An enormous luminous egg hangs in the darkness. A neon light suddenly flashes: 5. ..4. ..3. ..2... 1.
The egg, wreathed in white neon, blazes brilliantly and then goes dark. A figure outlined in pulsing, multicolored lights appears and begins to dance. The houselights come up. The dancer walks forward. Out of the primeval egg, Adam is born.
Thus, like a peek inside some space-age incubator, began the world première last week of Roland Petit's Paradise Lost no direct kin, obviously, to John Milton's sturdy epic of the same name. Neon eggs are...
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