The sun was beginning to set in a muted pastel wash over Hollywood. In a nervous daze, I approached the ‘theatre’, Studio 9, a converted sound-stage which had never before been used as a space for live theatre. I had prepared assiduously for the performance by re-reading the play, Shakespeare's Richard II, the night before, and practicing French conjugations on the long drive through heavy traffic to Hollywood. The idea of listening to Shakespeare in French for four hours threatened to be incredibly taxing. My first sensations on entering Studio 9 were tactile. A spongy beige carpet was beneath my feet, providing an unfamiliar but distinctly pleasant odour. This carpet extended throughout the theatre space – underneath the bleachers where the audience sat, continuing to the raised stage and the ramps thrusting to the walls right and left. Black bands ran vertically from the back wall of the studio across the immense carpet up to the top of the bleachers.