Work cloying at times, delicious, tiring, beautiful for others, with a very intelligent script by Rosalinde Deville; captivating especially for those who, like Emilie and Louis, improvising their stories tell their own passions and adventures, perhaps dreams; Those of us who enjoy the spontaneity seasoned with the calculation of words and gestures of the theater will value it, without effect or sound or audiovisual: the two characters have the word and the abstraction of their speech, invented or real. Emilie and Louis dared to live red-hot stage drama, in an apartment, their own sentimental roles, memories and anecdotes before meeting, the ways in which they escaped from the lover, separations or resignations. Then into the future, children? Babies? Would he be a normal father? Would she? The baby would look like her No1, would she be the one who would look like the baby, from when she was a child. But Louis can tell stories, will she (his daughter) run into my arms when she goes to high school? Fortunately it is not an authentic staging or we would get lost without the resources of the cinema scenes like the one where, after bathing, he comes out of the bathtub and finds her sitting already dressed but in her underwear and after pointing out how excellent she feels To be a teacher, she pulls her by the arm and begins the game with her hands from the elastic of her pantyhose to the folds of skin near her sex, all this in the dim light, surrounded by photos with her students and books. They have to wake up jealous for the past and crying for the future that they superimpose on their worldliness and their hic et nunc. It is the kind of sleeplessness that no one should miss in his life, from the poetry of praising each other's bodies to the fantasy that springs from the possible, probable, future shapeless hours. She is his fragile, his tough and wild little of him; he is her soft, cheeky little boy who may be unfaithful to her, she tells him. She cries, he prepares her a sandwich, she plays chamber and orchestra music, he gets into the bathtub and invites her to lather it up. She says, "I feel all the absence, the lack, the emptiness filling me", and he cuts her off "but since I'm here ..", she cuts him off "since you will leave me ...". Then he proposes; We must first be lovers, then get married and then just be friends. And with only two minutes to go, she asks him "do you love me?" Say it, "I love you" he says. And as the light of the new day seeps through the window, Louis asks "what's going to happen to us?" We will sleep, she answers and in the background Saint-saens is heard. Lying down, he closes her eyes with his hand (with his fingers). Tender seconds where they exist. The end.
Review of Nuit d'été en ville
