I’ve come to a conclusion: “The collector of hearts” deserves something out of the walls. Here’s my idea: A whole new genre.
The scene goes around the funeral of a man with autism. Autistic but in a fucker-destroyer way: with psychic powers and so on, who died near being thirty years old.
He was sure he was going to die at five to one, not knowing if daytime or nighttime, and he acted recklessly, not to say suicidal, the rest of the time.
Which led him, curiously enough, to die at five to one.
On the tables, here’s the novelty: There are both actors and viewers, not knowing each viewer who is and actor or another viewer.
Scripts, or even frameworks, verse on remembering certain moments of the life of the protagonist, that must be mixed in order to reach some conlusion, and can and must be varied between performances, knowing the actors a kind of a BIOGRAPHY of the autistic man and their personas, which must be usef in order to involve the viewers.
