre in Cape Town. He is currently based in Berlin but continues to work on projects in Germany, SA and the UK.
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