“The Plague” depicts the fictional horrors of an incurable epidemic which sweeps through a city. Although the book is generally devastating, Camus offers moments of relief where, amidst overwhelming death, the characters feel alive.

In one, the lead characters decide to take a swim in the ocean. They describe the sun's warmth, the beauty of the water, and their friendship. Exiting the water, “neither said a word, but they were conscious of being perfectly at one, and the memory of this night would be cherished by them both.”

In “The Plague,” because the swimming scene comes in such stark contrast to a narrative of unrelenting suffering, it is an incredibly touching moment, one that is noble. “How Long Blues” depicts similar moments where dancers enjoy respite from chaos and play soccer, for example, kicking a literal ball around the stage, but because the piece primarily maintains a comedic tone and changes so rapidly from scene to scene, it is hard to recognize the same kind of dramatic contrast or the same kind of nobility.

Overall, “How Long Blues,” with its numerous oversized costumes and sets, and rapid-changing pace—both in music and in dance—emerges as kind of a Camus-ian comic book. Absurdities flash by in big letters, but never slow down long enough, subtly enough, for the audience to ponder Camus's most urgent and serious question: what now?  

There is one stand-out moment, however, where “How Long Blues” offers a moment of reflection, a chance at consciousness. 

Lights dim into shadows and the dancers enter in long white gowns. They spin slowly in place as a black and white zebra print glows over them. Their spinning doesn't intensify but lingers, and ululations—cries—echo from above. It is the piece's most meditative, most arresting, most abstract moment, and yet its most clear.

It evoked the following passage from Camus's essay, “An Absurd Reasoning:”