by Lord Malinov
I had been hired to direct a play by a small avant garde theater. Hired is a strong word. I had be cajoled and otherwise coaxed into taking the job by some good friends of mine with an interest in the project. Honestly, I needed a break from working more commercial venues. Intimacy and artistry sounded like just the medicine I needed.
My friends were excited about the play they had chosen to produce, written by another friend, and I could understand their enthusiasm. The story had existential overtones without being overly absurd, a little more Shepard than Ionesco, with shades of both, heavy with sharp, witty well-crafted dialogue. Almost Shakespearean at times, without the pentameter. With my first reading, I was already doing rewrites in my head, a reaction that I always take as a good sign. The author and I would cross swords…
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