LA CASA DE...
“I am this house and this house is me. My lover. My country. My killer. Myself. Don't smirk, it is you too, yes! All of you. All humanity. Your secrets, desires, imperfections, and oppression - this house is your house!”

Explored the enigma that was Federico Garcia Lorca, the most important Spanish poet and dramatist of the 20th Century, and how the power of his poetry and drama - with emphasis on The House of Bernarda Alba - is ever more resonant for today's society.

Critics

"the bold re-interpretation of Lorca's House of Bernarda Alba in Theatre du Pif's idiosyncratic but atmospheric multi-media piece, La Casa de...refreshingly unpredictable and visually lush."
Mike Ingham, Theatre Critique Bi-monthly, May 2002

 

“Theatre du Pif brings the hope and alternative to the Hong Kong’s drama scene, which is gratifying.”

Quentin Fong, Ta Kung Pao, 25/3/2002

Performance

Mar 2002

Hong Kong Arts Centre 

Team

Devisors

Bonni Chan, Sean Curran

Director

Bonni Chan

Performers

Sean Curran, Phoebe Chan,
Joey Leung, Flora So,
Iris Sun, Bonni Chan

Visual & Graphic Designer

Sylvia Chan

Costume Designer

Cheng Man-wing

Lighting Designer

Gabriel Fung Kwok-kee

Composer & Sound Designer

Wong Sun-keung

Sleepless City (Noctume from Brookyln Bridge) by Federico Garcia Lorca

 

No one is sleeping in the sky.
No one, no one. Nobody's sleeping.
The moon creatures sniff the huts and prowl.
The living iguanas will come and sink their teeth into the sleepless men.
And the broken-hearted one who flees will meet the incredible silent crocodile.
On the corners under the timid reproach of the stars.
No one is sleeping on Earth. No one, no one.
Nobody's sleeping.
There's a dead man in the farthest graveyard complaining for three years.
Because he has a dry landscape on his knees.
And the child they buried this morning, wept so much.
They had to call on the dogs to silence him.
No one is sleeping in the sky. No one, no one.
Nobody's sleeping.
But if someone should close his eyes, Whip him, boys, whip him!
Let there be a panorama of open eyes And bitter, inflamed wounds.
No one is sleeping on Earth. No one, no one. I tell you nobody's sleeping.
But if someone has in the night excess moss on his temples,
Open the trapdoors that he may see in the moonlight.
The false goblets, the poison and the skull of the theatre.

 

Translated by Mike Ingham

 

Presented by Hong Kong Arts Festival 2002

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