Gioele Dix returns to the original monologue—a text written directly for the stage, without literary adaptations, without safety nets. Comical but not disengaged, personal but capable of becoming collective, acerbic but always classy and intelligent.

A special surprise: an original sound design—constructed by a great sound designer, Hubert Westkemper—with the precision of someone who knows that the right sound at the right time is as important as a joke—that enters the narrative without warning, that strikes when you least expect it, that transforms familiar noises into memory and memory into emotion.

Everything passes through words, stories, sounds. It's a show that still considers reflection a form of pleasure—and that allows itself to be, without shyness, a declaration of love for theater and words, in an age that has chosen to trust almost exclusively in images. A popular show that doesn't simplify, a comedy that doesn't give up on thought, convinced that reflection is still a form of pleasure worth sharing.