Just attended this play - The Devil's Encore - by a local drama house.
The set was lovely, a celestial surrounding. Light bulbs floated, dimming and brightening according to the tempo of the play. An ancient-looking bonsai sat dignified in the middle of the room, calm and composed. Alas, the air of mystery and beauty was let down by the plot.
The protagonist was alternating between a monologue and a soliloquy, sometimes speaking to the audience while sometimes pretending that they don't exist. He, too, has to act out multiple roles.
It was confusing, to say the least. The fluctuating personae, timelines, techniques.
I could see people on the other side of the room, fidgeting and whispering under their breath. Found myself wondering when the play would end...
There was an ambivalent feeling resonating within after watching this play. Just tints of feelings that I couldn't define nor understand. It felt as though the director had tried to address a philosophical dilemma and ended up falling flat.
It was supposed to be a meditation on life and death, of love and loss, of pleasure and pain. It didn't fulfil any expectation, save the last one. It felt really painful watching this play.
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