Simon McBurney has two phones. In his dressing room at the Golden Theatre, on Broadway, they're both ringing. He cuts off one call, answers the other, then apologizes, scans his messages, and turns the phone off. On Vandam Street, in the cold, racing to get a coffee, his sneakers are untied. The phones are ringing. When he sits down at a café, he puts his hands on his head and rotates them in the air, and makes the …
SOURCE: The New Yorker at 09:57AM on December 16, 2016