Leone: What if the stars were men? Can you imagine how sweet that would be?
Leone, seated in the middle, with a childlike attitude and a lost look, huffs and starts telling a story.
Leone: When I was a kid, we had chickens. That day my mother sent me to retrieve the buckets; she had caught me trying my sister's mascara, and as you know it’s not easy to remove the smudges. I tried to say I was just a little tired, it didn't work....
In the end it was just mascara, yet I got that damn bramble in my eye when retrieving those buckets.
Hans is standing, one hand in his pocket and continually adjusting his hair in an agitated manner with the other. His forehead sweats slightly as he continues to press the hair on the sides of his ears. He assumes a slightly crooked posture. He repeatedly and nervously stands up on his toes before speaking.
Hans: You don't understand, Nina is the only person I care about. When she arrives in her little dark blue dress, her hair slightly messy, that light tan of hers oozing from a weekend spent with who knows what muscly jerk! She almost looks like she wants to insult me! Yes, insult me, that’s it! Insult me.
Hans continues to touch his hair and stares into space with a vacant look, all the while pulling a toothpick from his pocket, holding it up with his fingertips. He moves it left and right as if setting the tempo.
Hans: I can imagine a boat outing with a Max or a Kevin. The bored look on her face, her plump lips pouting sluttily as she listens to his bullshit!
I can already picture her, Nina! As she listens to him tell her about the latest Miami blue Porsche he bought thanks to his tax breaks and Cayman offshore account. Or hear him complain about the last hamburger he had at Mabillon, which Meister had to send back because it tasted too much like meat!
Hans rotates his left hand. With a blunt, mocking gesture, and indignantly tapping a shoe on the ground, he utters:
Hans: Darf ich mit dem Chef sprechen, bitte? You Idiot!
Close-up on Hans' mouth, who, while speaking, hands in pockets, nervously chews the toothpick, showing his white teeth six times. He closes his lips, shows his teeth, closes his lips, shows his teeth, closes his lips, shows his
teeth, polishes his canines with his fingers, closes his lips, shows his teeth.
Hans: The world is falling apart, don’t you think?
Hans gives a plastic, unnatural smile. We see his teeth.
Hans: I gladly deride those who are uneducated on the issue. It is comparable to male impotence, an ode to the nonchalance of the body. No one wants to feel close to such a racket. you know? Huh? Huh? Failure! For example.
A human figure in a tux, with his face covered by an embroidered cotton veil, sits in the middle of the scene under a dim spotlight. The light becomes brighter as the figure stands, hands straight to the sides, scratching itself as if trying to get rid on an itche.
Mask: "Why are you crying! What are you doing? Stop it. Tears are forbidden. I have always been judged by my tears, by tears with tears, always!
Lora, dressed in green and red, with a short skirt and white socks, sits at a set table. There are two little flowers in the centre, and two chairs on either side.
Lora, drawing an inverted triangle with her fingers, as if to
give the idea of a glass shape, utters:
Lora: Those 80s glasses where you put Gingembre drive me crazy, no? Or maybe Gingèr, hein? Oh Gingerino! Hahaha!
Lora sits in the chair and gently touches the edges of the placemat laid out on the table.
Lora: I am a vegetarian, and this ends up overwhelming others. Everyone wants my Gazpacho, then we bite into the celery and we talk about happy degrowth and then they disappear! Every now and then a bomb seems to have go off. I can't get out of it. Maybe I should change my diet?
Lora, while adjusting her skirt and socks, takes a leap and takes an upright position:
Lora: Actually, I'm not here by accident!
Lora, Sighing, Lora raises her hand as she looks up, as if to silence the jury, and says,
Lora: I know I'm probably not suited to play Roberta, but I couldn't help but feel this character was mine. True, she is a huge carnivore, and she is not very engaged... in short,
she doesn't give a shit about environmental issues! But for this scene, I would be willing to dismember, or rather gut, a whole chicken.
She turns sharply and stares at the audience:
Lora: The truth is that I live with a great deal of guilt. I don't know d'où ça vient. But it is something ancestral. My paternal great-grandmother was Swiss, emigrated to France, married a Protestant who traded in explosives.
Leone combs his black hair, holding up a mirror with his right hand. Facing stage left, his legs crossed, parted, and crossed again. He makes a racket with his big heels; with a thin, iridescent comb in his left hand he seems to be playing a violin, but he’s just combing his shiny black hair.
Leone: I’m leaving the part! I’m leaving my mother! I’m leaving, I’m leaving, and I’m leaving, in fact, I will leave now.
Leone adjusts a shawl over his shoulders, and wraps it around himself in a lordly manner as he leaves the hall. Detail of his legs clad in very wide fishnet stockings, and pointed shoes with a low heel as he walks away.
Scritto da MATETE MARTINI e GIULIO BERTOLO Diretto da MATETE MARTINI