Winter. Christmas party, perhaps in an institution for mental health. A crowd of blinded people who have lost their pace. Some have been blinded by anger, some by a dream of love. Others have been blinded by the mocking spell of a utopia and some, like Oedipus, have pierced their own eyes, so as not to see theit failure. The repertory of blunders is very wide. A generation with a hopeless face and its heart out of order, born too late to still believe in the old illusions but too early o forget and reinvent them.
The Clinic of the Blinded is a play about the disenchantment and the lost technique of folloqing a star. It talks about the few children still alive under the ruines of maturity without hope. The Babel of their whispers could suddenly reveal a tender choir of revolt. Behind the alienated routine of a warm soup, an unpredictable nativity could perhaps be celebrated.