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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

Marco Ramirez - I Am Not Batman


It’s the middle of the night.  And the sky is glowing like mad radioactive red.  And if you squint, you could maybe see the moon through a thick layer of cigarette smoke and airplane exhaust that covers the entire city like mosquito net that won’t let the angels in.

And if you look up high enough you could see me-standing on the edge of a eighty seven story building. 

And up there-a place for gargoyles and broken clock towers that have stayed still and dead for maybe like a hundred years-up there is me.

And I’m freakin Batman.

And I gots Bat-mobiles and Bat-a-rangs and freakin Bat-caves like for real, and all it takes is a broom closet or a back room or a fire escape and Danny’s hand-me-down jeans are gone.

And my navy blue polo shirt? –

The one that looks kinda good on me but has a hole on it near the butt from when it got snagged on the chain linked fence behind Arturo’s but it isn’t even a big deal cause I tuck that part in and its like all good? –

-that blue polo shirt? –

- It’s gone too.  And I get like, like transformation-al.

And nobody pulls out a belt and whips Batman for talking back –

-Or for not talking back –

And nobody calls Batman simple –

- Or stupid –

- Or skinny –

- And nobody fires Batman’s brother from the Eastern Taxi Company ‘cause they was making cutbacks, neither, ‘cause they got nothing but respect, and not like afraid-respect.  Just like respect-respect.  ‘Cause nobody’s afraid of you. 

Cause Batman doesn’t mean nobody harm.


Cause all Batman really wants to do is save people and maybe pay Abuela’s bills one day and die happy and maybe get like mad famous. For real.

…And kill the Joker.

Tonight, like most nights, I’m all alone.  And I’m watching…And I’m waiting…

Like a eagle.  Or like a –no, yea, like a eagle.

And my cape is flappin’ in the wind (‘cause it’s freakin’ long), and my pointy ears are on, and that mask that covers like half my face is on too, and I got like bulletproof stuff all in my chest so no one could hurt me and nobody – nobody – is gonna come between Batman,

And Justice.

From where I am I could hear everything.

Somewhere in the city there’s a old lady picking Styrofoam leftovers up outta a trash can and she’s putting a piece of sesame chicken someone spit out into her own mouth.

And somewhere there’s a doctor with a whack haircut in a black lab coat trying to find a cure for the diseases that are gonna make us all extinct for real one day.

And somewhere there’s a man, a man in a janitor’s uniform, stumbling home drunck and dizzy after spending half his paycheck on forty-ounce bottles of twist-off beer and the other half on a four hour visit to some lady’s house on a street where the lights have all been shot out by people who’d rather do what they do, in this city, in the dark.

And half a block away from JanitorMan there’s a group of good-for-nothings who don’t know no better waiting to beat JanitorMan with rusted bicycle chains and imitation Lousiville Sluggers, and if they don’t find a cent on him – which they won’t – they’ll just pound at him till the muscles in their arms start burning, till there’s no more teeth to crack out.

But they don’t count on me.

They don’t count on no dark night (with a stomach full of grocery store brand macaroni-and-cheese and cut up Vienna sausages),

Cause they’d rather believe I don’t exist,

And from eighty-seven stories up I could hear one of the good-for-nothings say “Gimmethecash” real fast (like that) just “Gimmethefuckingcash” and I see JAnitorMan mumble something in drunk language and turn pale and from eighty-seven stories up I could hear his stomach trying to hurl its way out of his Dickies.

So I swoop down like and fast and I’m like darkness.  I’m like SWOOSH –

 - And I throw a Bat-a-rang at the one naked lightbulb –

- And they’re all like “whoa-motherfucker-who-just-turned-out-the-lights?” –

(Silence.  The BOY breathes, re-enacting their fear)

“What’s that over there?” –

-“What?” –

- “Gimme whatchou got old man” –

- “Did anybody hear that?!” –

- “No, really” –

- “There ain’t. No. Bat.” –

But then –

- One out of three good-for-nothings gets it to the head!

And number Two swings blindly into the dark cape before him but before his fist hits anything I grab a trash can lid and –

-- Right into the gut, and number One comes back with a jump-kick but I know judo-karate too so I’m like –

-- Twice –

-- but before I can do any more damage suddenly we all hear a CLIC – CLIC –

And suddenly everything gets quiet

And the one good-for-nothing left standing grips a handgun and aims straight up, like he’s holding Jesus hostage, like he’s threatening maybe to blow a hole in the moon.

And the good-for-nothing who got it to the head who tried to jump=kick me and the other good-for-nothing who got it in the gut is both scrambling back away from the dark figure before him.

And the drunk man the JanitorMan is huddled in a corner, praying to Saint Anthony ‘cause that’s the only one he could remember.

And there’s me,

Eyes glowing white, cape blowing softly in the wind.

Bulletporoof chest heaving.  My heart beating right through it in a Morse code for “fuck with me, just once, come on, just try.”

And the one good-for-nothing left standing, the one with the handgun, he laughs he lowers his arm, and he points it at me and gives the moon a break, and he aims it right between my pointy ears, like goalposts and he’s special teams.

And JanitorMan is still calling Saint Anthony but he ain’t pickin’ up,

And for a second it seems like…maybe I’m gonna lose.



--“Don’t kill me man!” –

--“SNAP! –

--Wrist CRACK –

--Neck –

--SLASH! –

--Skin – meets – acid –

--“AHH!!” –

And he’s on the floor.  And I’m standing over him.  And I got the gun in MY hands now. And I hate guns, I hate holding ‘em cause I’m Batman, and –

ASTERICKS: Batman don’t like guns ‘cause his parents got iced by guns a long time ago – but for just a second, my eyes glow white, and I hold this thing, for I could speak to the good-for-nothing in a language he maybe understands,


And the good-for-nothings become good-for-disappearing into whatever toxic-waste-chemical-sludge-shit-hole they crawled out of.

And it’s just me and JanitorMan.

And I pick him up.

And I wipe sweat and cheap perfume off his forehead.

And he begs me not to hurt him and I grab him tight by his JanitorMan shirt collar and I pull him to my face, and he’s taller than me, but the cape helps so he listens when I look him straight in the eyes and I say two words to him:

“Go home.”

And he does, checking behind his shoulder every ten feet.

And I SWOOSH from building to building on his way there, ‘cause I know where he lives.  And I watch his hands where he lives.  And I watch his hands tremble as he pulls out his keychain and opens the door to his building.

And I’m back in bed before he even walks in through the front door.

And I hear him turn on the faucet and pour himself a glass of warm tap water

And he puts the glass back in the sink.

And I hear his footsteps,

And they get slower as they get to my room.

And he creaks my door open like mad slow.

And he takes a step in, which he never does.

And he’s staring off into nowhere, his face the color of sidewalks in summer, and I act like I’m just waking up, and I say,

“What’s up, Pop?”

And JanitorMan says nothing to me.

But I see, in the dark, I see his arms go limp and his head turns back, like towards me, and he lifts it for I could see his face,

For I could see his eyes,

And his cheeks is dripping but not with sweat.

And he just stands there, breathing, like he remembers my eyes glowing white.

Like he remembers my bulletproof chest.

Like he remembers he’s my pop.


And for a long time I don’t say nothing.


And he turns around, hand on the doorknob, and he ain’t looking up my way but I hear him mumble two words to me.

“I’m sorry.”

(A pause, the BOY is suddenly strong again.)

And I lean over and open my window just a crack.

…If you look up high enough you could see me.

And from where I am? ... I could hear everything.


The end.

Mais logo no São Luiz

Uma pensão, na costa do Pacífico. Um antigo pastor no limiar de um colapso nervoso. Uma viúva, Maxine, é quem se ocupa do hotel.  E surge uma pintora que tenta vender os seus quadros, enquanto passeia o avô moribundo de hotel em hotel, sem dinheiro. E uma iguana presa que se vai soltar naquela noite. É a redenção.
Encenação: Jorge Silva Melo; Tradução: Dulce  Fernandes; Interpretação: Nuno Lopes (Lawrence Shannon), Maria João Luís (Maxine Faulk), Isabel Muñoz Cardoso (Judith Fellowes), Joana Bárcia (Hannah Jelkes), Pedro Carraca (Hank Prosner), Tiago Matias (Jake Latta), João Meireles (Herr Fahrenkopf), Vânia Rodrigues (Hilda), Pedro Gabriel Marques (Pancho), Catarina Wallenstein (Charlotte Goodall), Américo Silva (Nonno), João Delgado (Pedro), Bruno Xavier (Wolfgang), Ana Amaral (Frau Fahrenkopf); Cenografia e figurinos: Rita Lopes Alves; Luz: Pedro Domingos; Som: André Pires; Coordenação técnica: João Cachulo; Assistência de encenação: Nuno Gonçalo Rodrigues e Bernardo Alves; Produção: João Meireles
Coprodução: Artistas Unidos, Teatro Nacional São João e São Luiz Teatro Municipal

Concerning Westworld

SCENE VI. Friar Laurence's cell.



So smile the heavens upon this holy act,
That after hours with sorrow chide us not!



Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can,
It cannot countervail the exchange of joy
That one short minute gives me in her sight:
Do thou but close our hands with holy words,
Then love-devouring death do what he dare;
It is enough I may but call her mine.



These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness
And in the taste confounds the appetite:
Therefore love moderately; long love doth so;
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

     Enter JULIET

Here comes the lady: O, so light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint:
A lover may bestride the gossamer
That idles in the wanton summer air,
And yet not fall; so light is vanity.



Good even to my ghostly confessor.



Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.



As much to him, else is his thanks too much.



Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy
Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath
This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue
Unfold the imagined happiness that both
Receive in either by this dear encounter.



Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,
Brags of his substance, not of ornament:
They are but beggars that can count their worth;
But my true love is grown to such excess
I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth.



Come, come with me, and we will make short work;
For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone
Till holy church incorporate two in one.



POCILGA de Pier Paolo Pasolini | Direcção de John Romão from colectivo 84 on Vimeo.

POCILGA de Pier Paolo Pasolini
Tradução e encenação | John Romão
Com | Albano Jerónimo, Ana Bustorff, André Reis, Cláudio da Silva, João Lagarto, John Romão, Mariana Tengner Barros, Guilherme Moura / Miguel da Cunha, Paulo Pinto / Miguel Loureiro, Pedro Lacerda, Wesley Barros e com a participação de figurantes
Cenografia | F. Ribeiro com John Romão
Desenho de luz | José Álvaro Correia
Música | Nicolai Sarbib
Espaço sonoro | João Bento
Figurinos | Carolina Queirós Machado
Apoio aos figurinos | Rita Lopes Alves
Assistência em digressão | Solange Freitas
Direção técnica | Carlos Ramos
Produção executiva | Stage One
Coprodução | Colectivo 84, Culturgest, Teatro Virgínia, Teatro Viriato, TNSJ
Registo vídeo e montagem | João Gambino
Espetáculo coproduzido no âmbito da rede 5 Sentidos
O Colectivo 84 é apoiado pelo Governo de Portugal / Secretaria de Estado da Cultura - DG Artes

15 a 17 Janeiro 2015: Culturgest (Lisboa)
22 Janeiro 2015: TAGV (Coimbra)
20 Junho 2015: Teatro Virgínia (Torres Novas)
27 Junho 2015: Teatro Viriato (Viseu)
3 a 12 Julho 2015: Teatro Nacional São João (Porto)

Duração: 1h40 sem intervalo

Next Week in London

Don’t miss national treasure and Poirot star David Suchet as the formidable Lady Bracknell in Oscar Wilde’s much loved masterpiece The Importance of Being Earnest, which is now open to rave reviews at the Vaudeville Theatre, London for a strictly limited season.


Two bachelor friends, the adorable dandy Algernon Moncrieff (Philip Cumbus – regular player at Shakespeare’s Globe) and the utterly reliable John Worthing J.P., (Downton Abbey’s Michael Benz) lead double lives to court the attentions of the exquisitely desirable Gwendolyn Fairfax (Emily Barber) and Cecily Cardew (Imogen Doel). The gallants must then grapple with the riotous consequences of their deceptions, and with the formidable Lady Bracknell.

68 horas de Shakespeare

Descoberto (via José Afonso Furtado) no Open Culture:

Even among the thousands of English-language adaptations of Shakespeare’s work we find an international diversity of speech. The Spotify playlist above, brought to us by Ulysses Classical (makers of the Stanley Kubrick Playlist), presents a huge collection of recorded Shakespeare plays and poems, as well as the scores and incidental music for English-language productions. The actors represented–Sirs Gielgud, Olivier, and McKellen, Derek Jacobi, Edith Evans–are mostly English stage royalty, but we also have Welsh poet Dylan Thomas and actor Richard Burton, and Americans Paul Robeson, Rosalind Russell, and Orson Welles. The value of such a collection is inestimable–68 hours of Shakespeare read and performed by some of the world’s finest actors.

You can access the Spotify playlist on the web here. If you need to download Spotify, find it here.

Anjos na América. E em Londres.

Devo andar muito distraído porque não me tinha apercebido da produção do National Theatre para o "Angels in America" do Tony Kushner. Ou se calhar até já sabia e tinha-me esquecido. Seja como for, não fosse um post do André Murraças no Facebook, muito menos me tinha apercebido que o elenco contava com Andrew Scott (brevemente num Bond perto de si) e Dominic Cooper (Mamma Mia!).

Nunca vi a peça encenada mas a minissérie do recentemente falecido Mike Nichols é das minhas coisas favoritas de sempre em televisão. E também já li o texto original do Kushner e é realmente brilhante.

A cena abaixo é do princípio da primeira parte "Millennium Aproaches", humor, drama e emoção em palco. Like.

Hoje vou ver isto.


Direcção e espaço cénico: John Romão | Com: John Romão, os skaters/performers Francisco Campos Lima e Wesley Barros, e 10 skaters locais da cidade onde é apresentado o espectáculo | Acordionista: Fábio Palma toca a sonata para solo de acordeão "Et Exspecto" de Sofia Gubaidulina | Textos: Tiago Rodrigues e John Romão | Desenho de luz: Daniel Worm d'Assumpção | Música: Nicolai Sarbib | Espaço sonoro: Daniel Romero (.tape.) | Figurinos e adereços: João Pedro Vale e Nuno Alexandre Ferreira | Colaboração coreográfica: Elena Córdoba | Assistência de direcção e produção: Solange Freitas e Elisabeth Schuster | Co-produção: Colectivo 84 (Lisboa), Konstanz Theatre (Constança), Centro Cultural Vila Flor (Guimarães), Rivoli Teatro Municipal (Porto) | Residências artísticas: O Espaço do Tempo, Negócio/ZDB, Teatro Meridional

O Colectivo 84 é uma estrutura subsidiada pelo Governo de Portugal - Secretaria de Estado da Cultura / Direcção Geral das Artes


Direction and set: John Romão | With: John Romão, the skateboarders/performers Francisco Campos Lima and Wesley Barros and the participation of 10 local skateboarders from the city where the show is presented | Accordionist: Fábio Palma plays Sofia Gubaidulina's sonata "Et Exspecto" | Texts: Tiago Rodrigues and John Romão | Light Design: Daniel Worm d'Assumpção | Music: Nicolai Sarbib | Sound design: Daniel Romero (.tape.) | Costume and props: João Pedro Vale and Nuno Alexandre Ferreira | Choreographic collaboration: Elena Córdoba | Assistance direction and production: Solange Freitas and Elisabeth Schuster | Co-production: Colectivo 84 (Lisbon, PT), Konstanz Theatre (Konstanz, DE), Centro Cultural Vila Flor (Guimarães, PT), Rivoli Teatro Municipal (Porto, PT) | Artistic residences: O Espaço do Tempo, Negócio/ZDB, Teatro Meridional
Colectivo 84 is a structure supported by the Government of Portugal -- Secretaria de Estado da Cultura / Direcção Geral das Artes

Trailer: João Gambino

31 may, 5 - 7 june 2014: Konstanz Theater (Konstanz)
25 october 2014: Rivoli Teatro Municipal (Porto)
27 - 28 november 2014: São Luiz Teatro Municipal (Lisboa)
28 february 2015: Centro Cultural Vila Flor (Guimarães)