by Riccardo Barone

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Una furtiva lagrima of blood, pizza, spaghetti and buongiorno.

The audience found hard to leave the Banquet room still absorbed by the endless, emotional, energetic, hectic flow.

Tears are mixing up with laughts; the existential Shakespearean (in)human condition of Nosferatu is touching everyone’s heart, feeling heaps of pity for his traumatic childhood, or for his classic ballet dancer dreams crushed on his dad’s abusive wall, in favour of  his sister’s ones.

Being Nosferatu could be really dramatic. Dealing with his centenary age sum up with tiredness, loneliness and tedious life.

Perhaps, between a bite and another, a partner will make this no-life a little bit more yahooy, especially if she egregiously sings.

The show’s rhythm is fast, there is no time to think about the train of thoughts that just passed; probably the climax will be sarcastically interrupted, tragically cut off, emotionally censored, with one teary eye looking at the past and the other eye focused on the pleasure which the present can offer.

An exemplary trio (violin, cello and piano) was commenting the tragicomic scenes with re-arranged excepts from Tchaikovsky’ s Swan Lake and pop hits.

“Love. Betrayal. Death.”

Kryztoff rating: 5k

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