(Ben Brantley’s article appeared in The New York Times, 10/14; via Pam Green.)
MINSK, BELARUS — The tidy and anonymous room, which is entered through a fenced courtyard in a sleepy residential neighborhood of this Eastern European city, is not large. It was once a garage, just big enough to accommodate a few sedans or, in this case, the closely clustered group of about 50 that has assembled on a full-moon night in late August.
But the distances of space and time being crossed in this small room are great. It feels appropriate that the audience members have been advised to bring their passports. Never mind that this is on the off chance — as has happened to other audiences — they might be arrested by the Belarussian K.G.B., which still operates under that name in this former Soviet republic. What is being celebrated is the license to travel, if only through a defiant imagination.
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