Seven Books
Wednesday

Wednesday: The Time of The Cherries premiered at the beginning of June 2018, at the Teatro Municipal Maria Matos, in the latest edition of the Alkantara Festival led by Thomas Walgrave, who had been the set designer and light designer for the two previous plays, and a true compagnon de route. The initial set was a platform, as in the previous show, but this time it was raw, without carpets or rugs, just a set of laminated plasterboards attached to each other, under which you could hear banging, scraping and dragging, as if someone wanted to get out. In front, on the screen, you could sometimes see video images of what someone was doing down there. Little by little, a crack opened up, then a hole through which an arm could pass, and soon the slabs gave way to a crater, made from the bottom up, from which two figures in hoods and protective masks emerged, very dusty, victorious in their final duel against the plasterboard. In a way, it was as if the figure that had gone under the carpet at the end of Tuesday had returned, this time accompanied. On the screen, in addition to the initial video spurts, subtitles had also been projected that established a chronology, narrating the triumphal march of neoliberalism from 1971, a hundred years after the Paris Commune evoked in the subtitle, to the present. In 2018, exhausted of historical facts, the chronology didn't stop, now continuing with questions, until 2071, the new cherry time. Meanwhile, down here, the two diggers had given way to two puppets and the scenery had changed scale, making the crater look bigger and bigger.

The perforation of the plasterboard and the puppets looking into the crater led the viewer to imagine various scenarios, while the specific references in the subtitles fixed the meaning of the story. The aridity of the evoked landscape and the dryness of the projected text left no room for doubt about the subject of the play: the choice between the end of the world and the end of capitalism. The spectator, like the reader, has to choose the common destiny.”


Seven Books
Wednesday

“Wednesday: The Time of The Cherries premiered at the beginning of June 2018, at the Teatro Municipal Maria Matos, in the latest edition of the Alkantara Festival led by Thomas Walgrave, who had been the set designer and light designer for the two previous plays, and a true compagnon de route. The initial set was a platform, as in the previous show, but this time it was raw, without carpets or rugs, just a set of laminated plasterboards attached to each other, under which you could hear banging, scraping and dragging, as if someone wanted to get out. In front, on the screen, you could sometimes see video images of what someone was doing down there. Little by little, a crack opened up, then a hole through which an arm could pass, and soon the slabs gave way to a crater, made from the bottom up, from which two figures in hoods and protective masks emerged, very dusty, victorious in their final duel against the plasterboard. In a way, it was as if the figure that had gone under the carpet at the end of Tuesday had returned, this time accompanied. On the screen, in addition to the initial video spurts, subtitles had also been projected that established a chronology, narrating the triumphal march of neoliberalism from 1971, a hundred years after the Paris Commune evoked in the subtitle, to the present. In 2018, exhausted of historical facts, the chronology didn't stop, now continuing with questions, until 2071, the new cherry time. Meanwhile, down here, the two diggers had given way to two puppets and the scenery had changed scale, making the crater look bigger and bigger.

The perforation of the plasterboard and the puppets looking into the crater led the viewer to imagine various scenarios, while the specific references in the subtitles fixed the meaning of the story. The aridity of the evoked landscape and the dryness of the projected text left no room for doubt about the subject of the play: the choice between the end of the world and the end of capitalism. The spectator, like the reader, has to choose the common destiny.”

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