"That's not as mad as it sounds."

"It's fucking deranged!"
"What I'm saying is that what I held in my hand may in fact have been a galosh."

..."Galoshes are ridiculous. An anarchist wouldn't be seen dead in one!"
"Precisely!"

Last night I went to see a mildly amusing amateur rendition of Accidental Death of an Anarchist. It was, as mentioned, mildly amusing. It didn't hold a candle to the side-splittingly funny BBC version A has on tape, but then again, those people were professionals. And it is a very difficult play to pull off. Much requisite good timing. Abundant expression of outlandish personalities. Over-acting, if you please. Hard for self-conscious university students unaccustomed to public speaking and all.

The Maniac was played by a woman. A expressed scorn for the concept before we went it, but even he had to admit she was the high point of the play, and in fact managed her part with aplomb (inasmuch as a raving lunatic can have aplomb). The patches of additional modern information (as Dario Fo requested be inserted) were actually the most interesting parts, and led both A and myself to conclude that maybe they should have taken a more original slant on the rest of the performance, instead of upholding tradition so rigidly. It is, after all, a politically fluid play.

I now have a hankering to see the movie again.

"I could be very useful to you. I know how to make a nitro-glycerine suppository!"