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Bangalore Theater: Closer

A Black Coffee production, organized by Alliance Francaise, Closer, by Patrick Marber, is a play about two couples and how their lives are entwined into knots of betrayal, agony, lust, and the big bad word - love. I am not going to review the play don't you worry. Come back and sit down; there are enough reviews around. I am going to talk about the theater circles and the audiences that watch plays. When I settled down in one of those plastic chairs in that hot and humid hall, along with Anita and friends, little did I suspect that the play was going to test my hipness quotient. Marber's play explores modern relationships and profanity is but a part of such a venture one would think in retrospect. The lines are punctuated by 'f***' s and 'c**t's and guess what, they discuss pretty graphic things, oh boy, oh yes did they make me sit up or what. It made quite a few people squirm in the auditorium. I was stunned too. On one hand, we have a government that competes for the gold in the stupidity Olympics, what with the ban on dancing, ban on on-screen smoking, ban on lottery, ban on dance bars... and, on the other we were watching a play where the characters acted as excellent teachers of porn, positions, and post-coital analysis. You know, I am not one to whine about profanity and bad words. I can't live without the F word myself. My only angst is that the director, whoever (s)he is, focused a little bit extra on the profanity so much so that it stood out like a whore in the church; like Saurav at the crease. I was intrigued by this brilliant play and at once I am wondering 'this is like gifting me a Louis Philippe shirt and smacking me with a bucket of shit when I wear it'. That is exactly how I felt.
The funny part was, people were not willing to admit 'hey that was shit.' I did, but no one cared that's another story. But I could overhear people talking: This one cautiously asks the other, 'What do you think about the play'? 'I think it sucked.' And this one goes in utter joy, 'Yeaa! Me too!' and adds a sigh of relief that reminded of those steam engines farting.
Back to the play: Darius, the popular RJ, played Dan, the talentless writer whose job is write obituaries. Darius, take my advice, stick to Rjing. You can act like Saurav can bat. Listen to me sister, drop the actor hat and stick to the radio. The girls were great. They always are, aren't they. We men, I tell you. The other guy, despite the heavy Madarasi accent, actually did a great job. He made us laugh. See what I mean Darius? Drama is not when the actors cry. Drama is when the audience cries.
That said, tell you what Bob, I don't know anything about acting or this play stuff. But, I can spot a good one when I see one. I really can't make up my mind about this Black Coffee production though.
It was shit.
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