Go down a dimly-lit side road to a doorway where you are greeted by silent, masked Chaplinesque characters. They inspect you, and after much furtive gesturing and whispering, you are ushered inside. You are invited to drink a small glass of an oddly viscous liquid, and you might be fortunate enough to peruse some pages from their manuscript — secretly, of course. You are taken to your seats within the red-velvet-curtained theatre, and the show commences.