“Momo” at the Zurich Theater – Culture

Having time means first of all having a hearty breakfast. The table is set, there is coffee and pancakes with either ham or maple syrup, prepared live on stage. Three actors and a fourth, connected via tablet, chat aimlessly, about dreams they don’t remember, about the dog that urgently needs to go out. you eat You could also say: You are living a relaxed life right now, without any pressure to do anything. You are completely in the now.

This now lasts for a whole 30 minutes, and at some point the smell of the pancakes has worked its way up to the back rows in the Schiffbau building at the Schauspiel Zürich. It is the premiere of “Momo” in the production by Alexander Giesche, one of the in-house directors, loosely based on the novel by Michael Ende. And what could be annoying as trivial banter is more of a celebration of the aimless with Giesche. Above all, it is a criticism of the ubiquitous dictate of efficiency.

As a reminder, Momo is the ageless girl who gives other people her undivided attention. Until the men in gray from the time savings bank show up and persuade people to invest their time wisely from now on. Renunciation of friendships, hobbies, love, for a future in which you can redeem the time you have saved. Because “for the right life you have to be free” it says. Everyone rushes, everyone saves time, and yet they have less and less of it instead of more and more. In the end, however, everything goes well again, Momo redeems the world from the gray men.

Momo Readers Suffering From FoMO Today, “Fear Of Missing Out”

Michael Ende published “Momo” in 1973, a children’s book, but also a critique of economic growth and a society in which only working people have value. Technological progress is relative. Since then, nothing has gotten better in terms of stress, people are more rushed than ever. Technical achievements, the devices, gadgets and apps, optimize a number of processes today, but instead of decelerating, they also contribute to ongoing acceleration. Even relaxation is no longer possible without a proper board of trustees, it also only serves the capitalist idea of ​​efficiency. No wonder Momo readers today suffer from the phonetically close “FoMO”, the “Fear of Missing Out”.

Alexander Giesche weaves the motifs of the value of time and the supposed progress through more and more technology into a melancholic evening of theater that, like the novel, is not entirely without hope, given that it is based on a good dose of cultural pessimism. The meandering breakfast scene is just one of several excesses. The actors play games again and again, and in the end they diligently pile countless car tires into a large mountain. It may look busy, but it serves no greater purpose. You look for meaning while watching and at some point you have to realize that the thing is the meaning. Giesche also rebels against the expectation of an evening at the theatre. Because the theater is of course no better than the rest of society in terms of efficiency. Premiere chases premiere, rehearsal times are getting shorter and shorter, an actor sick? Must not be.

Giesche calls his now unmistakable works “Visual Poem” and the implementation of them is much less pretentious than it sounds. Because that’s exactly what he does: he creates poetic images for texts that can be viewed like works of art. His grandiose end-time production “Man Appears in the Holocene” based on Max Frisch earned him an invitation to the Berlin Theatertreffen. Dramatic re-enactment of stories does not interest him, the actors are more the transmitters of text than emotional characters, their acting is reduced, almost pragmatic. They fit into the great atmospheric picture poem, which also always consists of music, words, complex technology and timing.

The men in gray no longer smoke cigars – they vape

“Momo” also contains these ingredients. Next to the counter-rotating rings of the revolving stage is a huge screen that could also be a mobile phone screen (stage: Alexander Giesche and Anka Bernstetter). A smoke machine produces surreal, gigantic rings of smoke that fly into the auditorium and then evaporate with a noticeable whiff – a small salute to the gray gentlemen who are not smoking cigars, but vaping. At the end, a spotlight rotates for several minutes above the heap of tires like a gigantic clock pendulum over a junkyard of discarded technologies. This is accompanied by a very hip soundtrack, featuring Christina and the QueensFather John Misty and Billie Eilish, who obviously doesn’t just suffer from “FoMO”.

The actors Karin Pfammatter, Maximilian Reichert and Thomas Wodianka casually outline the Momo story, Thomas Hauser, a member of the ensemble of the Munich Kammerspiele, is connected live via tablet. And here Giesche takes up the question of technology in addition to the question of time. On the one hand, a digital actor suggests progress, an extension of the theater space to the Internet, and thus a possibility. Welcome to the Metaverse. And Hauser is insanely present for sitting at home in his living room. At the same time, however, a tablet mounted on a mobile stand marks a grotesque uselessness, because Hauser is dependent on the help of his colleagues. And a stable internet connection.

The remote-controlled robotic dog Cassiopeia also fits in with this. In an intrusive supporting role, he scuttles around in an amazingly dog-like manner, is annoying, and is useless the moment you remove the battery. On the one hand, Giesche seems fascinated by such gimmicks, but makes no attempt to disguise his dependence as a director on the technology he uses excessively. Eight technicians with all their monitors and control boards are placed very prominently in the front row. Nothing works without her.

Without pointing a moral finger and fortunately also far from mindfulness training methods of “seize the day, do nothing”, Alexander Giesche shows two things in “Momo”. First, humanity is incredibly bad at managing time. Secondly, technical progress only brings the solution to a limited extent. The theater is included in both. A director who doubts his own system elbows his way against any efficiency concerns and pressure to perform with “Momo”, in favor of a haphazard game in which the rules are always visible. It’s not a solution, but a poetic, touching breather.