SACD - Société des Auteurs et Compositeurs Dramatiques
Entr'Actes
home
playwright database
News from Abroad
Translation Database
Playwrights Corner
In the Spotlight
New Plays in Print
Actes du théâtre Archives
 
 
Actes du théâtre :
newsletter
 
Site Map
 
[ français ]
 
 

Playwright database

 
     
Everest
Stéphane Jaubertie
Everest
photo : Cyrille Sabatier
Actes du théâtre n° 66.[ imprimer ]
In Everest, after a father is bitten by a snake and shrinks physically and morally, acting like a coward about assuming his responsibilities, his son gradually guides him on the path of initiation toward becoming a man. For growing up means choosing.

"The subtle and intelligent textual score wraps the pain in a padding of humor. (...) Everest is a peak recommended for theatrical mountain climbers!’’
C. Robert, La Terrasse

"This Everest (...) grabs you with the dizzying altitude of a fable that (...) takes your thoughts up to the highest level.’’
G. Serié, Ouest Lyon

"Under the guise of a fairy tale, Jaubertie has written a dreamlike story that takes you on a journey between what is real and imaginary, and between touching naïveté and true emotions. A dizzying play that projects from the inside out.’’
P. Banos, Editions Théâtrales

Opened on February 7, 2013 at the TNG-Centre Dramatique National de Lyon.
Director: Nino D'Introna. Lighting: Andréa Abbatangelo. Music: Patrick Najean. Cast: Angélique Heller, Cédric Marchal, and alternately Gabriel Hermand-Priquet and Alain-Serge Porta.

Characters : 1 women - 2 men -
Editions Théâtrales - www.editionstheatrales.fr

At night.

MOTHER My son! What happened to you? Your hand...
SON I’m alive.
MOTHER Where is your father?

I slipped my father into her hand.

MOTHER Is that...you?
FATHER As you can see.
MOTHER Oh dear...

She set my father down on the kitchen table like a fragile object, and went off to the bathroom. It’s her refuge. That’s where she goes to cry when it all gets to be too much.
Sometimes she stays in there a long time. Once we found her asleep in her own tears in the bathtub.
But this time she came right out. With bandages, towels and small bottles.

I lay down on the long kitchen table. She dressed my wounds. Where there was no longer my hand she made a bandage.
I could see my father watching her. He was sitting on the bottle cap, like on a stone in the desert. My body was on fire, but my father and mother were with me.
There were no words spoken, just the language between us, through our gazes. It was good. I think that’s when I fell asleep.