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quarta-feira, 27 de maio de 2009

Actor, a li(f)e of theater

Suddenly, without any warning, without reason, it was made, was too late. He looked to the public that was unsure if that was part of the play or if was real and something was happening. It could not be held anymore, nobody could bear. What shouldn’t be said was said, and now we could only hear the silence that remains after someone says such a thing.

How long was he a member of that group? He could not remember, neither could he remember how long they were acting that play. He had seen all that so much, he repeated and heard the same dialogues at least three hundred times, with the little variations of every presentation of course, but always the same problems. Always the same characters. The same solutions. The same everything. Looking all that now, it all appeared to be very much stupid.

That was a Friday, the last presentation of the week. He was always glad to be able to escape of the stages at Saturdays and Sundays, just then he could play a bit of be who he really was. It was weird how the daily acting, maybe because it happened more often, appeared to be more what he was than what he really was. Sometimes the character influenced the person and, without notice, he was acting when he should not.

The silence was there still and he could not say if had passed 3 or 30 seconds. There was so much through his mind that he felt his existence a bit out of the air because of the adrenaline of the moment. Maybe he was dreaming and, if he was, he could be save, none of that would have happened, he would never had said what he used to think, what was the image he had of that people, that characters, that problems, that solutions. But, if he was saved, he was saved of what?

He was very awake. He knew that now he had said all that, it was very correct to assume that he was going to lose his role and probably move to other group. He had, however, the unhappy certainty that wherever he went, he would still need to be an actor. He gave an ironic smile to his own fatalism. He knew that not everything was the same, or at least he expected is wasn’t, he had the hope that there were stages where the character that he was as himself was enough and he then would not need to act. But people don’t like the truth, don’t like to be honest and serious. The truth is boring and hurts. It is better appear to be than it is to be.

He was an actor because of life, not because he wanted. He knew the weight of the revolt and deafening sound of the loneliness. He heard.

- You are welcome if you want to be a part of the act. The play is not enjoyable and the public doesn’t like when someone makes everything look like a lie. Do not deny the place that you belong, do not devaluate the importance of the illusion. You must recognize the value of the applause.

- No. I don’t recognize the dream nor accept the illusion. I’m not made of lies, I know what I know and I know who I’m. I’m not speaking for approval, not for applause. I don’t want to act anymore.

- You are free to go away, but the theatre is bigger than you. You won’t be able to leave it.

He got down of the stage using the stair on the corner, left the others and the public horrified. He was gone and never looked back.

The show had to continue and it did, without him. Other actor got his role and the play continued to be performed. The same way. The same histories. The same problems. The same characters. The same solutions. The theatre didn’t need him to survive, but the existence of everything needed the theatre to be.

In an attempt of not act, to keep himself free and out of any lie, time passed by. The theatre was, after all, enormous, with many more stages, public and actors that he had ever imagined. More time passed by and escaping his understanding of when, he found a way that was correct to him to be a part of the theatre without being an actor.

He was going to be there, present and away of all, true and pure. Tired of the lies of the others he decided to create his own. He became a writer.

- Thank you.