Dear Joan
A theatre foyer. Night. It is empty. The doors are locked. But if there were a woman there...
A theatre foyer. Night. It is empty. The doors are locked. But if there were a woman there...
THE TROUBADOUR THE VIRGIN THE STALKER THE DRUNK THE VIOLIN MAKER
The curtain opens on the cold, wintry Atlantic Ocean.
What makes me who I am, or lets me become what I am not?
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.