Charles Paris is on his way up again, career-wise. No longer resting and no longer just a corpse in a cupboard, he blossoms in the play dreaded by superstitious theatre folk, who will not even speak its name: the Scottish play Macbeth. Its only in the provincial rep, but you have to start (or re-start) somewhere. And his agent has promised that though whats offered is not much of a part, other good parts are in the offing. By which perhaps is not...