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Late night in Lviv

What happens to superannuated critics? They become judges at international drama festivals. Few are as bizarre as the one just held in the historic heart of the Ukraine

By Irving Wardle   December 1998

They say that Mr K got going in business by shooting his Canadian lover after she had bought him the best hotel in Lviv. I can’t object, as I have been spending a week free of charge in that hotel, as well as pleasant afternoons in the blue champagne pool of his casino, surrounded by caged singing birds. In any case, I don’t even know if the story is true. There is not much of which I am sure at the moment. Except that whenever I set foot outside Mr K’s domain I find another world. Blind old ladies sing…

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