Cilia Herrmann takes on the role of wealth and deals with the decline of this value. What is the value of wealth if it leaves us helpless?
The play begins with a person telling a story to the audience and ends with the fur-clad wealth putting on work trousers to climb to the ceiling. It's an attack, an escape between pink and punk. A lament, an accusation, a self-accusation. Wealth rebels against itself: orchestrates, seduces, analyzes, destroys. And in doing so, it keeps storming, stumbling, stomping and strolling; it’s briefly a dance between resistance, solution and self-dissolution. Neoliberal phantom ownership is staged like in a freak show. Anarchist mantras play in the background, pink graffiti is tagged, and an underdog sings: “I am worrying”. The piece is a soliloquy that corners itself, then erupts in loud growls, flirts with gestures, loses track and hangs itself, only to have to turn off the light itself at the end.