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Pierre. Ciseaux. Papier.
Clémence Weill
Pierre. Ciseaux. Papier.
drawing: Clémence Weill
Actes du théâtre n° 81.[ imprimer ]
Pierre. Ciseaux. Papier. Casts an amused eye on the everyday lives of three apparently very ordinary characters. After gently picking away at their masks of lies, doubts and anxieties, we discover what makes each of them unique, paradoxical and yet happy.

The critical dissection of these individuals is accomplished through a dramaturgy full of mirrors and exchanging glances. As the rock beats the scissors that beat the paper, here the Young Man observes the Man who observes the Woman. We discover one after the other the psychology, anecdotes and flaws of the protagonists, before the grand finale that affects them forever.
From beginning to end, and with a pervasive caustic humor, this brilliant piece by Clémence Weill keeps you fascinated with the trio surfing over the contemporary clichés of our inevitable routine.
Back cover of the publication by éditions Théâtrales

Opening in April 2016, at the théâtre Daniel Sorano in Toulouse, other venues, then at the Théâtre du Rond-Point from mid-April to mid-May.

Director: Laurent Brethome. With the Cie du Menteur Volontaire.

Characters : 1 women - 2 men -
Editions Théâtrales -

At the mike: the Man.
Center stage: the Woman.

Good evening.
You don’t know that woman you see there. But you can already guess certain things about her. I’ll tell you the rest.
She’s between thirty and forty years old. It shows. She’s not especially ugly or especially beautiful. Ditto. Your gaze might linger over her in the street or not even notice her. She has the usual number of arms/legs/lungs. Her hair is of a common color. If you had to describe her to someone you might have a hard time finding any distinctive qualities. Mightn’t you?
In short, to you – the audience here today – she seems normal. And she is, in many ways.
Look at her. The details.
She reminds you of someone.
Her face. Her hips. Your neighbor? A good friend you lost touch with after high school? A cousin? Maybe you ran into her at the bakery this morning? Take a good look. You’ve all mixed with her. Some of you have slept with her. She’s smiling in one of your wedding photos. She babysat for your children a few years ago. You joke around with her on the coffee break. She jostled you in the subway without your realizing it – and a good thing too.
Scrutinizing normality, spying on a neighbor across the landing – haven’t we all thought about doing it?
Her first name / place of birth / favorite color matter little for what awaits us. And you probably know them already anyway, right?
Choose them. There. We’ll call her this. Although we shouldn’t have to call her anything at all since she isn’t going anywhere. But you should know that you’re wrong. The woman standing there in front of you is not so ordinary. For instance: she was born on February 29th – did you know that? Mathematically and just as a joke, she’s nine years old.
WOMAN I’m having a big bash for my tenth birthday – but with no ladies’ choice.
Few people know this: she’s gotten into the habit of saying she was born on February 28th when asked. It wards off discussions about leap years that she thinks will be tiresome for everyone.
VOICE – Wow! So you only celebrate your birthday every four years? Or do you do it on the 28th at midnight?
But people rarely ask her birth date.
However, she is asked often / always / like everyone:
VOICE – What do you do?
VOICE – What do you do for a living?
WOMAN – I do saxophones.
Grammatically speaking that sentence is meaningless. Unless you make
saxophones / carve instruments / make keys / blow brass. But in that case you’d say I make saxophones.
Unfortunately people no longer care about grammatical mistakes and are more interested in careers.
VOICE – Oh! In an orchestra?
Some people still say orchestra. Or marching band. Younger people say:
VOICE - Oh! In a band?
But she doesn’t meet so many young people.
Anyway, most of them don’t listen to the answer and content themselves with:
VOICE – Ah. I’m in advertising / business / finance / modern art.
To which – logically – there is nothing to say. Except if you can’t stand not having the last word. In which case you pick up on it without adding anything. And the other person spins it out without listening to anything. Ad infinitum.