Cirrus@Austlit

'This production of the dark comedy Little Murders opened with a sunset. There was no-one on stage, just an empty apartment in sixties New York. The onstage telephone rang, shrill and tinny. The muffled sound of traffic came in through the back windows, as did a stream of light that splashed onto the prompt-side wall, filtered through gels in shades of rich amber to mimic the late afternoon sun. The light drifted across the wall and faded, suggesting a real sun outside melting away behind the horizon. The apartment grew dim.' (Publication abstract)