Der kaukasische Kreidekreis

"Well, I'll do the rehearsal again, that I have it for good," says the judge Azdak, before asking the child a second time in the chalk circle and the two mothers a second time to prove which is the true one. - So far the play is familiar. A saga, "a very old one." The outcome of this rehearsal is also known: The "maternal," not the "official" woman is awarded the child. But what if the child is given the choice? Two mothers offer themselves, compete for a job, a title, a relationship, a task, a benefit - for which one should the child choose? For one who has forgotten her own child, or one who has looked at the child too long to forget again? For one who can fulfill the child's every wish, or for the other who barely manages to get a few drops of milk? For the one who knows how to get to safety, or for the one who didn't know any other way to help herself and killed a man while running away? For one who cares, or for one who knows how to be cared for? And is that it? Or aren't there more options? Who else is there to choose from? Judge Azdak, who dispenses justice even though he has indicted himself and is actually a village clerk? A lawyer who will do anything to help his client get justice? Armored riders who risk their lives to do their duty? A soldier in love who doesn't want to believe that change can happen? Those who want to preserve the old, or those who want the new? Those who want to possess, or those who can let go? And the audience - would that be an option? After all, that is also present. Who should the child confide in? Who becomes the role model? The players of Theater HORA bring in their own rules. New rules have to be invented together. Can the "old saga" be told by performers who will probably never have a child and depend on the care of others? Thinking about having children. Thinking about having children. Thinking about losing children. Reflecting on being a child. Reading an answer as a question. Putting a question mark on a manifesto. Thinking what is not said, hearing what is only thought. Moving on. Clarify what absolutely wants to be tried out. And what should not happen under any circumstances. Trying out rhythm motifs and tone sequences, reversing the roles, letting percussionist Minhye Ko and the performers decide what is played by whom. Thinking about what it's like to be on the run. Considering what will be left behind. Thinking about how it would feel to be in exile. Thinking about how a new beginning is an opportunity. Noticing how everything changes when the gaze rests on it. Seeing how words fall on fertile ground. All right, we'll do the rehearsal again.