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He begins with “I don’t know how to begin,” questioning the beginning, the start of a certain event, a thought, an incident. We only know when it ends that something has started, went on, and ended. But this is as far as we are able to determine the beginning of something.

The plot revolves around one sole guy’s internal conflict with past, present, and future which are confused within the turmoil of his mind made or attempted to be manifested through his words, the silent yet action-filled background in the play. The set was exploited but not to add to the plot but to instill in it a sense of heaviness, instead, unbearable for the viewer. The excess in the number of actors, most of whom remain silent except for exaggerated facial expressions, does not aid in diminishing the “heaviness” of plot, scenario, and theme. The main actor undermine’s the viewer’s intelligence by detailing his actions, explaining and justifiying them in such a manner that the viewer only senses unease instead of sympathy. The theme is redundant, the acting exaggerated. No cominc relief whatsoever is employed and the viewer feels restless once seated. The props do not make sense and they in turn are exaggerated as well. No psychiatrist would talk to his patient in the way the psychiatrist in the play did, taunting, provoking, aggressive, nonchallant.

I can say that I was disappointed. The last play I have seen for Lina Abiad, Tea and Biscuits in Prison, was so interesting despite being of heavy material as well. The similarity between the two plays is evident in the constant internal and mad struggle found in each one of us. The attempt and journey to overcome it, I believe, could have been carried away in a better manner, handled in a more efficient, more touching manner. I did not “feel” with the lead character, I did not sympathize with him, I left unnchanged.

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