Der geflügelte Froschgott

Just asked: If death is not the end, what would come after that? Does it continue there, and if so, in what state? And for whom? And if it would be so: can I increase my chances for the hereafter and is that meaningful? And approximately how many afterlives are there? Hard to say... the whole thing. Totally hard to say, as long as behind every question lurks a new one: does hell know that it is a metaphor? Can things transcend, and if so, what does a transcended pizza look like? And what does it taste like? What is the criterion for good? What is the criterion for true? Is the winged frog god the answer? Yes, no, maybe?

The playwright Ingrid Lausund knows a thing or two about the very last things: For her scripts for the cult series Der Tatortreiniger, written under the pseudonym Mizzi Meyer, she received the Grimme Award twice and the German Television Award in 2019. With her latest theatrical text, Ingrid Lausund once again sets out on the path of everything earthly and far beyond: to where the air becomes thin, into the intermediate realm of unsecured hypotheses. In this realm of questions stands one human being (or is it two? Or is it mankind?). Thrown into the godforsaken solitude of a monologue, he (or she) struggles against an empty sky. What emerges is a work of passion for a secularized world, a lament for doubters, a psalm for atheists. Out of deep distress I cry out to You who are not here.

The director FX Mayr, together with a group of players, turns the stage into a place of transit. Here, where the living have always met the dead, he invites the audience to a celebration. Nevertheless, precisely because of this, and until the curtain falls.