By Peter Brook, until a couple of weeks ago, I did not know much. I knew the name, which was a world-renowned theater director, that the admiration and applause never ended flakes from its parts - in short, it is clear that if you go to see with your eyes, what you get is pure marketing and characters artfully constructed and incense of the press releases. So, I went to hear his lecture at the Piccolo Teatro Studio in Milan. Check that is already full. The best places are all occupied. Lovers cooing and whispering, and sway, and are arranged without creating disorder. The heat in the room definitely has a strange connection with their emotional temperature. You can not avoid reading the word Master on their lips. Then comes Peter Brook. If you've never seen you surprised to see this little old man who walks amid the applause, very British in appearance and bearing, but at eighty played with jeans, sneakers and a black leather jacket. Fonzie seems to be great, when he lost hair tuft grease, and life has already given us everything, and it is a healthy carrier of Experience. It sits on a chair. It is exactly in the center of our attention. To his left: a guy in the turtleneck sweater from the sixties more intellectual black patent leather shoes that shine a very long while asking questions Brook, some really embarrassing, like the one on the contribution given by the actors blacks to his theater. To his right: the translator, long hair and boots, that sometimes, instead of translating what he hears, smiles and nods - like Peter Brook addressed directly to her, not knowing the audience - and while he smiles and nods, interprets but often misinterprets and apologizes, retraces his steps, and contains the words for what they are, with their precise meaning, and nothing più. Comunque, niente di meglio che avere una traduttrice dalla nostra. Peter Brook, divertito e completamente a suo agio in mezzo ad estimatori ipnotizzati, avverte che la sua lezione subirà la seguente variazione linguistica: l’italiano per i saluti e l’introduzione, l’inglese per gli argomenti terra terra, il francese per le discussioni intellettuali. Il pubblico ride. Gli stereotipi linguistico-culturali sono sani e salvi perfino qui, ma il modo in cui sono presentati è chiaramente ironico , ed è una cosa del tutto fatata godere degli stereotipi mentre li evidenzi e li smagnetizzi con l’ironia iniziale. Non faccio in tempo ad uscire da questo pensiero, che Peter Brook, il suo inglese slow and peaceful, they fill the empty space of the theater. The focus is skyrocketing. And even the questions and long-intellectuals like the guy seems to break the attention. Only Peter Brook to tell his adventures: the African type, where every day, he and his crew come into a different town, and without knowing the language, without grasping the culture, with theatrical forms that play primarily on the gestures and body, groped there to communicate and share experience & humanity & other ways to encode life. And the idea is that of Peter Brook to get to the heart of things, you create a vacuum around things, discover nude - such as theater, that needs no grandiose sets and costumes strophic, and spectacular machines, but only of empty space and actors who live in that space until the end, with their whole body - the body's energy, accuracy mimetic of the body. Obviously, it's in French that says these things. He tells her before sending them on his head a phrase that will never forget: "The theater is a mirror of society, and the mirror does not need gold frames. Box office hit. And I'm thinking about this and ask about the Chinese theater and how to become filmmakers - that question has no answer except: the more you give us in with the director, the more you learn: the fashions, the teachers, with stuff the expiry date. The audience in a trance. Silence and concentration that lasts as long as Peter Brook does not get up, and runs to lead evidence before the show, and fans with the word Master in his teeth and hands red phones on again with applause.
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