“Mica siamo al club Mediterranee,” says the gravel-voiced, stubble-faced guy with the aviator shades and the uniform of a tin-pot general. “This ain’t Club Med.”
The poor general’s problems are compounded by shoddy record keeping. After all, these folks didn’t come through customs, did they? “Can anyone read this?” he moans when we first meet him. “Can anyone make this out? . . . Just scribbles everywhere.” And then there’s the wear and tear wrought by algae, saltwater, “beasts of the sea,” and the incompetence of military officials who, sent to save people from sinking boats, end up running 77 of them through the rescue ship’s propellers instead. A long section of Martinelli’s free-verse script consists of the general reciting ID numbers that ID nothing: “6758 / unknown / 4445 / unknown. . . . ”
Fri 2/21 and Sat 2/22, 7 PM Links Hall 3111 N. Western 773-281-0824linkshall.org $10-$20
