WC (White Christmas) is a performance lasting around 15 minutes, designed to be repeated several times throughout the same evening. Two actors move in and out of the small spaces of a public W.C. as if that was their Christmas bunker. The show is to be watched by few spectators at a time, and then repeated. This is where Tondelli‘s short story Altri libertini meets Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, resulting in a suggestive hybridisation.
The bathroom: the most private place in the house.
The most intimate.
The most intimately ours.
In it, we become ourselves again.
We wash off our skin the joys and sorrows of each day.
We flush down the toilet what we just cannot digest.
It’s the only place where we can look at ourselves in the mirror for more than 5 minutes.
It’s a place of degeneration and catharsis.
The locus of denial.
The public toilet is a dangerous place.
A place of adventures. Encounters. Sneaky glances. Quick splashes (and flushes).
The place of discomfort.
And after all, it must be said: going to the toilet always induces a certain pleasure.
Christmas is not like any other day.
It’s the night of hopes and expectations, of fulfilled wishes and gratifying desires.
It’s a special day, a day in which one cannot swim against the tide. Suddenly happiness breaks into
our everyday life.
We press our faces against decorated shop windows.
We sigh whilst we stare outside the window, wishing for a picturesque snow to start falling.
At Christmas, the happy portrait of a loving family must always be the winner.
But is it really so? Are we really sure? Is it possible that we simply cannot remember a single
Christmas Day in which we were truly unhappy?
Think of a day when you were really depressed, multiply it to the nth degree and here you go, you’ll
have a sad Christmas right there.
But the Christmas plague-spreaders take good care in hiding, as they know they risk a lynching.