We have seen "This dark, ferocious' last work of Pippo Delbono
The name is a dance that welcomes the essential sound, translates it. Act of breathing. The name is what we are, in the dance of life!
There is a theater of truth, where the actors carry the grace of themselves. Only oneself, the extreme care and finish the scene. This showed the 'exceptional regional exclusive "of" This dark vicious "recent work by Pippo Delbono, brought to the stage on Tuesday at 8 Politeama Greek Theatre. Everything is white. Also the floor. A voice from outside the scene said the pretext of a small book and found it by chance, the journey begins. Death is the goal. Understand it, accept it. Store it too! What is light. Pure light! All white, antiseptic. All white, like a hold. Two 'servants' too white welcome, cared for, protected by masks, gloves, rubber shoes: they are other, other, distant, non-human. We in one pass. After all, the curtain opens and smashes swallowing black. 'S where the end? I do not know, there is a coming and going. There is no end, then, is the multiplicity of numbers. The many of us who repeat history. That little writing that great. Levity and tragedy together, sumptuousness and losing together. A Butterfly in red has the legs cut off sitting in a wheelchair. A man shows his skinny body, it moves up, everything and everyone is extremely careful. She shows off her breathing, only that he, with surprising grace and provides voice and sings "My Way". There is no nudity, no show is shame everything that moves. With the silence that greets the coming of the "figures" are where the corporarietà of Caravaggio, Frida Kahlo, Francis Bacon, George Grosz. The stage machinery is the rest of the small objects are the costumes. Do not breathe but disguises of men and women and their ages, behavior, abyss. Everything is attentive, caring and attentive. Calibrated in a disarming naturalness. Are just that, not pretend. Simply they are there. And a breath, we are, in the agony of "not" in white rooms of the mind, where dreams are waiting for the "room resonance." The theater makes us look where we do not want to watch. The name! What is the name of each us?! The name is a dance that welcomes the essential sound, translates it. Act of breathing. The name is what we are, in the dance of life! Our land is a kind of horror. " "Pity for the weak", "for those who expertly ridiculed, abandoned." Everything you look at disappears. Look! Look at him! Look at me! Everything disappears. Still not tired of the "pleasing entertainment? Still not tired of yourself, word, poetry, prayer? It 's all dark, "a dark stranger, where you can not get as yourself" is our world. "Identity" is "a game ". A game every day and look in death, and death we see. Two harlequins, bring peace and curiosity, looks. Peace there never was! The following is the peace of death! "I feel invaded, and peace is all around me! Delbono dance, dance, dance, his breath.
Mauro Marino
There is a theater of truth, where the actors carry the grace of themselves. Only oneself, the extreme care and finish the scene. This showed the 'exceptional regional exclusive "of" This dark vicious "recent work by Pippo Delbono, brought to the stage on Tuesday at 8 Politeama Greek Theatre. Everything is white. Also the floor. A voice from outside the scene said the pretext of a small book and found it by chance, the journey begins. Death is the goal. Understand it, accept it. Store it too! What is light. Pure light! All white, antiseptic. All white, like a hold. Two 'servants' too white welcome, cared for, protected by masks, gloves, rubber shoes: they are other, other, distant, non-human. We in one pass. After all, the curtain opens and smashes swallowing black. 'S where the end? I do not know, there is a coming and going. There is no end, then, is the multiplicity of numbers. The many of us who repeat history. That little writing that great. Levity and tragedy together, sumptuousness and losing together. A Butterfly in red has the legs cut off sitting in a wheelchair. A man shows his skinny body, it moves up, everything and everyone is extremely careful. She shows off her breathing, only that he, with surprising grace and provides voice and sings "My Way". There is no nudity, no show is shame everything that moves. With the silence that greets the coming of the "figures" are where the corporarietà of Caravaggio, Frida Kahlo, Francis Bacon, George Grosz. The stage machinery is the rest of the small objects are the costumes. Do not breathe but disguises of men and women and their ages, behavior, abyss. Everything is attentive, caring and attentive. Calibrated in a disarming naturalness. Are just that, not pretend. Simply they are there. And a breath, we are, in the agony of "not" in white rooms of the mind, where dreams are waiting for the "room resonance." The theater makes us look where we do not want to watch. The name! What is the name of each us?! The name is a dance that welcomes the essential sound, translates it. Act of breathing. The name is what we are, in the dance of life! Our land is a kind of horror. " "Pity for the weak", "for those who expertly ridiculed, abandoned." Everything you look at disappears. Look! Look at him! Look at me! Everything disappears. Still not tired of the "pleasing entertainment? Still not tired of yourself, word, poetry, prayer? It 's all dark, "a dark stranger, where you can not get as yourself" is our world. "Identity" is "a game ". A game every day and look in death, and death we see. Two harlequins, bring peace and curiosity, looks. Peace there never was! The following is the peace of death! "I feel invaded, and peace is all around me! Delbono dance, dance, dance, his breath.
Mauro Marino
