The theater is tiny, curtained on all sides, with carpeted benches rather than seats. There I perch, legs curled sideways, ankles crossed. One film after another. Jugglers and clowns. Pointy-breasted showgirls. A rattlesnake. A painted cave. Pina Bausch, dancing en pointe with cow flesh in her slippers. My neighbors gasp, and sigh. They exhale wonder, and it fills the room like smoke. I grit my teeth, head turned at an ugly angle, my body twisted and tense. Supremely unreasonable, I... Read more