A show inspired by Shelley's famous novel which, shunning all romantic charm
offers a grotesque and frenzied vision of the dramatic story of the Doctor
and his creature.
Poor Doctor Frankenstein, so talented, surrounded by ambitious scientists
who whispering flattery in his ear as Mephistopheles did to Faust, sow in him
the omnipotent and criminal seed of the desire for Power.
A zany, coarse and at the same time rigorous show in which, in the vortex of
a politically incorrect hullabaloo, dance theatre, the Grand Guignol, the
visions of Artaud, the plague of television and carnival are all fused
together.
Poor Doctor Frankenstein, so ridiculous that the man in the street
confuses him with his creature and says "Frankenstein" when he refers to the
Monster to which he gave life. Thus, as in a paradoxical and symbolic conjuring
trick, humanity confuses the Creator with the Created.
A show that generates chaos, that chaos which is today's history and which,
desperately pursuing a correct, plausible dramatic line, can only finish in
chaos.
Poor Doctor Frankenstein, who, like a dazed, bungling dangerous clown,
lets everything slip from his hand and whose perfect creature reveals himself
to be criminal, powerful, terrible, indomitable and one who, as he has learned
from his master, wants more, always more, and who has a thirst for blood and
revenge.
A show that is also a reflection on theatre, on the love for art; which acts
as a play of mirrors between the desperate run-ups of political affairs and
intellectuals that represent it and the premonitions of Camus and Artaud that
impose a choice on us: the final choice between Plague, the fruit of our
omnipotent and discriminatory monstrosity, and Diversity, as a patrimony of
liberty and individual and collective creation. |