Claron McFadden is a phenomenon. Josse de Pauw is a phenomenon. Arnon Grunberg is a phenomenon. LOD is a phenomenon. KVS is a phenomenon. Theatre Festival Boulevard is a phenomenon. I did not yet know pianist Kris Defoort, but he is also a phenomenon. As is Henry Purcell, but we've known that for a couple of centuries: also a phenomenon.
After such an opening paragraph, of course, things can only go wrong. So much admiration brought together on a stage, all sincerely appreciated by me individually too? As might be expected, this leads to a performance, titled 'The Humanity', that hangs together like loose sand. Loose sand, the makers have sensed, thus also flows from the ceiling in the second half. So that we all know it was loose sand and remains loose sand.
Rowing
McFadden sings a song or two by Purcell and, together with Kris Defoort, gently improvises on a text by Arnon Grunberg, beautifully spoken by Josse de Pauw, who operates a rowing machine at the side of the stage for three quarters of an hour, before swapping places with the master actor and telling him that the text he has just recited is outdated and obsolete, just like the Flemish theatre giant himself whose best years are behind him anyway, in a haze of booze as sand falls from the ceiling.
Tough it is. Heartbreaking isn't. Not very new either. We know from Arnon Grunberg that he does not like to be pinned down to anything, and that he likes to mix various forms of sarcasm, cynicism and irony. On the front page of De Volkskrant, this often provides pleasant relief, in his books it rarely moves, and on stage it therefore doesn't have much impact. It is mostly chilly. A little depressing too, but not enough to kill yourself.
But that sand? Nice.
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