I saw "The Children's Hour", the play written by Lillian Hellman in 1934 that is currently being revived in London at the Comedy Theatre, with Keira Knightly and Elisabeth Moss in the main roles of Karen and Martha respectively.
It's by no means great theatre (although it's already sold out until the end of April and still in previews) but I want to write about it, because it made me think about how some "controversial" themes (and theatre) appear to date rather quickly, and what seemed daring once can look strangely stiff and even reactionary now. How can theatre that time has rendered a little obsolete still be made relevant?
***
The Children's Hour is a play every lesbian knows (or should know), because it's one of the first to make the relationship between two women - one of whom ends up identifying herself as a lesbian - its main focus. It is in fact what drives the drama.
The plot is simple: best friends Karen and Martha run a girls' school with some success. Karen is engaged to be married to Joe, a lovely young man, and this seems to cause some nervousness in Martha, something her aunt - a failed actress and a lush who teaches elocution in the school - picks on and calls "unnatural". In the meantime, Mary, one of the girls in the school, causes problems that have mainly to do with her lying and is punished for it. As a revenge she tells her powerful grandmother that she's seen something odd going on in the school, something that frigthens her, therefore she wants to leave. On her grandmother's insistence she reveals that she and other children have seen Karen and Martha kissing, heard strange noises coming from Karen's room at night. While we know this is a lie, the grandmother believes Mary and lets all the other parents know. The children are all taken out of the school.
Karen, Martha and Joe confront the grandmother and decide to sue her for libel, but lose. Martha and Karen are left hiding in their big empty school with only visits from Joe and a lecherous tradesman, shunned from the rest of society. Joe suggests that the three of them leave: he will marry Karen and Martha will go with them where nobody knows them, to start a new life. But Karen doesn't want Joe to sacrifice his life and career, and sends him away, after having him admit that he himself has been "infected" by doubts about the nature of her relationship with Martha.
Martha finds out about this and urges Karen to marry Joe, to save herself. Finally she confesses that what happened has caused her to doubt herself and question her own feelings for Karen, until she admits to having always loved her, even without knowing. Karen says they'lll talk about it tomorrow after they have calmed down. Martha goes to her room and shoots herself. That's exactly when the evil grandmother (Ellen Burtsyn play her vith great vulnerability, which makes her actions all the more chilling) arrives, confessing that she was wrong all along, that Mary has finally confessed to having lied. But it's too late.
***
I don't think that the play is dated in terms of plot. I am pretty sure that there are places, social classes, environmenta where the suggestion of lesbianism for the teachers of a private girls' school would have similar devastating consequences, including a suicide. What is really problematic for me is that while both Karen and Martha are portrayed in sympathetic terms, the moral issue at the centre of the play is always the lying, not the content of Mary's lie.
What I mean is that, not one of the characters at any stage of the play questions the morality of the grandmother's (and the community's at large) actions if the lie were true. They all seem to accept implicitly that once Karen and Martha's "unnatural" relationship has been proved correct, what befalls them is if not deserved at least understandable, in the natural order of things. This includes Martha, who by the end of the play blames herself for the entire disaster, even going so far to say that she must have somehow "revealed" her wrongness for Mary to pick on it.
I had a long discussion with my sister about this, and she insisted that Hellman went as far as she could for her time, that in 1934 she could have never problematised lesbian discrimination in any other terms: that we must read between the lines. Maybe she's right, especially considering that outside of New York (where it was a huge success), the play incurred in a number of bannings, precisely because of the sympathetic portrayal of Martha.
When the first film based on it was made, in 1936, they went so far as to change content of the lie, making Martha secretly in love with Joe rather than Karen, which gives us a sense of the morality of the times. However the fact that the play would work regardless of this fundamental change, supports my opinion that "lesbianism" is ultimately problematised in negative terms, as sinful and bad as betrayal/adultery.
In the 1950s Hellman state that her focus and interest in the play had shifted on the power of the lie, in occasion of a revival that followed her standing up to the Un-American Activities Committee, thus transforming The Children's Hour as a metaphor for McCarthysm and its anti-Communist witch-hunt (she was blacklisted in Hollywood).
In 1961 William Wyler, who'd directed the first, censored film version, directed a more faithful one, with Audrey Hepburn as Karen and Shiley MacLaine as Martha. It's a lesbian film classic, but again very problematic: for the tragic ending and for the rather hysterical performances, especially in those moments when lesbianism becomes a real possibility rather than a lie.
So, why revive it now? In the playbill notes, the director Ian Rickson mentions something about its political relevance in these times of absolute truths, religious extremism and invasive state practices, therefore linking his own reading to the "metaphor for McCarthysm" Hellman had hinted at in the 1950s. Except that I didn't see anything in his production to suggest any connection outside the private world of the protagonists and the times in which they live.
Knightly and Moss give decent performances (in fact better, more controlled than I expected from Knightly), but also quite monochord ones, without much subtlety, let alone sexual chemistry. The characters are what they say they are, to the letter, therefore remaining very opaque, dull even, difficult to empathise with.
This is odd, because the performances of the children and in particular of the young woman who plays Mary, Bryony Hannah, are astonishing: nuanced, complex, modern, responding to each other as actors should do, making their presence on stage (their bodies, their movements) count. The only hint of a new approach to the text, an attempt to make it relevant to us, comes precisely from the children who are shown here on the cusp of sexual awakening and confused, even tormented by it and by the costraints of their education.
During her final confession to Karen, Martha asks: why of all the possible lies did Mary choose this? What did she see in me, in us to make her say it? My internal answer to that was that she saw "that" in herself, and was afraid of it, reacting like a self-loathing teenager who has been taught how pleasure should be followed punishment.
Sadly, I don't think that this strong reading of the play, the only one that could make it relevant and even acceptable to a modern audience is carried throughout consistently. The fact that the lead actresses can't seem to inject their performance with enough subtlety and depth to make us care for them and their friendship doesn't help. Karen's feelings for Martha remains especially obscure, barely there in fact, and frankly that's a big failure for a play that was supposed to be so groundbreaking in bringing lesbian themes to the stage.
Showing posts with label theatre. Show all posts
Showing posts with label theatre. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Saturday, March 20, 2010
NZ International Arts Festival 2010 - Overview
Now that the 2010 edition of the NZ Festival of the Arts is over and the long Autumn has begun, it's time to comment briefly on the highs and lows of the shows I saw, and what they meant to me.
I was very selective in my first ticket booking, hoping to be able to add more performances as the festival was under way. As it turned out I barely had the time to see what I'd originally chosen: with a such a rich programme, it's regretful one has to miss out on so much, but hopefully I will be able to catch up with the New Zealand productions that have received overwhelming acclaim.
If I had to pick one favourite, it would be the extraordinary theatre/film combo represented by the Polish play T.E.O.R.E.M.A.T inspired by Pier Paolo Pasolini's film Teorema (1968).
I'd never seen the film before, but luckily the Festival screened it (the DVD rather than the actuals film, sadly), and I realised that I'd been missing one of the most intriguing avant-garde Italian movies of that watershed year. I have since bought most of Pasolini's flms available on DVD and am planning a slow, careful viewing.
The play mirrors the main plot of the film: a stranger comes to a middle-class Milanese family home, announcing his arrival by telegram ("Arrivo domani"), and soon proceeds to seduce - morally and sexually - all family members: the artist son; the daughter who's in love with her father and the idea of family; the repressed, beautiful mother/wife (the most perfectly cast Silvana Mangano, in the film); and the small industrialist patriarch. He also seduces the devoted maid. After having shaken the family to the core and awakened them to their desires and dormant inner lives, the stranger (Terence Stamp in Pasolini's film) leaves them, a loss that throws them all off-balance with devastating consequences.
Issues of faith (is the stranger God and does his disappearance reprent the absence of faith in contemporary culture?), sexuality, politics (the father/husband ends up giving away his factory to the workers), the role of art, family and incestuous desire, are all alternatively tackled in a truly enigmatic and poetic way, both in the film and the play.
Grzegorz Jarzyna, the young and brave director of the play, chooses to follow the film quite faithfully, yet produces something that is also original, expanding scenes that occupy a very brief space in Pasolini's masterpiece (such as the bourgeoise routine of the family's everyday life before the stranger arrives), shifting key moments from on character to another (as when the son's soccer game becomes a breathtaking love scene between the stranger and the father on stage), and giving a darker, more sinister readings of other parts of the film (by replacing for example the scene of the mother's possible reapproachment with God with one of rape during one of her several sexual encounters).
Both film and play are complex, stylized work of arts, of extreme beauty and depth, that challenge the viewers at all levels, from ideology to our viewing habits as consumers of popular culture. Exceptional work.
Another favourite of mine was The Sound of Silence, a Latvian play of over 3 hours where the life of a group of young students living the dream of free love, communal life, peace and music in the late 1960s is played against the soundtrack of Simon and Garfunkel's songs and no dialogue.
As in T.E.O.R.E.M.A.T, that decade of transition from traditional to modern values is evoked, although perhaps with more nostalgia here, stylised and questioned through perfectly coreographed stage reconstructions where costumes, lights, movement and music speak louder than a thousand words (in T.E.O.R.E.M.A.T's case, however, when those rare words - Pasolini's - are spoken, they are as poignant as the silence).
In The Sound of Silence the humour of the many actions that take place along the long stage that represents the many different rooms of the building where the characters live, adds to the gentleness of the evocation, one that speaks of the bittersweet memory of youth and unrealised dreams.
Sutra was very popular with the local audiences and overall an enjoyable encounter between Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui's coreography and dancing (originaly created for Sadler's Wells), and the tradition and skills of the Shaolin monks. Structured around a variety of episodes, some of which with clear references to Buddhist culture and mythology, the narrative never fell prey to the danger of becoming just an excuse for anthropological Western voyeurism.
The strongest elements, and the ones that held everything together in a coherent structure, were in my view Antony Gormely's simple set design based on wooden boxes that became in turns beds, boats, skyscrapers, coffins, lotus flowers, prisons and refuges: in other words, the beauty and the burden of our mortal coil; and Szymon Brzoska's music, played by himself and his fellow musicians from behind a thin veil that served as the scene's backdrop.
I attended also 13 Most Beautiful, Dean and Britta's songs and music written for 13 of Andy Warhol's screen tests filmed in the mid-1960s. I went curious about seeing some of these legendary screen tests played on the bog screen and I came back convinced of Warhol's genius, which is now so fashionable to dismiss.
Those films were astonishing, moving, intelligent, perfectly framed and lit: each capturing the essence of its subject in 2-minute of silent black-and-white. Now I jsut hope to be able to see more. (Dean and Britta's music and narrative were very fitting, too).
As far as classical music is concerned, I only managed to catch the Freiburg Baroque Orchestra, that didn't disappont. They played Mozart's Jupiter with gusto, if not grandeur, and an impeccable Violin Concert no. 5; but I loved they Haydn (Oxford Symphony) most of all, because it brought to life the delicacy, wit and balance of this composer who's not played nearly enough.
I only saw one of the writers' talks, the one given by Richard Dawkins who filled the Michael Fowler's centre and made science sound so damn sexy and us atheists feel we're not alone: a class act if ever there was one.
As for the rest, it was mainly art, all of it worth seeing. Judy Millar and Francis Upritchard exhibited their 2009 Venice Biennale's works at Te Papa (you can see The 4 Plinths Sculpture Project just outside); this worked quite well for Upritchard's small scale sculptures, but it felt as if Millar's huge installations were squashed by the enclosed, limited space.
At the Art Gallery (it's facade still decorated with Yaoi Kusama's multi-coloured dots) Seraphine Pick's ouvre was extensively investigated, as was Milan Mrkusisch's take on abstract art.
But what I liked most was Janet Cardiff's The Forty-Part motet, an installation of 40 separate loudspeakers, each playing the recording of one of the 40distinct voices of the Salisbury Cathedral's choir singing Thomas Tallis's Spem in Alium Nunquam Habui. Moving between the different speaker one could hear the separation of the individual voices (including the coughing and pre-singing exercises and chatter), then their coming together at the centre of the circle formed by the loudspeakers: it was difficult not to perceive each of them as humans by the end of the performance and I had to resist the temptation of giving them a standing ovation!
Another installation that found its perfect place was Daniel Brown's Vessels, a seriels of shallow glass bowls filled with water sitting on shelves and occupying the height of the central wall in the Maritme Museum: a most delightful place in itself, which I was happy to discover via Brown's art (and Mark K. Johnson's music) inspired by Dante's Purgatory.
But of all the art offered in association with the Festival, the greatest discovery were for me Anthony McCall's sculptures of lights, hosted literally on my doorstep at the Adam Art Gallery. Moving between his ever-shifting cones of light in an almost desert, darkly illuminated space was such and unusual, stimulating experience that I had to go twice on the same day, and I might go again before it closes.
If you look back at the entries of this journal, you will find that another highlight for me was an event that I followed with great passion and amusement, phtographing almost each day of its evolution: The Revolt of the Mannequins presented by the Teatre De Luxe from France.
The only disappointment came from an Irish play I had great hopes for, as it's written by Enda Walsh (of Steve McQueen's Hunger fame) and came with critical accolades: The Walworth Farce. Unfortunately, it didn't manage to grab my attention at all and I had to leave at the interval, something that I don't think I have ever done before, either at films or at the theatre. I'd say it was perhaps due to my inability to follow the thick and fast Irish accent, but my partner - who's a native English speaker - was so relieved when I suggested we should leave, that I'm inclined to think it was due to more than a linguistic barrier.
Overall, however, it was an excellent festival, one that brought the world to Wellington and that made Wellington look wonderful to the eyes of the world: just walking in the streets and along the waterfront during those beautiful end-of-summer days - the city brimming with artists, life and cultural curiosity - was a real treat. My only regret is not having time to see more offerings; next time I'll try harder.
I was very selective in my first ticket booking, hoping to be able to add more performances as the festival was under way. As it turned out I barely had the time to see what I'd originally chosen: with a such a rich programme, it's regretful one has to miss out on so much, but hopefully I will be able to catch up with the New Zealand productions that have received overwhelming acclaim.
If I had to pick one favourite, it would be the extraordinary theatre/film combo represented by the Polish play T.E.O.R.E.M.A.T inspired by Pier Paolo Pasolini's film Teorema (1968).
I'd never seen the film before, but luckily the Festival screened it (the DVD rather than the actuals film, sadly), and I realised that I'd been missing one of the most intriguing avant-garde Italian movies of that watershed year. I have since bought most of Pasolini's flms available on DVD and am planning a slow, careful viewing.
The play mirrors the main plot of the film: a stranger comes to a middle-class Milanese family home, announcing his arrival by telegram ("Arrivo domani"), and soon proceeds to seduce - morally and sexually - all family members: the artist son; the daughter who's in love with her father and the idea of family; the repressed, beautiful mother/wife (the most perfectly cast Silvana Mangano, in the film); and the small industrialist patriarch. He also seduces the devoted maid. After having shaken the family to the core and awakened them to their desires and dormant inner lives, the stranger (Terence Stamp in Pasolini's film) leaves them, a loss that throws them all off-balance with devastating consequences.
Issues of faith (is the stranger God and does his disappearance reprent the absence of faith in contemporary culture?), sexuality, politics (the father/husband ends up giving away his factory to the workers), the role of art, family and incestuous desire, are all alternatively tackled in a truly enigmatic and poetic way, both in the film and the play.
Grzegorz Jarzyna, the young and brave director of the play, chooses to follow the film quite faithfully, yet produces something that is also original, expanding scenes that occupy a very brief space in Pasolini's masterpiece (such as the bourgeoise routine of the family's everyday life before the stranger arrives), shifting key moments from on character to another (as when the son's soccer game becomes a breathtaking love scene between the stranger and the father on stage), and giving a darker, more sinister readings of other parts of the film (by replacing for example the scene of the mother's possible reapproachment with God with one of rape during one of her several sexual encounters).
Both film and play are complex, stylized work of arts, of extreme beauty and depth, that challenge the viewers at all levels, from ideology to our viewing habits as consumers of popular culture. Exceptional work.
Another favourite of mine was The Sound of Silence, a Latvian play of over 3 hours where the life of a group of young students living the dream of free love, communal life, peace and music in the late 1960s is played against the soundtrack of Simon and Garfunkel's songs and no dialogue.
As in T.E.O.R.E.M.A.T, that decade of transition from traditional to modern values is evoked, although perhaps with more nostalgia here, stylised and questioned through perfectly coreographed stage reconstructions where costumes, lights, movement and music speak louder than a thousand words (in T.E.O.R.E.M.A.T's case, however, when those rare words - Pasolini's - are spoken, they are as poignant as the silence).
In The Sound of Silence the humour of the many actions that take place along the long stage that represents the many different rooms of the building where the characters live, adds to the gentleness of the evocation, one that speaks of the bittersweet memory of youth and unrealised dreams.
Sutra was very popular with the local audiences and overall an enjoyable encounter between Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui's coreography and dancing (originaly created for Sadler's Wells), and the tradition and skills of the Shaolin monks. Structured around a variety of episodes, some of which with clear references to Buddhist culture and mythology, the narrative never fell prey to the danger of becoming just an excuse for anthropological Western voyeurism.
The strongest elements, and the ones that held everything together in a coherent structure, were in my view Antony Gormely's simple set design based on wooden boxes that became in turns beds, boats, skyscrapers, coffins, lotus flowers, prisons and refuges: in other words, the beauty and the burden of our mortal coil; and Szymon Brzoska's music, played by himself and his fellow musicians from behind a thin veil that served as the scene's backdrop.
I attended also 13 Most Beautiful, Dean and Britta's songs and music written for 13 of Andy Warhol's screen tests filmed in the mid-1960s. I went curious about seeing some of these legendary screen tests played on the bog screen and I came back convinced of Warhol's genius, which is now so fashionable to dismiss.
Those films were astonishing, moving, intelligent, perfectly framed and lit: each capturing the essence of its subject in 2-minute of silent black-and-white. Now I jsut hope to be able to see more. (Dean and Britta's music and narrative were very fitting, too).
As far as classical music is concerned, I only managed to catch the Freiburg Baroque Orchestra, that didn't disappont. They played Mozart's Jupiter with gusto, if not grandeur, and an impeccable Violin Concert no. 5; but I loved they Haydn (Oxford Symphony) most of all, because it brought to life the delicacy, wit and balance of this composer who's not played nearly enough.
I only saw one of the writers' talks, the one given by Richard Dawkins who filled the Michael Fowler's centre and made science sound so damn sexy and us atheists feel we're not alone: a class act if ever there was one.
As for the rest, it was mainly art, all of it worth seeing. Judy Millar and Francis Upritchard exhibited their 2009 Venice Biennale's works at Te Papa (you can see The 4 Plinths Sculpture Project just outside); this worked quite well for Upritchard's small scale sculptures, but it felt as if Millar's huge installations were squashed by the enclosed, limited space.
At the Art Gallery (it's facade still decorated with Yaoi Kusama's multi-coloured dots) Seraphine Pick's ouvre was extensively investigated, as was Milan Mrkusisch's take on abstract art.
But what I liked most was Janet Cardiff's The Forty-Part motet, an installation of 40 separate loudspeakers, each playing the recording of one of the 40distinct voices of the Salisbury Cathedral's choir singing Thomas Tallis's Spem in Alium Nunquam Habui. Moving between the different speaker one could hear the separation of the individual voices (including the coughing and pre-singing exercises and chatter), then their coming together at the centre of the circle formed by the loudspeakers: it was difficult not to perceive each of them as humans by the end of the performance and I had to resist the temptation of giving them a standing ovation!
Another installation that found its perfect place was Daniel Brown's Vessels, a seriels of shallow glass bowls filled with water sitting on shelves and occupying the height of the central wall in the Maritme Museum: a most delightful place in itself, which I was happy to discover via Brown's art (and Mark K. Johnson's music) inspired by Dante's Purgatory.
But of all the art offered in association with the Festival, the greatest discovery were for me Anthony McCall's sculptures of lights, hosted literally on my doorstep at the Adam Art Gallery. Moving between his ever-shifting cones of light in an almost desert, darkly illuminated space was such and unusual, stimulating experience that I had to go twice on the same day, and I might go again before it closes.
If you look back at the entries of this journal, you will find that another highlight for me was an event that I followed with great passion and amusement, phtographing almost each day of its evolution: The Revolt of the Mannequins presented by the Teatre De Luxe from France.
The only disappointment came from an Irish play I had great hopes for, as it's written by Enda Walsh (of Steve McQueen's Hunger fame) and came with critical accolades: The Walworth Farce. Unfortunately, it didn't manage to grab my attention at all and I had to leave at the interval, something that I don't think I have ever done before, either at films or at the theatre. I'd say it was perhaps due to my inability to follow the thick and fast Irish accent, but my partner - who's a native English speaker - was so relieved when I suggested we should leave, that I'm inclined to think it was due to more than a linguistic barrier.
Overall, however, it was an excellent festival, one that brought the world to Wellington and that made Wellington look wonderful to the eyes of the world: just walking in the streets and along the waterfront during those beautiful end-of-summer days - the city brimming with artists, life and cultural curiosity - was a real treat. My only regret is not having time to see more offerings; next time I'll try harder.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
NZ International Arts Festival 2010 - Revolt of the Mannequins (Final Day)
Well, this was fun.
We've finally reached the conclusion of the Revolt of the Mannequins, by Royal de Luxe, part of the 2010 NZ international Festival of the Arts, and it went out with a bang.
Most mannequins have escaped their glass prisons and we'll probably meet them again in the streets of Wellington, passing for regular people. I loved that there were no wrapped-up endings and that we're left with a sense that their stories have only just started.
If you want to see it from the beginning,see Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Days 4 and 5, Day 7 and Day 8 (unfortunately, I missed Day 6).
Closing-Down Sale
Evil Tale For Other People's Children
The Comic Fire Brigade
Mystery Story
The Angelus, by Millet
Eat Your Soup If You Want To Grow Up And Be Strong
Nightmare of the Puddle
The Hunter
Positive Test
The Kitchen
The Lovers
We've finally reached the conclusion of the Revolt of the Mannequins, by Royal de Luxe, part of the 2010 NZ international Festival of the Arts, and it went out with a bang.
Most mannequins have escaped their glass prisons and we'll probably meet them again in the streets of Wellington, passing for regular people. I loved that there were no wrapped-up endings and that we're left with a sense that their stories have only just started.
If you want to see it from the beginning,see Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Days 4 and 5, Day 7 and Day 8 (unfortunately, I missed Day 6).
Closing-Down Sale
Evil Tale For Other People's Children
The Comic Fire Brigade
Mystery Story
The Angelus, by Millet
Eat Your Soup If You Want To Grow Up And Be Strong
Nightmare of the Puddle
The Hunter
Positive Test
The Kitchen
The Lovers
Saturday, March 13, 2010
NZ International Arts Festival 2010 - Revolt of the Mannequins (Day 8)
Days 8 of the Revolt of the Mannequins, by Royal de Luxe, part of the 2010 NZ international Festival of the Arts.
For the story so far, see Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Days 4 and 5 and Day 7 (unfortunately, I missed Day 6).
Only one more to go and things are getting very interesting with the mannequins refusing to be restrained by their shop windows!
Closing-Down Sale
Evil Tale For Other People's Children
The Comic Fire Brigade
The Angelus, By Millet
Eat Your Soup I You Want To Grow Up Big And Strong
The Nightmare of the Puddle
The Mystery has moved next door to the Nightmare, and an arrest is being made.
The Hunter
Positive Test
The Kitchen
The Lovers
For the story so far, see Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Days 4 and 5 and Day 7 (unfortunately, I missed Day 6).
Only one more to go and things are getting very interesting with the mannequins refusing to be restrained by their shop windows!
Closing-Down Sale
Evil Tale For Other People's Children
The Comic Fire Brigade
The Angelus, By Millet
Eat Your Soup I You Want To Grow Up Big And Strong
The Nightmare of the Puddle
The Mystery has moved next door to the Nightmare, and an arrest is being made.
The Hunter
Positive Test
The Kitchen
The Lovers
NZ International Arts Festival 2010 - Revolt of the Mannequins (Day 7)
Days 7 of the Revolt of the Mannequins, by Royal de Luxe, part of the 2010 NZ international Festival of the Arts
Unfortunately, I missed Day 6, but you can still see Day 1, Day 2, Day 3 and Days 4 and 5.
Closing-Down Sale
Evil Tale for Other People's Children
The Comic Fire Brigade
The Angelus, by Millet
Eat Your Soup If You Want To Grow Up Big And Strong
Nightmare of the Puddle
The Hunter
The Kitchen
The Lovers
Photobucket censored and deleted the Postive Test photos, presumably due the fact that one of the characters - the new-born child - has a visible, if tiny, penis.
I am a little disturbed by the turn some of these performances are taking, especially The Comic Fire Brigade, Evil Tale for Other People's Children and now even The Lovers: a little too much violence of men on women. They are mannequins, of course, but still... Loving The Angelus, though!
Unfortunately, I missed Day 6, but you can still see Day 1, Day 2, Day 3 and Days 4 and 5.
Closing-Down Sale
Evil Tale for Other People's Children
The Comic Fire Brigade
The Angelus, by Millet
Eat Your Soup If You Want To Grow Up Big And Strong
Nightmare of the Puddle
The Hunter
The Kitchen
The Lovers
Photobucket censored and deleted the Postive Test photos, presumably due the fact that one of the characters - the new-born child - has a visible, if tiny, penis.
I am a little disturbed by the turn some of these performances are taking, especially The Comic Fire Brigade, Evil Tale for Other People's Children and now even The Lovers: a little too much violence of men on women. They are mannequins, of course, but still... Loving The Angelus, though!
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