Shapiro’s work, before all else, engages audiences with its liveliness and variety. Other directors’ characters are easy to sketch out, keeping in mind the main theme of their craft, clearly prevailing artistic inclination or obvious character traits. But Adolf Shapiro is a closed person. Not just reserved, but closed. He is reliably protected by his self-control, humor, and calm friendly tone, which never changes depending on who he’s speaking to: be it an author, the powers that be, or an accidental passerby. However, behind those solid and necessary reservations of the director’s profession is a permanent excitement from games, variation, and impersonation. It doesn’t proclaim itself on a person’s surface; it’s contained within the essence of the director’s craft. And therefore, to talk about “confessional beginnings,” “monologic” qualities, and “self expression” is to necessarily talk about others. The heroes of Adolf Shapiro’s shows might confess, but he himself cannot. He is not drawn to that form of artistic communication. At the same time, theatre gives another opportunity which is endlessly attractive to him: to live completely different lives, experiencing in each of them a joy of complete transformation and new experience.