Yeah? When I review, it will be like, there is no need to go and see this piece. I'll capture its essence and express it so exactly that it would be a waste of time to go out of the house and watch it. I'll take the best bits and expose their depth, and my readers will feel as if they experienced it from start to finish.
Sure, but when we perform, we go on for six hours, so that no-one sees the whole thing, only fragments. And they'll go home and wonder what they missed, making up bits and thinking about what could have happened. It will become their lives, the boundary between art and life slowly dissolving.
And I'll keep it short: so short that it is like a virus, infecting the reader's mind. Containing everything in embryo, ready to be born as soon as their eyes are cast over the page.
Our audience will wander out, stunned, impressed by the acting, our tenacity and the power of our words. They will be exhausted but tell others to go on in and see what we are doing. They will say it is the best thing that they have seen in ages.
When I blog, it will get retweeted and thousands of people will read it: more than ever can see your show, or who would want. It will go viral on the internet, and people will talk about the blog post in ways that your performance cannot match.
When we perform, and when we read the words on the machine, it will inspire the audience to ask what they have seen. They will ask whether it is a play or live art, a metaphor for gender conflict or the real thing. The scope of the subjects will astound them and all boundaries will dissolve. They will be unsure, but confident that they have experienced an event.
When I critique, no-one know what is going on. Is this some sort of joke? Is he trying to copy the form of the piece? Why can't he give it star ratings?
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