Fans of grand guignol spiced with a little anticlericalism and a surprising (for its time) suggestion of religious skepticism might enjoy The Duchess of Malfi, an early 17th century play now being staged in NYC for the first time in decades. So far as the randomness of existence is concerned, I did rather like these (famous, but not to ignoramus me) lines:
“We are merely the stars’ tennis balls, struck and bandied
Which way please them.”
Fair enough, I reckon. That theme was picked up cleverly by the director’s decision to play Que Sera, Sera as we filed out of the theater, memories of the play’s brutalized romance and piles of corpses still fresh in our minds. Splendid stuff!
Sounds like Gloucester from King Lear: “As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods. They kill us for their sport.” As usual, Shakespeare said it better.