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From the pen of Pan Jun comes a dazzling comedy vitriolic.
Over the past three decades China has experienced rapid changes so as to displace the Chinese themselves.
It may happen that a forty born in the countryside, new Calvino Marcovaldo memory inurbàtosi for years in the capital to look for a job as a clerk, who gets leafing in the memory,
and make it hard to compare the two mental polaroid, that of his countrymen years, where people went hungry but there was solidarity of the wrinkles of the hands of the neighbor, and that chaos and cruelty, the anonymity of the city.
It can be inferred to live in two completely different universes, or worse, in a dystopian version of its future, which would flee again.
It is therefore very easy then for a forty Beijing today to slip in a climate of surreality, or believe that everything that surrounds you is a dream – or a nightmare.
The situation is not so far from the sensitivity of the Italians: reminds me ‘the changes it underwent Milan in the Sixties – only, one must imagine the problems arising from the transformation of the street Gluck, fed out of proportion, and more lasting.

A naive woman falls in love with the wrong man.
Both emerging from destroying divorce.
Him, not believing more in love durability,
not to be more too bad as in the past, it proposes a contract that recalls the relationship between Faust and Mephistopheles.
The contract seems dictated by an absolute coldness, but in fact uncovers the hypocrisy of affective beliefs of our contemporary living.
Our lead couple is besieged by former him and an obsessive-compulsive suitor for her. The whole is topped by a fellow sex addict who feels compelled to dispense sex advice embarrassing to pepper the couple’s relationship.
The characters remain in desperate search of a center, not sbarellare permanently, and not be torn away by the wind in this wall of skyscrapers.
What’s more poignant admission of being fragile?
For the actors is a pyrotechnic test, to give light to the surreality crowds lying – tense – under the carpet of sharp irony of Pan Jun, a mixture of dazzling Brecht and Feydeau.