Archives of a lost season
It is March, 2120.
It is March, 2120.
Is it any different from anyone else? Is anyone even listening? The musician doesn’t know.
this is a list of edits from previous shows in their absence other things were possible some of them hurt
I’m a playwright by trade, and like Wainwrights and Shipwrights, in this modern world Playwrights are pretty useless. It is a dying art. Seriously disrupted.
Our theatre languages – not one, but many – will reflect the myriad visual, physical, social, musical and storytelling lives of our place and time, in the local vernaculars.
This was a long way from the contained theatre of a Chekhov play presented over a couple of hours and yet it was the same play. Instead, the audience was living with the characters in that house.
It’s a performance about parents and children, about generations and time, about a beautiful, troubled nation, about race, about a father imagining a reconciled future for his son...