Culture

The greatness of tiny lives



Each face, each soul, often crossed without realizing it at the bend of a street, of a gray store, are so many reflections of unique destinies. Just listen, take the time to pay attention: the city is buzzing with a thousand stories. At the Théâtre du Rond-Point, in the intimate halo of the Salle Jean-Tardieu, David Murgia opens his eyes and wonders. Who are these two women, there, behind the lighted window on the other side of the street?

“An old woman who is getting older and a young woman who is less and less young”, observes the actor. They eat soup – freeze-dried, no doubt – in front of the TV. The oldest said nothing. Maybe she spoke before, but over the years the silence, like a misty envelope, has fallen. ” I do not knowsays the narrator. But if you want, I tell you. »

He addresses the mute musician, who shares an almost empty stage with him, and accompanies him, sometimes on the keyboard, sometimes on the accordion. It is addressed above all to the public who, suddenly, looks with him through the window and imagines the daily life of Léonor, the young woman who would be a cashier in a supermarket and would carry everywhere with her the shadow of her dead father, discreet, invisible. : a “pocket ghost”.

Tender humor and emotion

In Pueblo, a monologue lasting nearly an hour and a half where the fire of raw art crackles, David Murgia contemplates and imagines. He finds here the Italian author and director Ascanio Celestini, with whom he had already presented at the Rond-Point Speech to the Nation in 2014 and Laika in 2018.

From conjectures to hypotheses, this formidable duo walks through the motley alleys of humanity, giving names to anonymous silhouettes, to the voiceless, to the left behind. An incredible storyteller, the 34-year-old actor – gaze set on fire by a flame sprung from a mysterious depth, body fully engaged in the story – takes the viewer into a whirlwind of words vibrating with tender humor and multicolored emotions.

Little by little, from the character of Léonor, he slips towards that of Dominique, the tramp who has lived for thirty years in the parking lot of the supermarket. In a frenetic cascade, sublimated by the intensity of a game delicately supported by the music, the text traces the thread of a bruised childhood, a dented existence illuminated by the irruption of a love.

Fragile and magnificent, like all those tiny lives to which Pueblo restores the place they deserve on the great stage of a world without pity: those of the homeless, dissolved in the statistics of the television news, or those of these tens of thousands of children, women and men swallowed up by sea on the road to exile. Faced with the broken beings who inhabit it, there is nothing derisory about this theater: its light, even the smallest, shines on the path of fraternity.



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