Last Saturday I found myself eating a racion of hot small green peppers ("pimientos de padrone") to occupy my time before a play. Finally, I thought to myself, after negotiating with a generous intake of lager a particularly vicious pimiento, I’m going to see a theatrical “Faust”. Forget Gounod or Berlioz, forget Marlowe or Thomas Mann. Forget Bulgakov or, yes, not to be forgotten, Fernando Pessoa. Forget reading the incoherent full version of Goethe’s work itself. This time, I’m going to seat on a theatre and enjoy the drama in both meanings of the word.
An adaptation by the Teatr Nowy, from Poznan (Poland) of Goethe’s text which won an Award at the Edinburgh Fringe.. In Polish and with no subtitles. At least my feeble knowledge of Russian enabled me to understand Mephistopheles when he took something out of Faust’s dead body and said: “Dusha.. Dushetka”. ( Soul.. Little Soul).
The Right Honourable Reader will not be surprised to learn that this blogger of yours has been particularly interested and fascinated with all the mumbo-jumbo of selling whatever is needed in order to keep one’s youth. My VYW (Very Young Wife) suspects something…
An adaptation by the Teatr Nowy, from Poznan (Poland) of Goethe’s text which won an Award at the Edinburgh Fringe.. In Polish and with no subtitles. At least my feeble knowledge of Russian enabled me to understand Mephistopheles when he took something out of Faust’s dead body and said: “Dusha.. Dushetka”. ( Soul.. Little Soul).
The Right Honourable Reader will not be surprised to learn that this blogger of yours has been particularly interested and fascinated with all the mumbo-jumbo of selling whatever is needed in order to keep one’s youth. My VYW (Very Young Wife) suspects something…
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