Full moon experiment

Excited students gather in front of the theatre. Girls with curly red hair, short skirts and coloured panties, wearing boots and lacy underwear, breathe the grey smoke of banished cigarettes into half filled glasses cola and white wine, while talking unstoppable to their male classmates. Some stretch their legs on the stair towards the front door of the renovated 19^th century building.

Inside their mates are getting ready for the FIRST show. Virgins on stage. Nervous air leaves nostrils quivering. Palms of hands a little sweaty are rubbed with magnesium to prevent acrobats from falling down from the high ceiling, where ingenious constructions hang for the occasion. Throats are cleared for monologues. Dancers nourish their feet and some secretly kiss one of the toes for good luck. The director walks to and fro, reassuring the performers as well as himself.

Doors open. The eager classmates walk into the room trying to control their youthful movement. Some ‘real public’ enters as well. Lights drop as soon as everybody is seated. One spot shines on a white dress that slowly starts to move. It has no head. A boy jumps out of a trash container, serving white wine in a juice bottle to a lady in a wheelchair with an umbrella attached to it. Another boy tries to peace his mind by seducing a prostitute with a brace in a dark ally. One acrobat wraps herself in transparent plastic and climbs to the ridge in a sensual movement. She falls, the plastic catches her, entangles her as if she were a mummy of modern times. Two girls dance frantically, wrestling with each other and their homosexuality. The public sits down on the ground, surrounding them.

Then people lay their heads down on velvet red cushions. Fifty or more people on their back look in amazement at the black ceiling where a girl flies around a horizontal bar at dazzling speed. Hoola hoops circle synchronically around two bodies. Darts aim at bare toes, just missing. A dancer throws his partner to catch her lovingly before she falls. Muscles crackle. Sweat pours. Bodies bend. He lifts her on his head and carries her away. Far into the Tilburg night where the full moon awakes the night people and urges them to walk the streets with glowing eyes and restless hearts, until dawn breaks for a brand new day on which wedding bells ring, just around the corner where the theatre is located.

The bride’s smile extends her lipstick leaving red stains on her husband to be’s white collar. Best men get lost in the chaotic traffic driving the broken streets of the city, while the wedding rings lay forgotten in a friends car. Their mood untouched by chaos and delay, another odd crowd, existing of farmers, conmen, artists, mothers and businessmen, assembles in the city hall, the theatre of civilians, to witness the birth of yet another experiment: that of eternal love.