The show touches on violence, capitalism, globalisation and the idea of peace, creating an interesting contrast between the cheerful, almost childish energy of the performance and the political subjects underneath it.
Sometimes you are following the story, sometimes you are simply enjoying the rhythm of the words, and sometimes you are wondering how on earth they managed to make that particular rhyme work.
One actor, a table full of props, and a surprisingly large cast of creatures: somehow, he turns a tiny stage into an entire world.
By the end, the boundary between performers and spectators has pretty much disappeared, with a whole group dancing together and finishing with everyone clapping along.
There is something wonderfully strange about watching a man walk into a room and address an audience as though we were members of a prestigious…
It takes a certain kind of person, and personality to be both servile and insistent, coy and comedic. “Ahh!” “Oh no!” and “Oh yeahhh~!” are the only words spoken, by the performer and audience alike, though there is no shortage of sounds or laughter.
Their chemistry makes the relationship between the characters believable, while their reactions and timing keep the absurd situations entertaining.
The staging is spooky, to be sure, as befits Tallinn’s specialty thriller theatre. The staff-actors are darkly garbed and elaborately coiffed, and gothic is de rigueur.
The core of the performance emulates the screen-to-stage transformation, with actors performing their scenes silently as other cast members, off-stage, provide the voices. The expressiveness and timing of the troupe is impeccable.
Altogether, it feels like a meditation—it is easy to get lost in the moment, the world shrinking down to just lights, noise, and sensation. It is disorienting, in the best of ways.