Pupils at the max, about to get of shore. Darkness reached its pitch, there can hardly be anything beyond. Sinking my fingers in the seat is the only way to check that, yes, this is a theatre and, no, this is not a second before the Almighty asked himself for a lighter, as I breathe, smell and hear….hear a bumblebee the size of a cauliflower buzzing over my head. I bet the person next to me would admit, it is actually a cauliflower the size of a bumble bee.
But now there is wind coming and the first row (I decided to assign a name to that point in the middle of void, to comfort myself with some stroke of sense of location) is hit by rain, with people out there screaming accordingly.
There is a monologue. It is a busy one, walking around, monologuing, pausing, disappearing, but above all, reappearing right the opposite from where you last hear its steps, so the final impression is you have the honour to deal with an entity impersonating a man made of meat and bones, while soundly ignoring the fact that pedestrians are not that good at reaching a speed of light.
Darkness gets dense. It coagulates into pieces of something, which feels like leaves of cotton birches riding by under the pace of the Radetszky March, or should it rather be a marching platoon of jellyfishes, saluting towards a tribune staffed with baby tomatoes? Soon I find out. It simply rains little noodles of velvet.
Another soundscape pulling me to the edge of a forest, making me look at a village drowsing in a valley beneath. The church bells strike midday. I feel like getting horizontal, sprawl myself across a moss mat and bite into dark bread with margarine…when a massive tree falls down so nastily close, that I duck instinctively and shut my eyes.
“When you close your eyes while dreaming, you slip into a dream that belongs to somebody else” says a voice coming from the infinite.
Theatre Dream at BAC
