Dystopia in your shopping cart

The sounds of the jungle intermingled with distorted birdcalls. A garbage dump from which household items protrude: a sofa, a washing machine. A sagging mattress. Clothes are strewn everywhere and a light mist wafts across the stage, as if this heap of throw-away items were breathing softly. 

Strange creatures emerge from this seemingly lifeless jumble: a chair becomes a human, a body made of stuffed bin bags steps forward, soft toys form into a rolling creature. They all creep about. The rubbish heap crackles, rustles, moves almost imperceptibly – as if it has decided to no longer remain still. Somewhere between Jurassic Park and Stranger Things, I feel a slight unease, because this is somehow dystopian and yet, at the same time, not so far-fetched, I think.

The five performers communicate with strange sounds; they seem to live in this mountain of rubbish, and their entire humanity has adapted to this place. Over the course of the next hour, I experience them as hoarders: they hoard objects, frantically and compulsively gathering clothes and things which they drag into their dens. A static flicker flickers across the television screens on stage.

People consume. Always and constantly, consciously and subconsciously. And in today’s digitalised world, it has never been easier to shop for a completely new wardrobe or furnish your home with a single click. After all, I am what I own! At least, that is what the advertising industry would have me believe. The performers in Waste Me start to tremble, to shake, their eyes shining with excitement as they dream of their next purchase, as they recall the feeling of tearing open the packaging of a new delivery! And so it is only natural that there is also a fashion show in this production: loud, colourful, enthusiastic. Pure ecstasy!

I find myself swaying along as the performers showcase the most famous fashion brands to the beat of drums and rhythmic singing. I hardly even notice that everyone is just revolving around themselves; it’s all about self-presentation, one’s own appearance, the latest look. I briefly wonder when I last placed an online order. Last week. Not too long ago.

After the ecstasy comes the sudden collapse. What was loud becomes quiet, what was colourful turns monochrome. Is this what overconsumption does to us? Suck the colour out of our souls? I watch as the performers, utterly exhausted, try to connect with one another. But there is no strength left for that. Everything is suddenly so alienated, empty. Waste Me. Throw me away! 

At the end, they stand at the edge of the stage and sing. The lights go out and the feeling I had at the start returns: that slight unease, because this performance was somehow dystopian and yet not so far removed. I think again about my online order and how I’ll feel when I open the parcel. The anticipation is still there, but a question has crept in: Do I really need what I’ve ordered? A distorted birdcall echoes in my head.