"Plesniarowicz shows how Kantor summoned his old people, burdened by the children they once were, into a series of processions around the stage. The processions range from the tragic, as in the Hebrew lesson suggesting the loss of so many members of the class in the Holocaust or the heartbreak of the childless woman haunted by the hollow knocking sound of the Mechanical Cradle, to the nonsensical and vaguely suggestive drivel of an old man in the toilet. Each of these processions ends with the "intervention of the cleaning woman"--death--who sweeps the pupils back into their benches. Then it starts all over again. It develops differently each time, but always collapses back into impossibility."
from Krzysztof Plesniarowicz. The Dead Memory Machine: Tadeusz Kantor's Theatre of Death. Translated by William Brand. Cracow: Cricoteka, 1994.
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Yeah, there's probably better things I could be doing of a Satday afty but still, I'm sorta getting into this Polish theatre practitioner now.
I specially like 'the heartbreak of the childless woman haunted by the hollow knocking sound of the Mechanical Cradle.' But, being of a melancholic Celtic disposition, why wouldn't I?