“Is this alright with you?”
“The promo text?”
“Yes… “
“No.”
“Okay, let’s go step by step.”
“OK, let’s erase what we have and start again.”

The two heroes are once again facing the battle of their lives. They joined forces and put aside the fights between them. They are no longer fighting for an audience. Or against it. They fight together with the audience: for content, for meaning and for time.

“I think that’s enough.”
“Sure, it’s a promo text.”
“Exactly. It just has to grab your attention and make you think: I really have to go and see this.”

Once you’re on stage, you can’t get rid of it. You can’t avoid it. We have descended into a game whose rules are so simple, so absolute and so relentless that you cannot hide and you cannot stay hidden. Either we have something to say or we are ‘acting’.

“Now we have to be careful not to give too much away.”
“Yeah, it can’t be like a trailer that tells you everything.”
“In the sense that we’re talking about death and doubt and passing?”
“Yes, this we have to keep for the show.”
“We still need something, though.”

From this point on, it’s just a question of whether it will pay off. The time we spend together is limited. We are all running out of it. We need to be even more honest. We need to think even more. We need to try even bolder.

“Don’t know. When I read it, it’s so general.”
“Yes, I agree. It’s just empty phrases.”
“All right, let’s delete this one.”
“Yeah, it’s enough for a promo text. For more, there will be a programme booklet.”

Theatre is a space where you have to fight for content, where you have to earn your position of utterance. If you run out of content, you run out of heroes. There is no room for doubt. We are all aware of where we are, the roles are allotted, the consensus is made. We are on this side, you are on the other. Let the game begin.
Business as usual.

“Does the title work for you?”
“Of the performance?”
“Yes.”
“Now we just need an audience.”