“It means destroying that which we are presently incapable of understanding. Forgive me, but I am not an advocate of knowledge at any price.”
It is the week before exam week, but something else is occupying my every thought: a spaceship landed in the Bertoldstraße - one of the main streets in Freiburg and, coincidentally, the street that University College Freiburg is located at too. But how could this have happened? Let’s analyse the events of the last week:
Saturday, the 1st of February – a day like any other except for the fact that this day is nothing like any other days. I am attending a conference during which I present my research findings of one of my courses. But my thoughts are elsewhere: exams are coming up - where can I hide to dedicate a few hours to studying? And even more important, where can I find a few more hours to work on the infamous spaceship before it will fly to the Bertoldstraße?
Monday, the 3rd of February – Two audition rounds. Months of rehearsal. Scenes I once hated that I suddenly learned to love. And scenes I once loved and that now leave me speechless. A play like no other: Solaris. Based on the USSR movie by Tarkovsky, which is in turn based on the 1961 philosophical science fiction book by Stanisław Lem. Science fiction in theatre - something you don’t see every day. For a good reason? I think not. For, what makes one confront and analyse statements - strings of words - more than acting them out on stage?
Wednesday, the 5th of February – I’m sitting in the radio studio, interviewing my own directors, pretending I don’t know anything about Solaris. I’m cutting the interview, leaving the funny parts even though I know that I probably shouldn’t. But what gives an interview character if not that?
I’m standing in front of the Mensa, talking to people about theatre, Tarkovsky, and their weekend plans. It is interesting to see what sparks people’s attention - it’s different for everyone. There is but one line that works on all who pass me: ‘Are you interested in theatre? Or space sex?’
Friday, the 7th of February – The spaceship finally landed: a mint-green stage, floating mint-green frames, mint-green books, mint-green microscopes, a mint-green bed. Awkward white lights hang from the ceiling. Uncomfortable space sounds emerge from ginormous boxes, accompanied by Bach. Everything is ready for the scientists – for us – to arrive in white overalls, plastic coats and plastic, see-through boots which are worn barefoot. The time has come: the premiere. Friends and strangers with actual own opinions paying actual money to come to see us. They laugh. They comment. They are confused. They are human.
And like that, with only three more shows to go, I’m left with a feeling of wonder. In a way, it’s incredible what a book from 1961 can teach me. What a mint-green stage can teach me. How I, portraying Sartorius, identify with her - the character designed to be hated. And how I don’t.
We don't need other worlds. We need a mirror.
Jesler van Houdt