Frankly, I’m not sure if the scene being played atop this mahogany stage is meant to be a soliloquy presenting a parody or some sort of satirical caricature. Frankly, I’m sure that by the end of this act, I’ll hear a squeaking epigram of ridicule being presented in the most degrading manner. Frankly, I’d have rathered to attend some sort of Elizabethan production over this polluted Italian comedy of rage and heart. Pause. The actor has fallen. The props are dropping. The light sets pop with deafening crackles. The navy blue curtains collapse cooly and carelessly instead of casually cascading. The director shrieks. The audience in muffling amusement. The pen continues to scritch on its way on the notepad.
22/04/2015
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