… the Sydney Festival, that is, and it’s been spectacular. In the fraction of it that I got to see (nothing at all in the Spiegel Tent, for example), we’ve had:
incest
rape
cannibalism
murder, including infanticide and uncle-murder
suicide
accidental beating to death
genocide
grave robbing
race riots
scalpings
cruel and unusual sexual acts
and two men pushing each other in the chest as they moved around the stage, creating the impression that they were stalling until someone remembered what came next.
At different times I had a jaw that wouldn’t close, a churning stomach, a singing heart, hands that stung from applauding, a mind in awe. A festival isn’t a festival without one brave failure. This was definitely a festival.
Me fail? I fly! 