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Mame, Mamele, Mama - Story The space in which the show takes place is somewhere rehearsals are being held.We see a few chairs, a piano, music-stands and assorted objects and bric-à-brac left over from previous rehearsals, perhaps from previous eras. There is also a small orchestra of automatic puppets and two enormous mechanical prompters, made of huge bevelled wheels which transport bands of cloth on which we are able to read the explanation of what is happening on stage. Just before the rehearsal begins, a voice announces that the mother is dead. We don't know whose mother is dead, but the mother is dead! This news unleashes a series of liturgies, lithanies, dances, nursery rhymes, literary memories, stories and jokes, through which each fragment of the mother we are looking for is the mother each of us intimately wants, is searching for or wants to get rid of. An apocalyptic list announces the delirious mutations of a maternal being increasingly separated from herself. All on stage sing, dance, play, speak, in a desperate attempt to re-construct a maternal image which has been definitely destroyed. The official language we belong to, our mother-tongue, is mixed with improper mother-foreign tongues, both real and imaginary. A strange sort of tragicomic burlesque develops, and we are introduced to a room of mirrors, of recognitions and disownments which reflect on one another. A show for mothers and children. However, the rest of the family is allowed in as well.
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