zwei herren von real madrid

Three strangers in a room. They want to listen to the silence. A refuge of peace and relaxation from which you can hear the birds in the branches in the distance. Only the beating of their own hearts sets the pace. It's all a blessing - if only the three of them could shut up for five minutes. Instead, they constantly debate with each other, dragging the noisy clamour of everyday life with them to this place of peace and contemplation. Arguing instead of keeping quiet - and hell, as we all know, is the others. If at first there was such a nice consensus, now the different ideas of life clash. Better to get out of here and back to the noise and smog. Unfortunately, the door is locked and there is no sign of the key. Will the three of them find a consensus here in this dreary place, or will it be their final resting place?
Leo Meier, who won the Audience Award and the SWR2 Radio Play Prize at the Heidelberg Stückemarkt 2022 for his debut play zwei herren von real madrid, achieves a minor miracle. With apparent lightness and liberating humour, Meier creates a self-critical, absurdist drama for our times. Is there a real life in the 21st century? And if so, what does it look like? Where is the meaning of life in the face of devastating climate catastrophes and the brutalisation of society? Perhaps it is poetry that will save us - or perhaps not. The play opens up wounds, sprinkles salt on them and carefully and gently applies healing balm.

Players are heroes. Role models. Million-dollar assets. And their wives? What role do they play? And how do female athletes deal with the omnipresent sexism and patriarchal power structures in sport? Spielerfrauen (Players' Wives), a text collage by Laura Dabelstein and Leo Meier, takes a multi-layered look at the lives and experiences of women who are either in relationships with professional footballers or are players themselves. From different perspectives and experiences, they shed light on love, jealousy, expectations, the glamour of professional sport, and the personal struggles and challenges faced by players' wives.
Laura Dabelstein and Leo Meier have written these dramatic miniatures for Lena Brasch's production at the Berliner Ensemble, which can be freely collaged. The result is a fragmented picture of the complex and sometimes sexist world of football – on the one hand satirically exaggerated with biting humour, on the other hand shockingly open and painfully precise.

‘Every scandal involving a kissing official is more interesting than the world-class sporting performance of a women's football team. Isn't that right?’

Der fünfjährige Alfi hat den hässlichsten Spielzeugbagger auf der ganzen Welt, doch seine Mutter möchte ihm partout keinen neuen kaufen. Das ist ein großes Problem, denn mit diesem wertlosen Stück Plastik macht er sich zum Gespött des gesamten Kindergartens. Also heckt er einen geheimen Geheimplan aus: Den Bagger verschwinden lassen und aus dem Kindergarten entwischen, um in der nächstgelegenen Polizeistation eine Vermisstenanzeige für den "verloren gegangen" Bagger aufzugeben. Alles tipptopp von den Cops zertifiziert – da wird seine Mutter keine andere Wahl haben, als ihm einen neuen, ferngesteuerten Bagger zu kaufen, oder?

Leider hat der kleine Alfi die Rechnung ohne die Polizistin auf der Hauptwache gemacht, die es sich zum persönlichen Ziel setzt, Alfis verschollen geglaubtes Spielzeug zu finden. Schon bald eskaliert die Situation, und Alfis wasserdichter Plan führt zu einer überregionalen Suche, in der nicht nur eine Frau aus dem Fundbüro, ein Mensch mit gelber Jacke, Oma und eine Showmasterin involviert sind. Mit seiner Suche nach dem "verlorenen" Bagger schafft es der neunmalkluge Alfi dann schließlich sogar ins Fernsehen. Und das bekommt dann auch seine Mutter mit. Scheiße.

Alfis Plan setzt innerhalb eines Tages eine Kettenreaktion in Gang. Schon bald geht es nicht mehr um den Bagger allein, denn Alfi scheint der Einzige zu sein, der nicht wirklich etwas verloren hat: Die Erwachsenen projizieren ihre Ängste, Ambitionen und unerfüllten Lebensträume auf den Jungen. Über die Suche nach dem Bagger fördert Alfi die Verluste seiner Mitmenschen zu Tage. Leo Meier hat eine aberwitzige Lausbubengeschichte geschrieben, die sich ganz nebenbei zu einer Reflexion über Trauer und Verlust entwickelt. Eine überschäumende, absurde und manchmal auch tieftraurige Gesellschaftskomödie.

The dog - man's best friend. Submissive. Faithfully devoted. Slavishly submissive. The classic recipient of orders. And therefore, from the reddest left to the brownest right, this is a given: "Happiness is a warm puppy. (Charles M. Schulz) Man loves his dog. And the dog loves unconditionally back, because he does not distinguish between poor and rich, pretty or ugly, good or bad.
But what if the dog had an understanding "for the greater good"? If a dog, taking responsibility for his master or mistress, could decide, up to here and no further? If he had ethics, a moral philosophy? Could Blondi have prevented the second world war? Or Putin's Buffy the third? Reporting dogs save wounded soldiers, St. Bernard dogs save buried skiers, and therapy dogs save many a soul. Could a dog save the whole world? Or at least actively improve it? And does anyone really deserve the love of a dog? An example?
In the quite concrete case of this monologue piece here the gentleman is called Attila Hildmann, was cookbook author and is meanwhile reality-lost conspiracy ideologue, who does not become tired as spearhead of a right-wing extremist movement of Reichsbürger and Corona deniers to spray its poison in relevant well-known networks. Beyond that Hildmann is daddy. Is daddy of Akira. A huskie. A dog. Who finds himself in a quandary: "I came here tonight because I want to ask you a question. It's a bit of a tricky question. That's why I can't answer it on my own. Because I need your help."
And the question? - "Woof woof woof." (Saarländisches Staatstheater, Sparte4)