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Europe

Michael Gow

Barbara:
I only have two more performances of this for a few months. Then the
chorus in Medea. I hate it. The girl in the lead cant act. She
starts to weep the very second her foot touches the stage. We all
cower in the shadows pretending to mourn the children. All these old
plays. We do them over and over. We do them this way, we do them
that way, we dress them up, we strip them bare, we expose them, we
conceal them, we reinforce them, we deny them. And the new plays
are just shadows of the old ones. Over and over. Oh, God, why bother
doing this? Theatre! Its torture. If only the public knew. If only they
would learn something from it. We could go on to something new. But
back we go to the next way of doing the same old thing, the new
interpretation of the same ancient meaning. One night I will give a new
interpretation. Sing a song, tell a joke, maybe a story; yes a true story:
avoid the catastrophe completely; no plots, no mysteries, no betrayals.
Of course that would do my career no good at all. Because I can do it all
so well.

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