Absolutely exhausted. Woke, cleaned out the rooms, carried the road-kit personalty across the river to the new city, did a quick grocery run, showered, changed, walked back across the river for an absolutely abysmal bit of theatre ($6 balcony seat, but given the crowds, elected to stand in the empty standing room), then walked back across the river to the new rooms for the nonce.
Particularly disappointing, as I had chosen that one over a Greek adaptation (with English titles) at the other theatre. Opportunity costs. And sometimes, opportunity costs a lot. An interesting concept, sort of the sins of the city on full view as the artist faces his own immolation, but the one making the confession gets a bit too into the storytelling, blurring the confession and the sin, as it were.
Eastern European productions based on Russian novels, or of Russian plays, seem problematic. Or maybe the Vaktangov and MAT productions just come across well on tape. I've seen several in the Balkans over the past few years, and they always seem a bit split between the thing itself, and what I can only call the "unbearable lightness of being" element. That sensibility mainly in Czechoslovakia, Poland, etc., a sort of quiet, ironic self-protection against the cultural colossus to the East. Which in itself is great -- think Czech films like Larks on a String, etc. But when you decide do a play by a 19th c. or early 20 c. playwright from a certain country, you can't put too many obstacles in their way based on the current geopolitics. Not to mention the revolution against Stanislavsky, which would have gone much better if a suitable second master had been found. The extreme of these cases was a Moldovan Vanya last summer (at a festival) that was (understandably, given the geopolitics) basically about the fear of the land to the east -- which actually made for a rather chilling evening of theatre.
But I continue to believe, despite the nature of all the evidence, in the thing itself.