Waco Bob would have cut the head movement, added lavs to each performer, hooked up twenty five discrete speakers to randomly pipe their individual voices around the space, then spent the next thirty minutes slowly extending the shadow of a palm tree across the stage as each actor intoned:

"Do you know who I am?"
"You're Robert--"
"--FUCKING--"
"--Wilson"
[two minutes of silence followed by the sound of birds travelling around the audience coupled with a rolling boulder]
"Do you know who I am?"
"You're FUCKING--"
"--Robert--"
"--Wilson"

And so on and so forth until another Grand Opera ponies up the dough and unpaid grad students needed to lure him away.

Which begs the question: At what point does post-modern become old-fashioned?