27/07/09 -
thanks to all who came out and supported THE MISANTHROPE. you helped to make the production our most successful to date.
media coverage:
national post
eye weekly
mondo magazine
the greek press
upcoming projects:
WOYZECK:
georg büchner's final and uncompleted play in a new translation by johanna schall and ted witzel.
"there are times when the man who does not lose his mind hasn't any mind to lose." g. e. lessing, emilia galotti
woyzeck is a strange case. a true crime documentary and a chronicle of madness, written between fever dreams in the weeks before the author died at twenty-three. a shockingly modern text and an anomaly in its historical context. a strange coming-together of a mad science experiment and a freak show. a play that starts in a circus tent and ends in a courtroom. they are one and the same place. a simple case of a jealousy murder that turns itself inside out into the basic problem of being human. woyzeck then searching, digging, looking for where it sticks; the knife in the hole, the freemasons, the voices under the ground. there must be some sense left in the world, or? the text blurring the lines between controlled experiment and insane clown show, the doctor the ringmaster, is it medical inquiry or woyzeck's own shattered recollections? the truth with the knife in the hole or somewhere among the peas. and over it all the sky glows red and comes a terrible roar from the heavens; woyzeck explodes.
"a text many times raped by the theatre, a text that happened to a twenty three year old
whose eyelids were cut off at his birth by the weird sisters, a text
blasted by fever to orthographic splinters, a structure as it might be created
when lead is smelted at new year's eve since the hand is trembling
with anticipation of the future; a sleepless angel-"
heiner müller, the wound woyzeck
- spring 2010 -
HELOISE AND ABELARD:
a multidisciplinary performance project based on the love and letters of heloise and abelard. by heloise, abelard, anne carson, and the red light district.
"i remember (for nothing is forgot by lovers) the time and place in which you first declared your passion and swore you would love me till death. your words, your oaths; are deeply graven in my heart. my stammering speech betrays to all the disorder of my mind; my sighs discover me, and your name is ever on my lips." heloise to abelard.
they broke all the rules. he the teacher and famous philosopher. she the brightest student in france. they made love in stolen hours away from her uncle's supervision, had a baby in secret, refused to marry. broke every sexual taboo that existed. inspired each other. until the unthinkable happened-her uncle finds out, and sends men to abelard's room in the night. he is castrated, unmanned, in the night, by thugs with a razor blade. unable to face the thought of losing heloise to another man, he packed her away in a convent and hid himself in a monastery. years pass. they never heard from each other. until a letter from abelard to a friend found its way into heloise's hands. so began the most explosively passionate correspondence in history.
what do you do with your love when you're too afraid to find out that everything you suffered might not have actually been worth it? how do you write your own myth to make up for your present reality? and what happens when they meet again in a best western 1000 years later?
"write to me no more, heloise, write to me no more. i have resolved it; this
letter shall be my last fault. adieu. i hope you be willing, when you have finished
this mortal life, to be buried near me. your cold ashes need then fear nothing, and my tomb
shall be ever the more rich and renowned." abelard to heloise.
- summer 2010 -
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