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Edgar Oliver invests the word “dark,” which he uses a lot, with two syllables and much fondness. “Dah-aaahk,” he says, his voice dipping in flight like a bat on the wing. And suddenly shadows seem to gather around him, like dutiful pets summoned by a doting owner.thanks tom warren
In “East 10th Street: Self Portrait With Empty House,” the sweet and sinister memoir written and performed by Mr. Oliver at the Axis Theater Company, other words receive similarly lingering pronunciations that stretch syllables into chasms. In particular, “horror,” “terror” and their derivatives are uttered with the same mix of affection, amusement and awe. When Mr. Oliver says, “I was hahhhhrrified,” a sentence that might be expected to denote mere dismay or disgust becomes a deeply sentimental declaration.