Last night we went to a French play, Soupçons, directed by our French teacher's son. Our French teacher is delightful. She almost makes me want to be a better student.
Soupçons is a play based on the drama Staircase, a 9-hour film documenting the trial of Michael Peterson, accused of murdering his wife in North Carolina. I don't actually remember the case. Then again, I was living in California at the time of the trial probably too focused on working. (Internet, can you believe that I once had a work ethic?)
The play was outstanding. It was a contemporary play using various forms of media, such as overhead projectors, a TV screen, and video/film. The stage was barely set with tables and another stage and the actors would often change the set during their performance. It was beautifully executed even with no intermissions. The talented director managed to bring some lightness into a heavy subject by making some of the testimony comical. The online gay prostitute appeared in court in his skivvy's and the medical expert looked like science geek with high-rise pants while he presented child-like drawings of the the murder scene as evidence. I wish I had a better grasp of the language because the play was just outstanding.
Soupçons literally translates to "suspicion." When we got home, we had a trial of our own.
"Hey Mom, the evidence is by Loki's bed. Tu ne peux pas avoir un soupçon que je l'ai fait! C'est logique qu' il est coupable!"
"Princess, I'm not that advanced in my French lessons yet. I hope you told her it wasn't my fault."
"Of course Big Boy! I told her it was the squirrels!"