#just since she’s theatrical in nature I’d see her getting whimsical with it

[transk0vsky]

I think Daniil would be someone who gets annoyed by people bringing up Christmas in the middle of October and November

[mcg777]

| Evening Tunes |

Pairing: Clementine x Louis

Word Count: 3170

Summary: After a couple of stressful weeks, Clementine is taken by surprise by Louis' "special" invitation. Together, they find peace underneath the gleam of the moonlight, turning an ordinary night into something so, so much more.

Read on AO3

            It was the end of the afternoon. The wind twirled gracefully around the autumn leaves, inviting them to join it in its dance. Orange stained clouds embellished the sky, far apart just enough for golden waves to pierce through the ethereal veil. Distant, a lonely moon carefully revealed herself to the world below, her gentle glow somehow surfacing in the midst of the magnificent ballad of colors and lights. It was a beautiful sight to behold – one that Clementine was very thankful for.

           A soft yawn interrupted the gears in her eyes, causing her to briefly look away from the window. For the past few days, she’d been working non-stop, crafting plans, securing the school’s defenses and checking in on her friends’ patrols, all in the hopes of keeping Ericson safe from the many possible threats that hid beyond its walls. Most would think that after losing a leg, one would try to spend their days in the comfort of their bed, away from the stress and chaos of the outside world. Not Clementine, though; if anything, her responsibilities had increased, with her taking up the role of leader after the events with the Delta.

           Another stubborn sigh escaped the girl’s lips, but she fought through the exhaustion, refusing to stop admiring the view the heavens had gifted her with. It had been several weeks since her group had spotted any survivors, most of them not even significantly close to the school, yet Clementine stood on her toes. Their last encounter with strangers had been… tense, to say the least. If there’s anything her journey had taught her throughout the years, it’s that one should avoid taking risks at all costs – especially now that she had found a home in the boarding school, and a family in its former students.

           A knock on the door made her eyes stray away from the pinkish sky, dissipating her cloud of thoughts.

           “Yes?”

            Clementine waited patiently for a reply from the other side, but nothing came. She turned her head to the door, expecting whoever it was to simply walk in. Instead, two more knocks echoed throughout the room, causing the girl to sigh in annoyance.

           “Alright, I’m coming…”

           With her crutches in hand, it didn’t take long until Clementine finally reached the door. Upon opening it, she was greeted with something rather unanticipated.

           “Good evening, m’lady.”

           Whatever words she’d intended to articulate lost themselves in her throat. There stood Louis, bowing before her with a warm smile spread across his face.

           “My sincerest apologies for disturbing you at such a late hour. I truly hope my presence isn’t distracting you from more dire matters.”

           It would take a few seconds before Clementine managed to collect herself, ultimately deciding to play along with his theatrical act. Doing her best to replicate his tone, she put on her best whimsical front.

           “And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

           “Well, you see,” he said, returning to her eye level, “I’ve travelled all this way to inform you of something very important.”

           “Oh, yeah?” she smirked, “And what could that possibly be?”

           Louis smiled, clearing his throat after taking an imaginary letter from his pocket and holding it out in front of him.

           “Your majesty is hereby invited to tonight’s special piano recital, occurring shortly after dinner in the music room.”

           She rolled her eyes at his antics, unable to hold back a laugh.

           “I see. May I know who else is coming to this recital?”

           The freckled boy paused for a second, dropping his seamless act.

           “Actually,” he said, rubbing the back of his head, “it’s just you.”

           Clementine’s lips parted slightly.

           “Oh.”

           It was not at all what she’d foreseen. Based on what he’d been suggesting, she expected it to be one of Ruby’s famous hootenannies, where they’d all gather around in a circle in the music room, evenings spent telling each other stories of the past, laughing and savoring the music playing in the background. She missed those days.

           The on-going silence between them pushed Louis to continue.

           “It’s just…” he sighed, “it’s been a while since we’ve spent some time together. Just the two of us, I mean.”

           He was right. With all the strategical thinking from the past weeks, the girl had barely even had the chance to thoroughly enjoy her time with AJ, let alone Louis. Unfortunately, those were the drawbacks of choosing to shield the ones you love, a path that drove her away from the people she strived to care for in the first place.

           The way he pursed his lips and gradually darted his gaze away from her told her that he was considering backtracking on his offer. Without hesitation, Clementine took a step closer, making the boy instinctively place his hand on her arm, just in case she lost her balance. She always appreciated his small gestures.

           “Hey,” she whispered, her own hand guiding her toward him, “I’d love that.”

           Louis eyed her gently, taking in the tenderness of her smile. They stayed like this for a moment, silent, simply enjoying each other’s presence. A magnetic field trapped them in each other’s gaze, and before he realized it they were already leaning in, forgetting all about their surroundings in favor of the dazzling view standing right in front of them. Just as they were about to close the gap, the sudden sound of steps coming down the hall broke them out of their own world.

           They both pulled back, traces of a rosy tint peeking behind their features.

           “Right… so,” he said, hands reaching for the comfort of his coat, “it’s a date, then.”

           Joy tugged at the corners of Clementine’s lips. She liked the sound of that.

           “It’s a date.”

           They shared one last smile before they parted ways, a soft chuckle leaving her as she watched him bow down to her yet again, only to be out of sight in a matter of seconds.

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             It was the beginning of the night. The chill in the air enveloped the school, breathing life into the still trees. The once warm tones of the sky were now mere shadows of the past, a dark blue tint brushing across the starry canvas as the moon smiled upon the Earth, casting light in the dark void below.

           The halls of the admin building emulated the outside world like a mirror. Peaceful, but cold; somber, yet delicate. Clementine walked alone among lifeless silhouettes, guided solely by the flame in her heart. A soft tune emerged from the shadows, breaking the silence and making its way to her. She followed it promptly, her crutches leading her to a very familiar door. Through the gap, she could see light.

            And there he was.

           She smiled at the sight. He sat at the piano, his hands effortlessly gliding over its aged keys, creating the melody that beckoned her to come closer.

           As she opened the door, Louis’ eyes fell upon her.

           “Clem, you made it!”

           Her eyes studied the music room in awe. Candles adorned the place, their warm colors accentuating the way the moon’s natural glow kissed their little sanctuary. Rose petalled flowers perfumed the air, beautifully arranged throughout the room, their essence fusing with the calming heat of the nearby flames.

           It took her breath away.

           “Louis, this… this is beautiful. You didn’t have to.”

           “Oh, you haven’t even seen the best part!”

           In a blink of an eye, the freckled boy removed a small bag of pretzels from his coat. Judging by how dusty it looked, it was safe to say the contents inside were, at best, stale. That didn’t seem to scare away the excitement in Louis’ voice, though.

           “Since tonight is our first real chance at having a proper date after all this time,” he said, handing her the bag, “I figured the occasion called for a special kind of snack.”

           “Oh god,” she groaned, failing to hide her amusement as she inspected the item more closely, “seriously, where do you keep finding these?”

           Louis raised a brow at her question.

           “And reveal where I keep my secret stash of below-average pretzels? I don’t think so.”

           Clementine couldn’t help but giggle at her boyfriend’s witty nature. He smiled in return.

           “Tonight’s show is about to start, and lucky for you,” he beamed, patting the seat next to him, “you were granted an exclusive seat!”

           She rolled her eyes at that last part, leaving her crutches propped up against the piano as she sat next to him.

           “Y’know, not many people get the chance to see the artist this close. I bet they’re jealous of you.” he added, sending a wink her way.

           That earned him a smirk.

           “Well, it’s not like there’s anyone else here.” she quipped.

           “Hey! The squirrels are watching.”

           And there it was again, the warm melody of her laughter. It was enough to make the otherwise steady drums in his chest go off beat, fluttering at a hasty rhythm. He lowered his head, a small smile blooming on his lips.

           The piano shyly murmured as his fingers skimmed over its keys.

           “So, any requests, your majesty?”

           Clementine pursed her lips. There was a vast array of songs she could ask him to play. How was she supposed to pick? After moments of indecisiveness, she opted to hand him the reins; yet just as she was about to speak, one particular song popped up in her head, shadowing all the other ones.

           “Remember the song you played when we first met?”

           His eyes found hers in the comfort of the moonlight, hearts beating in unison as they ventured down the bridge guiding them to their past. Their first encounter started playing in Louis’ head like a never-ending film; it had been so long since, yet somehow he still remembered it as if it were yesterday. It brought a smile to his face.  

           “Of course. How could I forget?”

           He let his fingers caress the piano keys ever so gently.

           Oh, my darling, oh, my darling,

           Oh, my darling Clementine,

           His voice came in soft waves, gentle like a whisper in the wind. It was different from the first time he’d sung to her, energy dripping from his vocal chords as he performed for his small “crowd”. No, this time there was a certain peace to it, with the beautifully weaved notes swaying around the candle lights, a hint of melancholy in the way the words escaped his lips.

               Clementine leaned against the boy’s shoulder, feeling her eyes succumb to the weight they’d been subject to for the past weeks. With a sigh, she allowed herself to rest at last, his voice cradling her in its soothing shroud.  

           You are lost and gone forever…

           A chill pierced through the room, one that only Louis felt, as the weight of those words sank in. They echoed relentlessly in his head, like the silent cries of a tormented ghost. The more he tried brushing them off, the further the words entangled themselves around his throat, a tight chain binding him to a vision that made him sick to his stomach.

           The girl waited for the next lyrics, but they never came. In fact, the music had stopped, too. When she opened her eyes, she found him seemingly lost, staring at the keys, his hands barely touching them. With her fingers slowly reaching for his shoulder, she expressed her worry through the gentleness of her tone.

           “Is everything okay?”

           A subtle frown enveloped his features, and although soon covered up, it was still noticeable enough for Clementine to know something was wrong. She opened her mouth to speak, but he was faster.

           “On second thought, maybe we should try something else.”

           She stared at him as his attention returned to the piano, brows knitted together in search of an answer. Why did he want to switch up the song?

           All Louis could see was shapes of black and white, a tempest arising from beneath his fingertips as they blindly pressed against the ivories, determined in finding the right tune – anything that could draw him away from the bleak thoughts clouding his brain.

           Clementine felt a slight sting in her chest as she watched him work his way through whatever was bothering him. Sympathetic, her gaze fell back upon him after she revisited the moment things had gone south in her head. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out why.

           “Louis.”

           He kept on going, refusing to give up on his seemingly impossible search. Endless attempts at stitching up a simple melody, yet despite his efforts none of the notes sounded right to his ears. The boy cursed under his breath.

           A soft hand cupped his cheek.

           “Louis, look at me.”

           In one gentle move, their eyes met. It was all it took to break him out of the trance; a single look and he was already losing his grasp on reality, now diving into the beautiful golden ocean that was her eyes. Clementine held him in place, the warmth of her touch sending waves down his spine.

           “I’m not going anywhere.” she whispered, her thumb softly brushing against his skin.

           As if having life of its own, Louis’ hand gently trailed up her arm, eventually resting on her own, fitting just as perfectly as two puzzle pieces. She leaned in, resting her forehead against his in an act of reassurance.  

           “Sorry, I-…” he sighed, pulling away slightly, “I didn’t mean to get like this over a song, it’s just…”

           The girl stopped him before he could go further.

           “Hey, it’s okay.”

           She didn’t blame him. After all they’d been through, all the close calls that could have gone terribly wrong, the bond they’d built … the thought of waking up in a world without one another had become unbearable. With that, what had once started as a playful song marking the beginning of their friendship, was now a reminder that everyone’s luck runs out sooner or later, including that of the ones you love.

           The couple stayed quiet in each other’s embrace, watching the wax of the candles slowly melt away with every second that passed, leaving tracks of its fiery tears engraved on their honey-tinged surface. It was the perfect ambiance, giving off such tranquility and peace that it seemed nearly impossible to disturb; or at least so thought Clementine, until she was struck with something that caused her to leap out of her drowsy state.

           “Hey, I’ve got an idea.”

           A pair of inquisitive eyes darted in her direction.

           “You know how you’re always telling me we should compose a song together…?” she began, moving her fingers along the sides of the instrument.

           Louis didn’t even have to hear the rest of it; his eyes had already lit up, a pure reflection of the stars adorning the pretty night sky.

           “Clementine, I… I’d love that.”

           She smiled at him.

           “Why don’t you start coming up with a tune?” she said, gesturing toward the piano, “I’ll help wherever I can.”

           And so, he did just that.

           After spending what seemed like hours carefully crafting a melody, a trial filled with lots of back and forths between the two, alongside the occasional chuckle at Clementine’s musical inexperience, the pair was finally happy with the result. It had been a tiring process, its effects arising mainly in the energy department; but at the end of the day, they’d do it again in a heartbeat.  

           A sigh escaped the freckled boy as he grazed his fingers over the keys he’d grown to love over the years. Clementine watched him tenderly, a simple nod encouraging him to delve once more into the path they’d walked on together.

           With a soft smile on his lips, Louis started from the beginning.

           It was a warm tune, one that irradiated a glow so bright that even the timid moon was drawn to its beauty. A melody so gentle and yet so passionate, a paradox proven possible with every press of a key. An aurora of emotions – bliss, melancholy, hope – all tugging at the strings in their hearts.

           But there was something missing; something they hadn’t spoken a word of. Something Clementine was about to fix.

           Taking a deep breath, she let herself free.

           You rest inside my mind,

           Since the day you came,

           I knew you would be with me,

           Louis’ eyes widened at the sound of her voice. Just like a soft breeze brushing against a vast field of flowers, she flew gracefully over every note. Each word rolled off her tongue with such ease, resembling a single ripple in the calm waters of an unexplored sea. It made the flame inside his chest grow wider, leaving him in awe of the girl he was eternally grateful to have met.

           Oblivious to the freckled boy’s thoughts, Clementine focused only on speaking on behalf of her heart. Closing her eyes to the world, she found inner peace as her voice merged once again with the soothing melody echoing throughout the room.  

           All the time we spent,

           What we shared was surely,

           Warm enough to know you cared for me.

           Louis’ hands lingered onto the ivories after her singing reached its end, her smile emerging from underneath the glimmer of the moonlight. She felt the thumping in her chest calm as the remaining notes came to life in one final stroke, bringing the song to its grand finale. As if carried to the realms of a heavenly dream, Clementine opened her eyes to find the boy staring at her so lovingly, his tenderness the reason for the sudden heat rising on her cheeks.       

           “Clementine, that… that was beautiful.”

           She failed at suppressing a shaky laugh. It had been the first time she’d sung to him, and here she was silently telling herself that it wouldn’t be the last. Her eyes followed the trail to his own, a journey only complete after her hand had reached his, fingers intertwining in their perpetual longing for each other’s touch.

           And she smiled.

           “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

           The warmth he felt inside his core almost took his breath away. He was mesmerized by her, lost in what seemed to be a never-ending mirage. His gaze, so intense, so loving, it spoke to her in a prose whose adoration words could barely replicate – it touched her soul.

           Never had his heart screamed so loud for someone.

           Just like that, Louis listened to the ballad in his chest and let his actions speak for himself. Gently pulling her in, he pressed his lips against hers, sealing that moment for eternity. The kiss was like a lullaby, soft and affectionate, fueled by the chimes wavering within them. He would have eventually pulled away had Clementine’s hand not crawled up the back of his neck, keeping him close in their little corner of the world.

           And in that beautiful starry night, bathed in the warmth of the surrounding flames, they made a promise to never lose one another.

[thefoolsloop]

Distill'd by magic sleights: SNM Shanghai, show no. 5

**(Spoilers for Nurse loop again - and, again, not for 1:1s. Brief spoilers for Taxi and Lady Macduff, but nothing of substance. Details have been obscured or altered, as usual. A very long post here, I’m so sorry.)**

It’s over two weeks since my final Shanghai SNM. For some reason I’ve been reluctant to write this recap of my last show, as if perhaps putting the words onto paper (or screen) would erase the memories from my mind. With any luck, the opposite will be the case; because the last show not only produced some of the most magical moments of my time with Punchdrunk, but also delivered an emotional punch to the gut which caught me utterly by surprise. More on that, later.

My reluctance has also been spurred by the realisation that this will be yet another Miranda-heavy write-up. It’s only on reviewing my recaps (and those of other people) that I realise just how much I monopolised her on my visit, and how shamefully I overlooked Ben, Jude, Daniel and others, with whom I would like to have spent more time (including several of the Chinese cast). Another five visits would perhaps have sufficed for me to get as much appreciation for the show as, say, @whenwillweawake, whose summary I commend to you (it’s more objective and less self-focused than mine).

But I didn’t have five more shows. And, in any case, Miranda was the main reason I came all this way. She rewarded my loyalty handsomely, but I can’t help feeling a little guilty. Not that I begrudge a second I spent with her; nor should anyone consider a second watching this supremely talented artist wasted. If you would prefer to watch her than read about her, I sympathise, but that’s all I have to offer.

It’s Sunday. The weather is hot, but not as roasting and steamy as Shanghai sometimes gets (so I’m informed). My regret at seeing the McKinnon for the last time is immediately exacerbated when, on entry, I get a Deuce. My first Deuce ever. Even in New York I was able to swap it out, but here the rest of my party have Aces and they are all people whose last show it is too, so I don’t really have a case. A bad omen?

Another bad omen - I’ve forgotten to check my phone into the cloakroom; obviously my mind is somewhere else. I have to endure the indignity of carrying my phone around in a little velvet bag strung over my shoulder. Throughout the show my bag slips, and I have to keep hiking it up over my back to get it out of the way. Seriously, folks - check your phone in. It’ll be quite safe and you’ll be spared a lot of annoyance.

My mask is tighter than previous nights and, despite its extra cord, I can’t get it to loosen enough to suit my stupidly big head. My perpetual problem. I briefly wonder if this is how the cast always pick me out - “ah, big head, must be @thefoolsloop.”

My Deuce, worthless in comparison to an Ace, sits in my pocket. My velvet bag is already irritating. My mask pushes my glasses into my eyes, uncomfortably. Is this going to be my first bad show here? Thankfully the magic of Punchdrunk is awaiting me. So - spoiler - no, it’s going to be magnificent.

Since Sam was Duncan last night I figure (correctly) that he’s going to be Taxi tonight. Upon exiting the lift, I search for him, then realise he must be in the new scene which I eulogised about in a previous write-up. Sure enough, I catch him there - he is barely recognisable, but he’s participating with more gusto than I’ve seen Sam display before, and his pairing with Olly again awakens TDM memories. But suddenly he disappears (I later learn how), and I’m left in front of an excellent scene which I enjoy very much, but don’t want to watch just now.

I hurry to his shop - yes, there he is. He’s removing a sock from his head (it’s not a sock, but if I tell you what it is it’ll destroy the impact of the scene). We’re alone in the room, and I wonder if he recognises me. He fiddles with a few items, then extends his hand. This is my first 1:1 with Sam since he thrust an orange into my face, but my hopes for something as violently compelling are dashed. Instead, Sam’s 1:1 is whimsical, lugubrious - at times he pauses with such melancholy that I almost corpse. This Taxi is not the ambiguous agent of evil found in the McKittrick, but a weary man accepting that he is controlled by fate and inevitability. When I’m confronted with a choice, I find the McKittrick’s rather delightful option has been replaced by a strictly Chinese alternative which isn’t nearly as palatable. Oh, well.

Sam concludes the 1:1 by guiding me out into the rep bar through a passage I don’t recognise, and this is where things start to go wrong. The rave is gearing up: the thumping has started. I literally cannot stay in this room. As I emerge, I bolt for the door. Sam, the spirit of Stanford alive in him still, seizes me by the shoulders and forces me into the room, further away from the door (it’s a great spot to watch proceedings - if only I could). Just as I was complicit in Frankie’s initiation in Temple Studios, so I am to be complicit in the witches’ sabbath in the McKinnon.

Except I can’t. I wonder how Sam will deal with a seizure? Maybe he’ll make notes, so as to incorporate it into his Duncan loop? But I can’t indulge him - my only thought is, I have to get out of here NOW. Sam will pick up that something is wrong, surely?

Starting to panic, I bang on the hand gripping my shoulder. I shake my head furiously. I’m about to break both character and the rules by shouting at him, “Sam, I can’t stay here!” when he twigs. He releases me, and I shoot for the door, just in time before Macbeth arrives and the strobes start.

(I don’t know how Punchdrunk can accommodate people with photosensitive epilepsy without spoiling the experience for everyone else; it’s something I want to discuss with them.)

Recovering from my near-miss, I brush myself down in the corridor and take some deep breaths. I’d like to continue with Taxi’s loop, but Sam isn’t in the shop. At this point, I remember I need to be somewhere else.

Flashback to the previous evening. As I recounted in my last recap, I spent a wonderful few hours with the cast post-show, in which I discussed all kinds of things with all kinds of people. Miranda and I enjoyed a lengthy chat covering performance, politics, film, injuries, vegetarianism, the Chinese concept of personal space, and I don’t remember what else. In the course of talking to her I mentioned something that had always bothered me about 1:1s - performers, unknowingly, have always spoken their script into my deaf ear. As a result I’m lucky if I catch the text, let alone remember it.

I also remarked that I believed I now had a full house of interactions with her characters - all the Sexy Witch and Nurse 1:1s, dances, bed-making, kisses, whatever. She grinned, blew cigarette smoke out sideways, and said, “no, you’ve missed one.” Disbelieving, I asked her for details; all she revealed was that as the Nurse she’d been waiting to give me another 1:1, only to see me run off and follow another character. I put two and two together and realised the moment she must have meant.

The trouble is I’m now at the point where I know I can catch Miranda’s Nurse alone, if I hurry upstairs; and I can’t remember how long it is until the moment in question. Sorry, Sam, but there’s only one thing I can do now. I head for the fifth floor.

Sure enough, right when I expect, she emerges from a side room. Once again, just as she did on a previous night, she fixes me with the sarcastic stare and hands me the folded sheets she’s carrying. I follow her to the hospital ward, anticipating that the missed 1:1 will come presently.

(I found this image online, when googling ‘stage blood’ - it seems to unite many of the themes in the Nurse’s loop.)

**(SPOILERS FOR NURSE’S LOOP - NOT 1:1s, BUT CERTAIN INTERACTIONS)**

It doesn’t. I’ve misremembered the sequence of events in the loop. The result is that I go through almost an entire loop with her, just as I did on Thursday - making beds, opening bags, hanging up gowns. Only this time two things are different. First, I don’t mess anything up. Second, the tone of the interactions has changed. Now I’m no longer her unpaid slave (hold on, all slaves are unpaid, no?). Now we’re collaborators, co-conspirators. I have more of her trust than I had before. In the first 1:1, where before I was meekly committing my service, I now do so with confidence; in the second, I feel less like a subject and more like a... I want to say lover because of the nature of the 1:1, but that's not quite it... sadly, I can’t really explain without gross spoilers.

In the open, too, we’re more like partners in crime. I carry out instructions before she gives them to me. She directs me more with her eyes now, less with her hands. I feel that we are walking together, rather than me following her. This time - is it my imagination? - there’s a conspiratorial smile just lingering behind that severe look. At one point we’re in the hospital, where on Thursday she dipped her finger in a spread of blood and tasted it. This time, she takes my hand and dips my finger in the blood; then she does the same with her own. We look into each other’s eyes and, in perfect time with one another, taste it.

I’ve followed her for almost a full loop now, and nothing new has happened (in terms of scenes); I’ve got the timing completely wrong. However we finally find ourselves at the very moving scene I described in my second recap and, this time, I don’t get distracted. I wait for her, she appears - again, there’s that tiniest hint of a smile, as if to say, “shall we, then?” I take her hand and she leads me off.

Of what follows, I cannot give the merest hint. It is comfortably the most complete Punchdrunk experience of my life. By turns scary, intriguing and beautiful it wraps me in darkness, brings me out into the light of a new world, turns the theatrical into the cinematic, dazzles me with its virtuosity and the sheer imagination and execution it displays. Even if I wanted to describe it, words would be inadequate. I almost can’t believe it happened, as if it was a snatch of a half-remembered dream. What it took TDM three hours to achieve on a cool October night in 2013, this 1:1 achieves in minutes. To have seen it is a privilege; to have had Miranda share it with me is doubly so.

At the end, when she’s returning my mask, she leans over to whisper a parting shot. She breathes in - then pauses. I wonder what’s gone wrong. She moves her head to the other side of my head, then delivers the text into my good ear. She remembered.

How many performers would have recalled that tiny piece of information, relayed almost in passing the night before? How many performers would have cared enough to make a change to their usual delivery? How many performers would have remembered which ear it was?

When I first saw Miranda as Romola, all those years ago, sitting in the Seamstress’s office with the makeup smeared on her face, I thought: I don’t know what it is yet, but there is something very special about this artist. If you wonder why I devote so many words to her, well, this should exemplify it.

**(SPOILERS END)**

She bundles me out, and doesn’t reappear. I have one more moment with her to tick off - the walk-out - but still a bit of time to kill before the time comes for that. So I hurry down to the ballroom to catch what I know will be my last ever ballroom party scene.

It’s getting started as I arrive, and I position myself in the McKinnon’s equivalent of the mezzanine, right in the centre, the best view of all the action. The guests assemble, chat, pair off, dance, interact. And something comes over me. Perhaps it’s just the lingering effect of the 1:1, but suddenly I feel an emotional surge, much stronger than I felt the previous night. This scene is so beautiful, I love it so much. Every time I see it, I grow in admiration and love for it. What started out two years ago in New York as a useful point to decide who to follow, has turned into one of my touchstones of the entire production.

The emotion heaves, a wave coming straight from my heart. Standing in the midst of a crowd of strangers, watching this wonderful, magical scene, I can bear it no longer. The dam breaks. Tears form in my eyes, as they did the night before, but now the emotion punches through my defences. I start to sob, my body shakes. I’m in love with this scene. I’m in love with this whole show. What was an entertaining and marvellous experience in New York, has been transformed in Shanghai into a moving, overwhelming, glorious world of feeling. The McKittrick delighted my mind; the McKinnon has captured my heart.

I’m not a crier. Things rarely push me over the edge. I can count on the fingers of two hands things which make me cry in private, and on the fingers of one things which have made me cry in public. What is it that has happened here, in this dark basement, with jaunty trad jazz music playing, that is so compelling, so touching, that it bypassed my everyday reticence and evoked a response that would mortify me elsewhere? I don’t know. All I know is, this is what Punchdrunk try to do. They've done it to me now.

I have to look away from the scene, as the tears have blurred my vision. That seems to break the spell. I gradually recover my composure. What shall I do with the rest of my limited time here? I recall that Lady Macduff was one of my favourite moments in the McKinnon. Perhaps it would be a good idea to see if I can recapture some of the feeling I developed for her. In New York I had a touching 1:1 with Annie Rigney. I wonder if Ingrid can pull off the character with the same vulnerability and innocence displayed by Annie.

I follow her to her chamber, one of my favourite scenes in the McKittrick, where her battle with her addiction is played out against the nightmarish, repetitive soundtrack of her music box, a light, trite tune (’Wedding of the Painted Doll’) turned sinister, the tiny walls of her suite hemming her in. But here, in the McKinnon, the space is more open and her torment seems somehow dissipated. Also, the soundtrack has changed - still a music box, but a different tune, less threatening somehow. This is one of the areas where the new show has fallen short of its predecessor.

It’s not Ingrid’s fault; she puts the same passion, desperation and guilelessness into her performance that Annie had (and my glimpses of Xu Huiting on other nights suggest she is also superb in the role). I find myself accidentally (honest!) standing in the right spot for the 1:1, and when it comes Ingrid is tender and eloquent, just as Annie was.

I don’t like ‘Goodnight Children Everywhere’, even though the scene it accompanies is genuinely moving, so I pass through the cemetery where Fred is awakening, spend a little time watching Daniel make a boat, then drift until it’s time to pick up Miranda again. I follow her and Tang Tingting as they once again, like evil twins, pass in lockstep through the rooms and corridors until they find themselves in the master bedroom, where it’s their job to set everything up for the next round of this perpetual tragedy.

Except something is wrong. There’s a man lying on the bed. He’s got a white mask on. The Nurse-Matron duo pause for a split second to absorb this, and give him time to move. He doesn’t. He may actually be asleep. They seem to shrug with their eyes, and carry on making the bed as if he wasn’t there. They tuck him in nicely, as he twigs what’s going on and collapses into giggles. I can’t see if he’s Chinese or Western, or if he’s one of the cast conducting a prank. I never do find out who he is.

Business concluded, Miranda turns and offers me her hand. We walk down together, our complicity renewed. When I trip on the stairs she reaches out to catch me, but we’re so synchronised now that a slight gesture is enough to assure her that I’m OK. She and Tang, again in perfect step with each other, lead me and another white mask out to the Manderley. Unsmiling, she unmasks and kisses me. I respond with nothing but a wink. Not breaking character, she stares at me for a beat, then walks off. I have not seen her since.

This has been my longest recap, and I must thank anyone who’s made it this far for indulging me. The McKinnon got such a grip on my emotions that I cannot simply recount a few observations about the show and pass an objective critical comment or two. Like a clumsy teenage poet, I must splurge.

Just as TDM did - though to a lesser degree, inevitably - SNM Shanghai worked its way under my skin, and woke emotions long dormant. And, just as at Temple Studios, at the centre of this awakening was a performer of breathtaking commitment and raw talent. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Thank you, Miranda. Thank you, Punchdrunk.