Doors swing of their own volition, cloths unaccountably fly through the air, hands slip through the slimmest of cracks; bodies freeze mid-air, repeating, rewinding, recoiling; a dream that fell and cracked its head. Remarkable are the acrobatics; remarkable too is the fuzzy puzzle we behold: nothing is pushed, nothing is said, the humour is dark and the dark is humour, we glimpse all horrors and yet can never be sure that we even saw one. Full of its rich theatrical, cinematic, and art historical lineage, the drama of gendered violence is indisputable — but is there another way?
Dreamscapes of physical theatre No Exit.
Green climbs over us.