sent from: London, UK. destination: Corte Madera, California, USA

“Are you Agammemnon?” I asked the man in the toga and sandals. “No, I’m Menelaus. I think Agammemnon is the one in the black leather jacket. Who are you?” “Aeneas,” I replied.
This was the scene on Monday evening, as the company members of the Guerilla production of Troilus and Cressida met for the first time mere minutes before performing, and people who shared scenes tried to meet to resolve any important blocking.
We were in the Nereid monument gallery of the British Museum, surely one of the best places in the world to perform a play set in the Ancient World.
As you might expect, it was a bit of a mish-mash, occasionally inspired, electric, frequently amusing, sometimes terrifying – those empty awkward silences when you wonder – did I miss my cue? Is this my line?
If we presume a valid artistic goal other than having a lark, to create something fresh and exciting free of excessive polish and not over-crafted, I think they should provide a bit more structure, a basic skeleton on which the cast can play and do what they do.
This is minor complaint, however –
What? Am I on?
Am I supposed to be on?
Oh shit!