Word: fistula
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...things we want to say and also things we would be better off not having said. They let us know the things we need to know, and also things we wish we didn't. Language is a window into human nature, but it is also a fistula, an open wound through which we're exposed to an infectious world. It's not surprising that we sheathe our words in politeness and innuendo and other forms of doublespeak. FROM THE STUFF OF THOUGHT BY STEVEN PINKER...
...Dewis’s Fistula, however, that most deserves positive acknowledgement. Charismatic and professional, Dewis projects more of a presence than anyone else in the cast: though Havel’s translated prose seems to want to use an absurd straightforwardness to jarring effect, this sensation only comes across when connected with Dewis’ forceful delivery. Indeed, it is only when Fistula is onstage that the production achieves the disturbing surreality it seems to try to achieve elsewhere: a second act monologue in which Fistula invokes the impossibility of Satanic forgiveness against a swelling background of chanting is honestly...
...play, he crumples up into an admirable fetus—he does enough to endow his Foustka with bottled-up menace. It is in his one-on-one interaction with other characters, however, that Gagnon particularly shines: though his initial dialogue with John Dewis’s satanic Fistula is a trifle stilted, the actors play off each other increasingly well, and his well-deployed balancing of melodrama and pathos in his dealings with his lover Dr. Vilma (Julia Morton ’07) shines...
...some of its structural parallelisms and thematic points could be better tied in with its acting and staging. The quality of the use of lighting is irregular—though the silhouettes in the final scene are brilliant, the purple flashes accompanying Foustka’s quasi-pacts with Fistula could be better established and used elsewhere—and the bits of musical scoring occasionally hit and miss. The set is stylistically unremarkable, though the fog machines liven it up. The costumes are fabulous—the bowler hats, in particular, are clutch—but the choreography verges...
...minuscule sub survives the 3G power dive into the artery, and glides idyllically down a clear stream filled with pink and white corpuscles that look like house-sized globules of tapioca. Then all at once it is swept into a violent whirlpool set up by a fistula that unnaturally connects the carotid artery with the jugular vein. When the hemonauts come out of their spin, they are in the jugular, drifting inexorably away from the brain and toward the heart...