Directed by Jon Ander Alonso, Eneko Sagardoy and Miren Gaztañaga will act onstage. Sunday is at night and it gives joy to see so many people. It has been delayed. But we've come in, we've filled the room and we've started. The first flash of the camera: the actors have talked to him until the stage and appears live on two screens of the stage. In the absence of a clear narrative thread, the conversation between the two actors has become the central axis of the work. Everything jumped, scene after scene, and they were called by their name. Look. Eneko. Another of the most attractive elements of the play is the script, which moves between the real experiences of the actors and the characters built; in one Gaztañaga is an Argentine psychotherapist and in the other it speaks of the call to boycott that he lived two years ago; Sagardoy reminds a friend who died at the age of 22 and saw himself dead.

The theme is death, but it is closer to humor than darkness, to honestly look at death. Even laughing when Sagardoy has played the role of death and then cried again, but on the contrary, when Gaztañaga has spoken to the deceased grandmother. The work has lasted more than an hour, and in capital letters the talent of both actors stands out.

After the action, I sympathize. The public has halved and the group has talked about the creative process that is taking place. Until an unusual question has been asked: “What is it really to do this? Economically?” Alonso is wrong: “Safe loss.” Glup. The hard thing seems to have been harder: they don't know very well why, but since it premiered in November 2017 they've only made eight performances. Of the sensations that the work has caused, you have suddenly done to the ground. But what he speaks within does it seriously: death without morality; theatricality, without masks.

“I don’t believe in chance, I think everything goes through something,” says Gaztañaga sitting on the edge of the stage. “And then?” asks Sagardoy. “Morning you are called saying that I died by car accident at two o’clock yesterday morning?” “I think here you have done what you have to do,” Gaztañaga. "What have I done? At 24?” The scene stopped.

The next morning, the newspaper announces a news item. Your friend has sent it to you in the theater: “A 24-year-old has died in a traffic accident in Los Arcos, Navarra.” Bay, Christmas atmosphere, double shivering.