Sentences are projected, but no reply ever comes. Movements are cold and unhurried — so that nothing can catch anyone off guard. Everything is calculated. Everything is plastic. Everything is exactly as it must be. Father, mother and daughter comply with what is written in their script: a façade-family performing a choreography they call home.
In The Apple Doesn’t Fall… we catch a glimpse of someone’s domestic life. In this house, a faulty light is enough to expose all the flaws, despite the collective effort to look good in the picture.
In spite of the absurdist language, it becomes clear that there are always strict rules under someone’s roof, especially when the law dictates that each roof can cover only one child.
From this only child, we see life summarized in episodes marked by the weight of loneliness and where repetition and resentment are constant.
The choreography and the frequent oscillation in rhythm are not enough to divert attention from the violence in the silence, which sometimes reveals indifference, sometimes the weight of expectations.
What remains of this façade when you take down the fourth wall? (Sara da Cruz)
