Anyone who is young, a little nicely educated and otherwise generally of good character does not go on a North Sea cruise. A cruise on the North Sea, that's what you do if you have no imagination, have bad legs or are too sick for anything else. Believes Wunderbaum. The theatre collective that likes to take care of the vulnerable of this planet has spent a few days on such a cruise. You can experience it in the performance 'Super fun, but from now on without me', now at Festival Boulevard.
The collective discovered that the true victims of cruisedom are Filipino cleaners (m/f), and Greek stewards. At least, they did not discover that for themselves. They saw confirmed what they had read in 'A supposedly fun thing I'll never do again' by David Foster Wallace. In this 1997 essay, the American writer, who committed suicide plagued by depression in 2008, describes a 1995 trip on a luxury cruise through the Caribbean. He does so knowing that he is terrified of sharks and feels lost and suicidal at the mere thought of the sea.
Respect
Such involved anthropological field research is of course also familiar to Louis Theroux and his Dutch imitators Michiel van Erp and 'Hokjesman' Michael Schaap. In all their stories, their engagement with the subject wins out over monkey-watching. As much as you sometimes have to laugh at the bizarre things other people do, thanks to the warm gaze of the editors and creator, you also gain respect for the subject. Above all, you see how little you yourself are actually different from those portrayed.
That particular engagement is missing from Wunderbaum's performance, even though the company has tried in every possible way to cultivate it. At least we can read that in the Volkskrant interview from last May (paid to read via Blendle), and they also tell it before the performance. Wunderbaum does not want to ironise. Because irony is wrong.
Inexpensive
That announcement comes a little late. Indeed, before entering, we have spent a long time outside looking at realistic art pictures showing the boredom on board. At ticket control, we are welcomed by actors dressed in ludicrous wigs who persiflage the cruise line's hospitality crew with much exaggeration. Once inside the hall, we see one of those typical hidden silt-stand camera images of an empty hall. We spy people from their unfashionable angles as they are bored, or otherwise vacationing. Meanwhile, balloons are hung.
Even before the actors have said a single word, the sarcastic tone has been set. The unflattering photographs and film footage continue to play a role throughout the full hour and a half of the performance. Half the audience laughs at it contemptuously. The other half remains silent. The players then seek the non-ironic by telling the story of the exploited crew and especially the Filipino slaves on board. They also still do something with the cruise customers, by telling a single story very seriously. In the end, the image that the cruise is a place where wealthy, ugly and jaded senior citizens are feted by worn-out slaves endures.
Out of bounds
Those completely out of touch are the creators themselves. Indeed, such self-understanding could lead to irony. Nowhere have I seen tangible results of genuine attempts to understand the cruising man. Nowhere do they question their own attitudes. The image remains of a group of artists in a very thick bubble, who spent their week aboard a February cruise across the North Sea merely observing the distance from their subject.
The non-ironic earnestness with which they then take sides with the logical underdog comes across as irritatingly saintly. As if Wunderbaum's crew are the only ones who see what is wrong, as if they have been brave enough to engage in this horror. Just look at those awful fat bodies of the passengers. Above all, look at us being noble.
Overboard
Indeed, that is no longer irony. That is self-righteous hostility towards the apparently less educated underclass on board. The writer Wallace can get away with that because his authorship is partly the theme of the essay. He tackles himself harshly. Wunderbaum leaves out that essential, ironising part.
I wondered whether the Wunderbaumers would dare play this performance, in this form, on board the ship their story is about. From the newspaper, I understood that they did play an utterly doomed cabaret show on board, but that's a bit different from this so literally looking down from on high at fellow human beings. I expect the fake Greek captain to throw them overboard in a rickety sloop. Perfectly justified.
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