![]() Sometimes these images take advantage of the distinctive variety of ages, genders and ethnicities assembled to create a pointed representation of a society we recognize all too well: “I became the object of sentences. Defying Handke’s perverse tendency to abstraction, Theatre Y allows the text to advance and retreat in a succession of potent images that leaves the performance swerving on the edge of sense and nonsense. I expressed myself before myself and others,” and so on.ĭirected by Melissa Lorraine and Héctor Álvarez, “Self-Accusation” flourishes into a spectacle for nine actors that proceeds as a well-rehearsed fever dream. I expressed myself through ideas, I expressed myself through expressions. With declarative statements in the simple past that aggregate and tintinnabulate, it casts a spell for madness as a litany of confessions: “I did. Peter Handke’s “Self-Accusation” (1966), originally written for two voices, female and male, is a “speak-in” with all the appeal of a Berlitz language recording crossed with a pseudo-religious history of the self. The show was happening before you got there. ![]() This is the practical magic of storefront theater, mesmerizing. A small group of people move and stop with intention, mannequins making tableaux vivants. On a dark stretch of Western Avenue, across from a baseball-card shop, a cleaners, and, a shop window blazes with light. Ishmael Klein, Nadia Pillay, Zahrah Pillay, Kris Tori, Anthôny Battle, Adrian Garcia Jr., Howard Raik/Photo: Devron Enarson
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