About half way through Dogugaeshi, I started coughing. I tried not to cough. But I couldn’t stop. Agan and again and again. My throat itched. My eyes watered. I had to go. The only thing that was going to help was a full blown coughing fit. So I left the darkened room and hacked and hacked outside in the sun. But when I went to go back in, I was stopped by two gals at the Gaillard. It wasn’t going to happen. Normally, I would have been pissed. I would have blown my top like Krakatoa. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to finish watching the damn thing anyway. Dogugaeshi was a plotless, pointless, self-indulgent pat-on-the-back to Basil Twist by Basil Twist for his cleverness in, um, rediscovering and reintroducing a “lost” artform to the absentminded Japanese. Yeah, you discovered a “new” technique there, Baz, but a performance is about way more than special effects. This was the Jar-Jar Binks of Spoleto. Oh, and to those two ladies, you kept me from seeing the rest of that dog of a show, I am eternally in your debt.