The Zagreus Napkin Experience, ranked in order from most to least traumatic:
Milton - this man is going to ask you personal questions, and if he doesn't get your answer, then he is going to ask you directly about it. Some people find this a wonderful therapeutic cathartic experience. The rest of us just want to die about it.
Will - if he can't read what you've written, then he very politely won't make a fuss about it. If he can though, there's a good chance he may say something that will pierce you straight through the heart.
Ryan - your mileage may vary depending on what it is about being napkinned that you find so mortifying. Here the questions are more-or-less incidental to the fact that this is a truly public interaction with zero sense of quiet confidence.
Theo - he doesn't seem to mind particularly what you write, which is quite restful until you realise that this lack of care means he's not going to make the extra effort to hide your napkin when pinning it up like the others do.
Georges - a rare but straightforward experience. Nothing to fear but good luck ever getting this casting!
Mitch - a gentle man and a gentleman. Doesn't seem to always do the napkin thing but is very respectful when he does, your secrets are safe with him.
Tim - doesn't napkin. Too weird. Currently fills the time with aggressive eye contact and extreme paper tearing. Traumatic in a different way.
Seirian - possibly a controversial ranking position considering he absolutely definitely reads your responses, but so beautifully carried out, felt like a genuinely collaborative act.
Luke - magnificently respectful! Will hold his hands up so he can't read what you've written, will fold the napkin up so no one else can read what you've written, absolute polar opposite of the Milton experience, a relief and a joy!
(Other Zags to be rated and ranked accordingly when opportunity allows)
((All Zags are majestic and wonderful and a strong recommend for a follow, for the record))
Back in the 2 loop exploration time, a White mask was in the White Cypress sake Bar, and they pulled out one of the sake jugs with fake blood. He poured some into one of the cups, tasted it, and then left it on the bar with drips of blood all around it.
About 20 seconds later, Zagreus arrived. He took his coat off, looked at the jug, cup, and blood for a couple seconds, and then cleared it away, muttering about having to clean up after people not respecting his bar.
The WM in question was stood on the other side of the bar, not even hiding his bloody hand. Zagreus' stool was also missing from behind the bar, and he very aggressively went to grab one and replace it.
So, when Zagreus returns from Mycenae crate room halfway through the loop to find the mess Laocoon has left, he is visibly annoyed, cleaning up as he muttered
"People always leaving fucking blood all over my bar!"
⚠️ trade offer ⚠️ : next time i visit the burnt city i finally get to know what that 1:1 is all about and i'll rewrite this with that in mind. i joke. anyway, shamelessness aside! here's a piece inspired / telling the brand of weird guy loop that is kronos. so, all the usual punchdrunk triggers apply on top of spoilers for his loop - this is specifically based on milton lopes interpretation of the role, and i believe kronos is one where the loop can differ greatly! also potential spoilers for things people have said about hades.
He sweeps a little.
One must wonder if he was always a beast. After all, how does Tartarus craft the caretaker who will stalk its tenements? Perhaps before Prometheus was liver-bitten, he made him like mankind; crafted him from clay and then let the kiln be the fires of Hades. He shares his name with a Titan – it makes the picture come together clearly: maybe Hades ordered the bones of that first Kronos to be powdered into the clay that would forge the second Kronos. And so the first would have his own ribs encage him. We will never know. In spite of Kronos taking care of that infinite resting place, finality does not mean all answers are known. It only begs that we ask more. Even uttering Tartarus stirs up more falsehood than truth: fifty pairs of underwear hang from washing lines and a feast waits never eaten, but – but there is little use in theorising now. The boulder will always stumble to the foot again.
Pinboards of franticising is such a trivial thing to the one who finds obsession amongst only the thread upon those boards. Red string. It never leads him anywhere. Still, though, he likes to take out a small torch and shine it upon the string threaded across the tenements he cares for. The pattern it takes – the writing surrounding it – if those way down were given hours, he would spend hours staring at those threads. All to a fruitless end – each cock of his head, each forward inspection, he is always led back to the tenement square. The most innocuous item is a constant source of distrust for Kronos. With dice, his constant pocketed companion, he experiences similar puzzlement. Too many a glad time spent pacing amongst the various rooms of Troy, slipping into an absent corner. He will take them, hold them in his palm, and occasionally, he will lightly throw them up. Only numbers fall back down. And still he will watch them with enough furrowed brows to make any watcher believe they are full of a higher purpose.
He sweeps a little.
Corridors possess the strangest of things. Kronos delights in this one for it is a collection of ordinary items. Bending down, the display is careful disarray, with a spillage of cutlery asleep near cans. From this heap, he picks up a knife, clutches it around his fist, and meanders onwards to where ordinary once more approaches him. On this occasion, it is ordinary death; even electric sheep must die and so a toaster must be broken. He sticks a knife into where bread should go. He feels nothing for nothing happens. The caretaker knows that his city is decaying, for it is not his city. Nearby, in a different room, he unfurls some paper near potpourri and a lamp. Yes. There is something he must do. Something grand in design, yet done as many times as he tosses a dice. It is only fools who think a caretaker offers entirely up that first half of his title to the population bleeding around him. Kronos is deliverance.
He sweeps a little.
In the uppermost level of Troy, confusion pounds blindingly through Klub. The sorts of men who attach a space of Bacchic potential to their office are the sort who make themselves a model citizen of Troy; the city is on the verge so let us drink; dance; drug ourselves into oblivion like the writhing snake in leather who is sharpening red under their eyes. Within this space, Kronos leers up against any who might provoke him with a look. He is a zoetrope spun at a faster speed, lunging harsh as the strobes make each second appear a changed picture. Beast! Not a god. Not a man. A young man, casually smart, watches this terror through the windows. The man – the boy – thinks it looks like a bull thrusting. When it is over, Kronos stands, looming over him, and cranes his neck from one side to the other. He watches the boy. From his pocket, he pulls out a necklace made only of red string: he ensnares the boy in it.
He sweeps a little.
To be a caretaker is to have access to all the rooms of the tenements. Most of the rooms appear abandoned. In one, he reduces the puzzlement of his world to a jigsaw. In another, he sits at a mirror. Whilst he sits there, girls and boys are being sacrificed and all the flowers have gone away to make their weeping graves. He looks at his reflection – worn-out clothes licked by sweat, a face peppered with slow days tiring – and raises a handheld mirror so that he might gaze around him. Flickering just a little are his lips as he catches the eyes of the strangest creatures from the corner of his own. These shadows of people reflect in the small mirror. Slowly, smiling slightly as he does so, he guides the mirror from side to side. He sees them. He briefly acknowledges their gaze when meeting their fearful-loving awe. It is all he can see of their face, and it is beautiful. He likes to make them scared. Terror is not always a threat; terror is the vulnerability of being known. In one pretty way, he admires them – so he lifts a masquerade mask adorned with a feather from the dressing table he sits at. He wears it and practices smiling in the larger mirror. Whereas his ones to the ghosts are minacious, his ones to the mirror are sickening in their forced, bright falsity.
He sweeps a little.
Kings receive floods of crimson, but a prince only receives a sprawled out sheet. Polydorus is a boy and he claws at the red string around his throat as his eyes bulge purple. When his sister dies, she will be stroked onto a sheet by a lover, but he stumbles onto the white sheet awaiting him and is unceremoniously tugged into a locked room by Kronos. Moloch must be sated. Child after child, Kronos takes them as provided sacrifice, feeding the golden bull god. Speak it again – beast! Not a god. Not a man. He understands the machine he is instructed to feed; he pumps it full of the unfortunate youthful blood who by birth are trapped in the labyrinth of Troy. Kronos smiles again for he sees the beautiful strange creatures process their despair at death like they should: the machine operates on too many levels he does not care for, but he understands that even the unseen feed it. Polydorus is left dead in his room. He hopes Moloch is satisfied for now. His task is done; odd jobs and business, he takes care of it all.
In a dark corner, he plays with dice, and stalks red thread. It will never lead him out of the labyrinth. Instead, it loops back round on itself: he does not register time beginning again as the red traps him. But it begins again.
The cast of Bonobo, behind the scenes (in March 2013).
1. Will Tudor, Eleanor Wyld, Milton Lopes, Patricia Potter, James Norton and Orlando Seale on the set (x)
2. Orlando Seale, Patricia Potter, James Norton, Josie Lawrence, executive producer Richard Holmes, Eleanor Wyld and Tessa Peake-Jones (x)
OH it is the anniversary of my first trip to The Burnt City!
Going in that very first time, I fully intended to take things in a nice and chill fashion, not get too sucked into anything, maybe just explore the space and see what scenes I caught on my way round.
I took one step into Troy, spotted Harry's Laocoön solemnly washing his hands, and was IMMEDIATELY hooked. I remember being very proud of myself for finding him again after he went over the railing. I then ended up following Miranda's Polyxena for a loop, which was absolutely spell-binding. After that, I remember finding the way over to Mycenae but choosing to stay in Troy 'cos I knew I would be back in a few days. So I retraced my steps until I found Milton's Kronos and that was my third loop. I didn't know who the dude was or what he was up to, but I absolutely loved his attitude and his energy, and have been a staunch member of Team Kronos ever since.
It's been A Number of trips since then but I'm still hooked, still spell-bound, and still a big fan of Milton. Happy Burnt Citiversary to me, and may there be many more 🥰
Top 5 new-to-you performers (ie you weren't familiar with them before TBC)
Ranked alphabetically because although I think we all know who my number one dude is, I'm not so quick and easy to rank the other four; I've also limited it to performers I've followed and there's still at least a dozen I have yet to get round to, some of whom could have been real contenders without this self-imposed rule
Dafni Krazoudi - I'm sad I missed out on the early days opportunities to follow her Kampe, her Iphigenia is an absolute force of nature and I might have to pencil her in for a refollow this weekend
Lee WenHsin - oh my GOODNESS, she plays about a million roles and she's superb in every single one; if you're ever at a complete loss for who to follow but WenHsin is on, then no you're not
Milton Lopes - I don't think I need to go in depth here on how this man is a goddamned artist and brings his own personal touches to his roles in a way that renders them unmatchable by any other performer, I think I've made my thoughts clear
Omagbitse Omagbemi - it is ridiculous how incredibly majestic and compelling this woman is, whether you're watching from afar or close-up you will be able to pick up all of her nuances, and I so wish to be able to see her Hecuba one day
Timothy Bartlett -
(okay, that's reductive, but also funny and true! his assertively idiosyncratic approach to every single character he plays means you're guaranteed to have a great loop with him, also he was my first ever zagreus and won me over immediately 🥰)
so i just did the four-show weekend, and i'm not sure if i'll ever manage to write it up properly, but i have scribbled down a few notes that i can expand upon as and when i get to it. this is what i have so far for the perfect loop i had with my favourite character as played by my favourite performer
Horrible. Absolutely horrific. Very much the worst time I have ever had while getting everything I ever wanted. The chat-up line on the note to Eurydice – disgusting. The calculated charmingness of making a spelling error and checking it with me before rewriting the note – abhorrent. A loop full of light, laughter and passion – awful. Realising that although I am being sacrificed to Apollo, it is because he is doing it for a very wholesome reason – appalling. Finally receiving my personal most elusive 1:1 after months of effort on my part – foul. Being asked to bare my soul via the medium of writing on a napkin – agonising. Being forced to read these vulnerabilities out loud with my own mouth – excruciating. Being asked a very simple question and having absolutely no idea how to answer it in the moment – painful. Whoever wrote about the “mortifying ordeal of being known” has obviously experienced a day like this, and while I am obviously delighted and grateful to have had such a full-chested loop, I am also EXTREMELY bruised by the end of it.
