It doesn't happen often that I go and see the same play twice. In Frank Castorf's stage productions there is usually so much going on that going to see it twice is almost required to take it all in.
It is funny. Very funny. Very very funny. But after a while it gets boring. Very boring. But then it gets funny again. Very funny. So funny that you have to laugh. This is what you do when things are funny, especially when they are very funny, not to mention when they are very very funny.
Watching Frank Castorf's adaptation of Dostoyevsky's "Erniedrigte und Beleidigte" feels like being invited to a family party where everybody knows each other, but nobody knows you.
How should I integrate this into my sexuality? If you want to fuck globalisation, technology and the neo-liberal rhetoric of the new left, you have to deconstruct the whole notion of sexuality.
Rubbing it in is what Paul McCarthy does, whether with paint, ketchup or chocolate sauce. Excess is the name of his game. McCarthy likes pushing things too far, in his drawings, but most of all in his performances, which always end up a complete mess.
When Dutch theatre critics wrote of Guy Cassiers' adaptation of Marcel Proust's "A la recherche du temps perdu", that it was a masterpiece and that he was approaching perfection, I was at once curious and skeptical.
A solo architecture exhibition not only shows what a practice does, how it wants to be perceived and what it stands for, it also conveys something of its mentality.
A friend recently told me she had read about a dozen books during an illness and wondered how many books she could have read if she hadn’t partied so much all her life. I have read many books and I often wonder how much I could have lived if I hadn’t read so much.