Trying to top the critical and financial success of its last production, the festival plans to stage King Lear, as well as a contemporary new musical. But creative director Geoffrey Tennant finds himself seized by fits of uncontrollable weeping--among other, more intimate maladies. Written by
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I must say, I've fallen in love with the musical genre. It's the artform of the common man. If you want to communicate something with the prolatariot, cover it in sequins and make it sing. It's noisy, vulgar and utterly meaningless... I love it.