Histoire par celui qui la raconte
We could begin with a piece of fiction about prehistory. Pure fantasy? Bad dreams!
Women and men creating a universe suspended between ritual and game, between scary and funny, a montage of simple actions, segregations or singular blocks.
The story is full of holes, set in a mix of times, unevenly sourced, historically told, with anthropological and cinematographic references.
They dance, sharing out the space, making up little sketches, bar bar bar.
A song repeats, a refrain, a hymn, a lullaby. The action is in crisis, the space in danger of being offset, threatened by a principle of instability.
The speaker calls a conference.
The ringmaster holds the reins.
The sound man punctuates the actions.
The subject, like Sisyphus, the proletarian of the gods. Total black out
Where is Beckett?
Cries and whimpers,
Some words in English … / Latifa Laâbissi