Sunday night and off with me to the theatre for some art. “Art,” as far as I can tell from the Polish theatre, means never saying. Shouting, sobbing, laughing (never for any apparent reason), whispering, moving from table to chair to settee to chair to table – all these are fine and acceptable but merely speaking or talking is not on. The violent and unmotivated mood swings become tiring after half an hour, torture by the end. The worst thing of all, though, is the complete inability to act drunk, a fault shared by many screen actors.
(I looked around during the interval: no one was reading any books.)