The Pissers' Theatre by Eckhard Gerdes (review)
2023; University of Nebraska Press; Volume: 44; Issue: 1 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1353/abr.2023.a902837
ISSN2153-4578
Tópico(s)Theatre and Performance Studies
ResumoReviewed by: The Pissers' Theatre by Eckhard Gerdes Lew Collins (bio) the pissers' theatre Eckhard Gerdes Black Scat Books https://blackscatbooks.com/our-books/ 112 pages; Print, $12.95 I found myself during my second reading of The Pissers' Theatre, Eckhard Gerdes's latest and fifteenth novel, negotiating the inside and outside spaces his "story" inhabits, attempting to interpret what the rendering of theatrical space means—complete with journeys by theatregoers to the toilet blocks—to the play and play within the play. [End Page 112] With characters seated up on stage deep in the planning of an improved service, replete with their own audience, Gerdes's novel at first seemed aimed at the management of an aging audience's predilection for incontinence. The novel's two main theatregoing characters, Kay and Karen, whom the writer knows well in his real world, are not old, nor do they share the problems of aged biological interruptions, which would bring the play to a halt each time an audience member went in search of a toilet, leaving the performance in a state of being terminally undone. Night after night, in effect, when I returned with Gerdes's two main characters to the continuing play, in what sports lovers might describe as those interminable stoppages in the game, I took refuge with the two Ks in the outside, I, the reader, joining as silent witness, watching them tallying up the score of each part-performance, absorbing their views of the show they'd just experienced. We caroused in bars, ate in faux Greek restaurants, and piled severally and awkwardly into taxis, Gerdes's two pals, chatting and conversing and showing little concern for their predicament. I sat there with them, sensing the walls melting into an overall inside-outside Mies van der Rohe novel structure in my head, recalling how easily we sat down, when I bent my knees, or stood up, to let another fourth wall slip by, how I accompanied the Ks everywhere almost thinking aloud—"Did either of you pay the bar bill?" Almost asking, how on earth is The Pissers' Theatre ever going to tally up enough cash to pay for the renovation of its toilet blocks, all the while wondering: had I stumbled into a minimalist dream? Is this the way the world of The Pissers' Theatre goes? No bangs or whimpers, just a long line outside a public bathroom at a play recital. Waiting in line. Nothing can be done. It's a situation we add to, because, by waiting in line for a place in the toilet, we contribute to the play's incompletion. In the end there are consolations. With the play never quite over, we can meet outside to enjoy eating and drinking out, extra-time giving us the opportunity to organize another rendezvous to see the part of the play we hadn't, and perhaps will never see, due to the urinary interruptions of our fellow theatregoers. So, what is The Pissers' Theatre about, objectively? There is no driving mechanism and no particular goal, no jeopardy to drive any character who [End Page 113] needs to take something on in order to change her or his life. No angst even over: Let's go. No, let's not. Is Eckhard Gerdes's narrative a reflection of the purposelessness our often overly protected, overrated middle-class lives, a Beckett-styled highlighting of the pointlessness of all existence—only served up here with an economic update? Lucky enough to live sugarcoated lives protected by a trust fund, the biggest decision seems not: is he coming? Or will it start? Will it end? No, post-theatre recitals, the big question is: so, which restaurant tonight? Gerdes's puns—Kay Cera—Que Sera!—and his admiration for the theatre of the absurd places his friends inside literary zones without predicaments, with Gerdes asking them to boldly peel off literary influences from prescient parts of his own literary universe, which in turn sends intrigued readers like me out in search of what is not already known. One such "not already known" I confess is the 1955 Nobel Laureate for Literature, Halldor Laxness, the Icelandic writer of novels and...
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