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Creativity starves insanity
Taking the tilt toward the very last second, catching the close of the doors beats the plus one by a few minutes. Later on the turn around at the end of the game, a meet up and the explanation still remains a little chilly though clear.
Duck by Stella Feehily in the Downstairs Theatre, is an abrasive tale of the despair a young woman suffers. Not only with such an unfortunate nick name, but of the conditions that envelop her existence. One that seems to seem at times light and hopeful and at others just a cloud of misty black ink smoking through the rafters.
Of which, it would appear that by the last third of the performance, all of the cigarette smoke does a number on the brain. Coupling with the after and lingering effects of sleeping a shifting sleep schedule against the rest of the world, it's a vision splendour of the skull kneading it's own back.
Recognising a face from the pre show mingle crowd, laughing in the audience and grabbing a bottle of water at the after party, it was that of Nick Papademetriou. Last seen at the Seymour Centre as the priest of a nature in Silence. Familiarity of a stranger and an actor is a weird thing. Etiquette on farewells missing a sheet of clarity, and a slink away into the rainy night a shimmer away.
Soon Van - Sunday, 25 June 2006 - 11:48
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