Show up at the last second and buy two tickets to something you don’t know the name of and receive a program you can’t read. Have 5 minutes to eat convenience store food while watching women in gorgeous kimono pour into the hall. Feel bad about wearing clothes you haven’t washed since you walked around in them in a typhoon. Enter the hall and observer the stage, which is minimal—just a painted tree inside a wooden structure surrounded by white gravel. The show starts on time to the second. There are some guys with drums who sing “Nooooooooo, noooopppppppeeee, nowwwwwooooowwww, over and over.” and a flute, and a chorus of guys who sit on their feet throughout the 3 1/2 hour long show, which you now realize is painful because you had to do it while copying a zen sutra last week. A lady, who is played by a man, comes in slowly—like an inch a time and there’s another guy who is winning the Guinness Book of World Records for wide pants. The two drummers keep going “noooope, noooooooo” and it’s like tuvan throat singing and Gregorian chants and a monster movie scored by Philip Glass. Another guy comes in with boy-band hair and long dragging pants-cuffs and he moves an inch at a time too. Your bladder is almost bursting. The inch at a time people go through a half size door and the comic interlude is performed, with impeccable timing. Second act, different people singing “Nope no neoowwwww” and a lady with a fright wig and a mask flips her sleeves around. The big pants guy and another lady with a scary mask stand on two platforms and screech. Slowly everyone walks off stage. Then the musicians go through the half door. The show is over, No one claps.