by Pascal Lambert

Clôture de l'amour " is an ode to separation. Two lovers-parents-partners, Stan and Audrey have only the use of words to tear each other apart.

A merciless confrontation inhabited by infinite tension.

Two powerful, deep, frightening monologues which cannot be interrupted, a way of settling old accounts and marking the territory of the body in a language pushed to the limit.

Stan “ I wanted to see you to tell you that it's over / it's not going to continue / we're not going to continue / it's going to stop there . . This is Stan speaking. He wants to leave, he will leave. He needs to say, to say until the end, the collapse, the imperfection of the present, to say the desire for another look in which to see oneself, the quest for a possible elsewhere, for a new beginning.

They devastate everything, they dirty everything, the memories, the dreams to come, destroy all the paths of return. Stan utters his break-up with a destructive, tragic rage, throws his sentences like so many bullets from a revolver. He seeks to destroy to kill everything they were as a couple in his violent attempt to escape everything he once wanted.

While he speaks Audrey, doesn't speak, yet bends gently, clenches her fists in her mouth so as not to scream, not to cry. Hold on, stand up. And then she responds.

Audrey aims right, she mows down the words in the concrete of life, exhausts the memory of her body, she recalls the moments, the oaths, the trifles, everything that makes the strength of her love, of her defeat.

She might even forgive. It retains the raw flavor of experience. And it's up to him, to Stan, to take the blows in silence, to fall, slowly. Closure of love, in two relentless rounds.

At the end of Clôture de l'amour, it doesn't matter who wins and loses. We don't care about the individuals. It is love, the attempt to form a couple, the hope of union, the need to belong and to create this togetherness the romantic idea of the eternity of love that fails in front of the audience’s eyes.

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