Cyrano de Bergerac is one of those timeless stories that just sticks with you, and the characters feel like old friends at this point. The titular character, Cyrano, is this larger-than-life figure—a brilliant poet, a fierce duelist, and a man cursed with an enormous nose that makes him painfully self-conscious. Despite his bravado, he’s secretly in love with his cousin Roxane, but he’s convinced she could never love someone like him. Then there’s Christian, a handsome but tongue-tied soldier who also adores Roxane. Cyrano ends up helping Christian woo her by writing love letters for him, which is equal parts heartbreaking and beautiful. Roxane herself is this radiant, intelligent woman who values wit and soul over mere looks, though she doesn’t
realize who’s truly behind
the words she falls for. The play’s supporting cast, like Cyrano’s loyal friend Le Bret or the villainous Comte de Guiche, add layers to the story, but it’s really the tragic love triangle that grabs you by the heart.
What I love about 'Cyrano de Bergerac' is how it blends swashbuckling action with deep emotional stakes. Cyrano’s wit and swordplay make him a hero in the classic sense, but his insecurity and unrequited love make him painfully human. The way he hides behind Christian’s face, pouring his soul into letters Roxane will never know are his, is just devastating. And Roxane’s journey—from infatuation with Christian’s looks to realizing
too late the depth of Cyrano’s love—adds this bittersweet layer. It’s a story about masks, both literal and figurative, and how we hide our true selves out of fear. Every time I revisit it, I find something new to cry about—usually Cyrano’s final monologue under the moonlight.