A bearded man in olive drab spews out a fist-pounding diatribe. A couple gyrates brutally as if trapped in a sadistic rumba. A young man stands motionless with a black box over his head. A girl with a red scarf around her neck pulls it over her face in one swift movement. Her features jut out underneath the red cloth and strain upward as if they might explode and splatter onto the ceiling. Somewhere in the beginning of Prometeo's production of the third act of novelist Reinaldo Arenas's only... More >>>