Why This Show Now?

It is an age of autocrats.

 

It is a time before history, a time before democracy, a time before science. The world is alive with spirits and gods, and a skillful bard can have the hearts of the people for a song.

 

Enter Odysseus, the storytelling king, the survivor king, the liar king. If he moves you, it's only because there is a little bit of him in you (or vice versa).​

​

And by the time you realize where it is all pointing, it is too late. You like him. He could shoot 108 countrymen in the middle of the palace and get away with it.​

​

After Every Dream revolves around a retelling of the Odyssey “for our time,” with a progressively more jaundiced eye toward the hero’s self-pity and the “rightness” of his cause.

 

And though he goes to extraordinary lengths to insist that you believe, he is at the end only an outward expression of an urge inside each of us, which can result in the suspension of disbelief that theatre relies on, or edits to our own least pleasant memories.

 

And since he is inside of each of us, he repeatedly appears outside of us. Such characters are eternal, ever longing for a golden age that never was.​

​

After Every Dream conveys a poignant satirical warning of what we intuit as theatregoers: that, if we're not careful, there can be a time after ours as well... as long as we love stories.