“It has been said that Romeo and Juliet was the love story that contained everything—that nothing belonging to lovers was missing from it. And I tend to believe that this is true. Beyond two young people who defy destiny only for destiny to defeat them in the end… what more is there to tell? And yet. There are also small love stories, no less precious. You Can’t Feel It Here is one of those loves on this earth that could have been and wasn’t—or perhaps it was… it remains for each spectator to take their own ending home. Who has never wondered what their life would have been like if, at a certain moment, instead of turning one way, they had turned the other? Who has never regretted a no when it could have been a yes? Who has not been afraid at a moment when a little courage might have changed their life, choosing safety—no matter how sad that safety may have been? You Can’t Feel It Here is a play in which, paradoxically, one feels a great deal—and painfully so—although it may be, perhaps, the smallest love story in the world. It is hard to say whether the love in You Can’t Feel It Here is fulfilled or not, and that is precisely why spectators are needed to decide. Spectators are needed… and in exchange, we offer them emotion and, paradoxically, comedy. Because the sad things we love are the ones that make us laugh out loud before we discreetly wipe away a tear.” — Lia Bugnar
