The duration was given as 2 hours and 40 minutes – which worried me slightly that I might lose interest, but as it turned out, this was by no means the case.
I can anticipate that I really liked it and I would like to recommend it under the title valuable and worth seeing.
What does grow old – the amount of candles on the birthday cake, the aches and pains that increase in old age, the forgetfulness or the altered, repetitive conversation a couple leads together or just that man / woman is as old as they feel.
In the play different life stages of an old married couple are represented. The main thing to live together at home, even if there is food on wheels. Post-is, which the man constantly carries with him, so that he does not forget anything, the horror that is reflected in his face, as he tells how he forgot the salt, because he absolutely did not want to forget the butter. I catch myself, that this already happens to me today, I put this thought aside quickly and think, I’m still not old. The onset of dementia, the woman’s concern for her husband and the helplessness of relatives. Will it be life in old age, I ask myself?
The devil and the doctor
The stroke and the associated physical restriction, unable to communicate, misunderstood – played by the way very well – the threat when forgetting no longer affects the butter, but the stove, which was not turned off. Being alone at one time, no longer having the loved ones by the side, spinning around and scared to go crazy, or that others think you’re crazy. The scenes in the retirement home have something surreal. A doctor who is portrayed with a lot of smoke and wickedness – as if she were in league with the devil – the devil could be the disease, the loneliness. Although the world is getting smaller and the topics are about food, diseases and when who comes to visit, the play is full of irony and skuriller ideas. To make the day not too long, you could just after getting up, go to bed again to get up later, then would have done a lot of day.
Different characters in the retirement home, a man who goes daily to the Cafe Central, because he has always done that, eloquent monologues of himself.
A woman who is actually over 80, who says she was always late in life, unlike her husband. As punctual as he was in life, he died on time, as the doctors predicted. She is always too late and therefore still alive and while she is telling, she stretches her leg supple sky – only when watching I get a cramp.
A young woman is constantly wandering the wall, carrying her suitcase in her hand, waiting for her husband to pick her up. “As long as I can sit, I’ll better stand,” desperately driven, seeking to arouse my pity that the sight of her triumphant smile as she remembers the names, of whoever, rejoices in admiration. The wife has the concern, a jacket prescribed or even given as a gift, no matter what material, whether knitted, sewn, short or long – she does not want. No jacket – which perhaps constrains you in doing, in acting and in thinking that takes you away from being self-sufficient.
You might almost think the play was depressing, but I never had a sense of heaviness, thoughtful yes, but not depressed. Age is determined, in part, by external factors that we have no control over, but also by a self and a lot of dealing with “our old man”.
The present and the past mingle – if life offers enough memories to draw on, journeys that one has made and can be made again, whether between supermarket shelves or sitting, it is better to get away with it.