The New York Dry Opera Theater Company is on its way!

Street Art

Street Art

FROM “NOWHERE MAN” (1996) – to be revived and revisited

…..It certainly wasn’t a scene where an actor can afford to overact.
Well….I overacted it. I did.

And I cried and screamed all through it. There I was, …..standing before death itself….. the final silence…., a solitary moment….. where the character, that king of the underworld character who knew too much, would have to face up to his boss, a…. a… “delicate”, “precious” moment of suspense…..where cries turn to whispers and a scream is little else than a silent open mouth instilling fear and the ultimate sensation In the hearts of the audience….and….I fucked it up by screaming my way through it.

I’ll never forgive myself.

But I screamed. I screamed so loud that they all covered their ears….I didn’t kill myself….I killed the scene!


And all that exaggeration?
And all that screaming and overacting?
Would you believe they loved it????
Would you believe they awarded me every prize and award in the universe?
They thought the scene was incredibly well acted and covered me in gold !…
The worst moment of my life, the worst acting choice and…I get ….. a…. standing ovation!!!
Really! It’s getting ugly out there. It’s enough to make you puke!

So I decided to create this choreography “the reverse of mortality” or the “awakening of the dead muse”…..intended to be the worst choreography ever created, the most disgusting, the most horrendous, the trashiest dance EVER!
The dead muse would start dancing around with her skirt raised high up in the air, showing of her hairy….(thing)…..and whirling her gorgeous body towards a tacky blue clouded sky backdrop….Oh yes! The music will be loud and very Brazilian, a Brazilian pop tune….That will be the formula for more golden awards and a great and prosperous career….They would give me another standing ovation, wouldn’t they? You know that these things have a tendency for ovations, right? You know that these things have a tendency of becoming cult, “cult”, CULT,CULT…..

(talking to the dead muse)

Dance women, dance!!! Stop this lie and get up on your feet and dance!!!….(reconsidering) it doesn’t work….DANCE, c’mon now baby, let’s see the dance. Dance for me, baby, do it for me…..

Oh this is too much work. Too much work. I was born in the wrong century. This is too much for me. I’m a romantic, baroque really ! 19th Century. Not made for nowadays!

And watches another commercial

He spent his days like that. If anyone knocked on the door he would simply shout….

“Sorry….there’s nobody to answer the door right now, we are all having a…..collective neurosyncretic massage!”. (to the lampshade) YOU ALL SHUT THE FUCK UP OR I’LL PUT A BULLET THROUGH YOUR HEADS!
Oh my God…what did I do???? What the fuck did I do?

ACTOR: (off)
Escape …fugue….improv…Yes! Take me. Wrap me. Kill me. No, don’t kill me. Touch me. Feel me. Urgggggghhhhhh. Let’s see……This music never stops. It’s music, it’s noise. This noise never stops. (to sound operator)
Increase it. INCREASE IT. Higher! That’s it! Escaping through noise, through music. Let’s see….Beethoven. No, not Beethoven. Too poetic and poets leave tears behind. Shoenberg. Yes! No! Not Shoenberg. Too intelligent and intellectuals leave trails behind. Wagner, that’s it: “Wagner”, “the work of total escapism”…No. Too idiotic. Plus, Wagner leaves too much damage behind. Gerschwin. That’s it. Gerschwin and his “neuropseudoclassicaljazz”…the misunderstood sympathies…I’ll escape in a certain way and they will interpret it in another, just like in a rhapsody. I’ll escape and they’ll never find me….I’ll reappear as someone else, with a different mask, hiding my old features with an expression of the future…just like it was with jazz, with the twelve tone music, with the fugue, with the blues, with samba when the slaves from Africa drummed their dead ones to the bottom of their unnamed graves….or the dead beat tone of the monossilabic rap / shit ‘ bull….pit…..

Our friend had a revelation. Or, at least thought he did. It was one of these ingenious jewels that descend upon people once in every decade. He thinks that has seen the light through the evolution of the sounds of music, just like all those geniuses who have captured the human soul in those unimaginable tones and semitones, afonic scratches and computerized squeezes of verbal declines….

Yes! Gerschwin, the origin! I’ve got to be able to figure out the calculated transformation of jazz into classical and back to jazz again…and then, I’ll be able to live anywhere on this…planet….and immigrate….and reinvented and leave this place….this mountaintop…and become everyman. No man. Everyman. No. Nowhere Man.

He bit his hand until he saw blood. What fugue? What intelligence did he think he saw in Gerschwin? What does he think he has seen? What fugue? What musical evolution and scratches of computerized rap / shit / bull…pit? How does he think that this will bring him renewal?
She is just as dead as she has always been…He had the impression of growing a little smaller every day, shrinking like a speck of dust or sterile pollen being drifted along the landscape of his imagined mind. Our man spent his days monologuing in order to pass the time.

I bit my hand until I saw blood. I felt my sharp teeth cut into my skin and I turned my thumb slowly until it was cut all around. I held it there until the pain climbed up to my arm and shoulder. I grabbed everything that reminded me of her and started to tear it all up. I was determined to rid her from my system, to flush her out, to associate her image to physical pain and, thus, rid myself of pain. I tore up her clothes.

See how strong you still are? Keep it up, c’mon. Tear it to bits, “be a human shredder”, I said to myself, “be a human shredder” as I continued to rip through all the stuff.
It was then that I noticed something curious. An alien sound overcame me. I heard it and ignored at first, but after a while I couldn’t resist it any more. (NOISE)
I was grunting like a dog, barking, grunting, making mad dog noise. After a few minutes I realized: I was making the noise of a mad dog.

link to bits of the 1996 production:

Luiz Damasceno in Gerald Thomas's "Nowhere Man"

Luiz Damasceno in Gerald Thomas’s “Nowhere Man”

And an interview with Alberto Guzik about the production:

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