Someone has said that the only thing we can hope for is to die in the right order. And perhaps it was with this logic that older people chose to go into the wrecked nuclear power plant in japan. No longer fertile, and old enough that I should die of age before the tracks would appear in their bodies, tumors, notified voluntarily.
Lucy kirkwood's show ”the Kids” directed by Stefan Metz is the second premiere at Kulturhuset stadsteatern's exiltillvaro at the opera house in Stockholm, this evening at Teater Giljotin. Clearly inspired by the Fukushima unfolding the piece at the edge of a radioactive disaster area, where two aged physicist (Gunilla Röör and Peter Andersson) a kind of preppertillvaro with sporadic access to food and electricity.
If you can now talk about ”preppare” since the worst already happened? When the old kraftverksvännen Rose (Katarina Ewerlöf) is suddenly standing there in the entryway, after many years, it starts with sudden blodvite, this is not the van at the visit.
Katastroftematik is nothing new in the art, but the Kirkwood do with ”the Kids” are bringing in the issue of the downfall that samtidsrealitet, rather than fantastic to build worlds. This is the theater for the antropocen, where we in the audience do not yet know exactly in which stage of the destruction we find ourselves in – only that it is happening, right now. On stage will be food and drink a toxic threat.
Questions about the children becomes deadly charged by pride, and a future that no longer is a promise. The Rose was completely without, while Robin and Hazel was a waste of four paragraphs. They took her ”ration”, as you phrase it.
the passages where everything is on this seasoned teatertrion. Peter Andersson is at times brilliant as the post-apocalyptic alkis, and between Ewerlöf and Röör crackling sound passive-aggressive shock. But it is not possible to get away from all three working with a script that is weaker than them; in particular, for the Gunilla Röör is överspelet inscribed in the actual role.
this is a teatertext who tries to ask fundamental questions about how much life a person has the right to require, and the extent to which the future should be seen as a compelling burden for the living. The only problem is that it all lands in a tv-like and relationship-driven drama that is not entirely uncommon in a certain type of anglo-saxon samtidsdramatik, with turning points at exactly the right moment.
There is nothing wrong with the craftsmanship, but Lucy Kirkwood lacks clear language to seriously approach the existential abyss that is ”the Kids ' beds.