Name: Riot!
Start: 2026-05-26T19:30:00
Location: Schauspiel Köln

Herbert Fritsch

Bühnen Köln

A table, an armchair, a bottle. And a glass of wine, which the waiter serves to the guest: that's the starting point. But who is serving whom? And who is serving whom? Who ultimately pays the bill, or who cuts someone else's? In the work of British writer and director Tim Etchells (Forced Entertainment), power dynamics are explored in numerous variations – and the longer the scene lasts, the more sinister the humor becomes. In this sense, master and servant explore the manifold pitfalls of hierarchical constellations. Following its German-language premiere at the 2024 Vienna Festival, the table, armchair, and wine are now being moved to Depot 3. The suspense mounts as to who will ultimately foot the bill in this slapstick comedy.

The bill

Carlswerk

BABY, DON'T GIVE UP is a talk series at the Schauspiel Köln for and with people who don't want to lose their nerve and hope.

Baby, don't give up

Austrian prison poet, ladies' man, journalist, convicted murderer: Jack Unterweger was many things, and he played numerous roles throughout his life. During his first imprisonment, for the murder of an 18-year-old girl, he published his first novel, which brought him immediate fame. A petition for his release was signed by, among others, Elfriede Jelinek, Ernst Jandl, and Günter Grass. After 15 years in prison, he was released: Unterweger became a prime example of "successful rehabilitation." But in 1994, he was convicted a second time—for the murder of nine women. UNTERWEGER explores this irrational fascination—an evening about lust and compassion, attraction and disgust, judgment and mercy.

Unterweger

"Perhaps we must finally learn to truly understand that the fabric of our civilization itself is woven from fire and smoke." (WG Sebald) It all begins at an altitude of 4,000 meters: A stream of US bombers, 600 meters wide and 30 kilometers long, moves toward a German city. Below, bombs fall, along with the parachutes of a bomber crew, low-flying aircraft, and flak towers. Far below, houses and streets where staggering people are "grilled" in boiling tar. Air-raid shelters, cellars, chaos—an unimaginable horror scenario. A mother searches for her son, who has already met his death as an anti-aircraft gunner; a young woman is buried alive with a stranger and raped by him beneath the rubble. Gert Ledig's novel REVENGE takes a cold and unsentimental look at the destructive violence of an Allied air raid in July 1944. The city in question remains nameless—but could well be Cologne. Here, too, after the night of May 30-31, 1942, only the cathedral stood amidst a vast landscape of rubble. The book was published in 1956, long after Heinrich Böll and Günter Grass had begun depicting the postwar reality of West Germany. It was soon forgotten. To this day, the trauma of the air raids remains largely unaddressed, while the haphazard postwar architecture of city centers continues to silently bear witness to the horrors of that time. Director Sebastian Baumgarten stages Ledig's defiant challenge to warmongering rhetoric of "fatherland, heroism, tradition, faith, and honor" as a world premiere for the Schauspiel Köln (Cologne Theatre).

retribution

The most famous murder in Greek tragedy takes place in a bathtub. Clytemnestra, Queen of Argos, murders her husband Agamemnon after his victorious return from the Trojan War—in revenge for sacrificing their daughter Iphigenia for favorable winds. But Clytemnestra's triumph is short-lived. Orestes, her own son, stabs her with his sword to atone for Agamemnon's death. From then on, Orestes is hunted by the Erinyes, avenging spirits who follow him from the temple at Delphi to Athens. There, he is put on trial before the goddess Athena. The jury ultimately acquits him. But is this victory of the law over the principle of blood vengeance, which has become part of literary history, also a victory for justice? Australian director Adena Jacobs certainly questions this. She stages THE ORESTETY in a version that focuses on the crimes against Iphigenia and Clytemnestra. What about the rage that remains after the murder of daughter and mother? The anger that cannot be appeased by Athena's exhortation, "Women, do not be angry"? Adena Jacobs works in and on the neglected spaces of antiquity, combining acting with dance and video art into a feminist Gesamtkunstwerk.

The Oresteia

Schauspiel Köln

A gruesome discovery on the banks of the Rhine in Cologne raises many questions: the body of young activist Luise washes ashore. Detective Clara and her colleague Hans begin their murder investigation and find themselves entangled in a web of environmental pollution, online threats, and encrypted corporate data. They are working in murky waters until they finally uncover explosive information about a major regional chemical company.

The water from Cologne is good

"You tell us when to sit and when to stand. You tell us when to move and when to be still for a moment. You tell us when we're allowed to get up from the table. You teach us to say please. And you teach us to say thank you. You teach us how to look nice and clean. You explain to us that there are bad people in the world. That monsters don't really exist. That words are just words." THAT NIGHT FOLLOWS DAY turns the world upside down: A chorus of children between the ages of 8 and 14 becomes the main character. They have only recently been thrown into life, and immediately they find rules and values ​​there. But the children turn the tables. They reverse statements, reject them, and reformulate them. And the longer you listen to this set of values ​​with the reversed source, the more audibly an unspoken "Why?" enters the stage: The questioning of what is—and what could just as easily be different! Deeply moving and exceptionally funny. THAT NIGHT FOLLOWS DAY was first produced by Victoria Deluxe in Ghent, Belgium, in 2007 and has since been performed in many countries and languages. For the Cologne premiere, the text will be updated for a group of Cologne children. Tim Etchells is an internationally renowned writer, director, and artist. He is particularly well-known as the leader of the performance group Forced Entertainment.

That Night Follows Day

Even 100 years after its publication, Arthur Schnitzler's novella FRÄULEIN ELSE has lost none of its explosive power: During her summer vacation, the young Else T. is asked by her parents to request urgently needed money from the art dealer Dorsday – the only way to save her indebted father from prison and the family from social ostracism. Dorsday recognizes the hopelessness of Else's situation and uses it for a dark game: He will only transfer the money if he is allowed to look at her naked for fifteen minutes… Director Leonie Böhm presents Schnitzler's novella, which is consistently told from Else's inner perspective, as a solo performance with actress Julia Riedler. The two explore Else's stream of consciousness about the abuse of power and the commodification of female bodies, consistently bringing it into the here and now. The daily newspaper Der Standard reported a "triumph" after the premiere, while the news agency APA spoke of "a magnificent balancing act between despair, thoughtfulness, defiance, and a good dose of wit. FRÄULEIN ELSE is top-notch entertainment that never loses sight of its serious core. It's hard to imagine anyone doing it better than Böhm and Riedler." And so it's no surprise that Julia Riedler was named Actress of the Year 2025 by Theater heute for her portrayal of Else.

Miss Else

The clang of the tram at Neumarkt. The smell of currywurst and nail salons. Shopping, sightseeing, selfies. Cologne's city center, full of expectations and contradictions: How you dress. How you speak. How you move. Who belongs. And who doesn't. A glance that goes unreturned. Sleeping spots under awnings. What stories lie hidden in a place where so many people pass by, linger, live, or are driven away every day? Between shop windows and concrete, DOWNTOWN PARADISE is growing – urban space becomes a stage. The youth club POLYLUX explores how perception, empathy, and responsibility are negotiated in public space – where proximity and distance merge, where stillness and movement meet, where visibility becomes a question. Inspired by the everyday life of Cologne's city center, POLYLUX invites you to retell the story of public space. A glimpse of what usually remains hidden. A listening among the sounds. An attempt to feel the city before understanding it.

Downtown Paradise

Glockengasse

La Mancha. The largest plain in Spain. A flat plateau. Endless. No mountains. No valleys. A few silly windmills… otherwise – nothing. Nada. Too much nothingness to bear. The fear of emptiness. El horror del vacío. This fear turns a person into Don Quixote. Someone who wants to squeeze meaning out of the world like juice from an orange. And out of the person opposite him. Don Quixote – the witty one – has to make something out of nothing. No matter how. In search of a feeling. Heartbreak, for example. Profound anguish. Better than nothing at all. Well then, ¡Cuando se quiere, se puede! (When you want to, you can!) Bastian Reiber's play is about taking the risk of making the biggest claim, thereby arousing the greatest expectations – and then not fulfilling them (and therefore all the more so!). ¿QUÉ PASA EN LA MANCHA? (What's happening in La Mancha?) It's a ride through the Spanish steppe, right into the fantastical mind of the unique hidalgo Don Quixote. Courage for absolute theater. The ultimate game for the sake of play – always on the brink of nothingness.

¿Qué Pasa En la Mancha?

Between old factory buildings, new neighborhoods, and the stories of Keupstraße: Cologne-Mülheim is brimming with life and memories. Our neighborhood guides will take you on walks, sharing tales of resistance, community, and the vibrant Mülheim of yesterday and today. Together, we'll discover favorite spots, hear personal anecdotes, and experience how the district is constantly evolving. Each tour offers a glimpse into the lived experience of Mülheim – told from the perspective of the people who call it home.

Mülheim stories

Rebecca is a film star, over fifty, and still going strong. And she's furious. The writer Oscar, 43, recognized her by chance on the street and posted a scathing comment about her on Instagram. She immediately fires back publicly: "Dear asshole, I saw your post. You're like a pigeon that poops on my shoulder as it flies by. I just hope your children get run over by a truck and you have to watch them die, powerless to do anything, their eyes popping out of their sockets." But the feud with Rebecca isn't the biggest problem Oscar has. The feminist, considerably younger blogger Zoé accuses him of harassing her during her time as his press secretary. The accusation: sexualized abuse of power. Within a very short time, Oscar becomes the most prominent persona non grata online . Initially, Rebecca, Oscar, and Zoé only have two things in common: mutual hatred and the loneliness of sitting in front of their computers during the pandemic. But gradually, as they write to each other again and again, an almost tender epistolary novel for the 21st century emerges, about friendship and fear, sex and drugs, about shattered hopes and big dreams.

Dear asshole

Where does language end and where does mayhem begin? When the infamous Herbert Fritsch appears, all the conventions of the theater go flying. Besides his proven extraordinary talent for directing comedies, he has developed his own unique theatrical language in recent years: beyond words, beyond meaning. He repeatedly brings texts to the stage that weren't intended for it, texts in which words become music ("Murmel Murmel"). When the Dada café Cabaret Voltaire opened in Zurich in 1916 and Dadaism was invented, someone commented: "That's a collection of young people who are creative and wanted to make a fuss." Ha! Dada is exactly Herbert Fritsch's thing. And mayhem too! A riot, a thunderous roar of irrationality, a hurricane of unbridled, unrestrained artistic venting. We no longer use the verb "rabatzen" (to cause a ruckus). It once meant "to hit," "to wrestle," "to rage," "to be in lust"—and that's the instruction given to the ensemble. Herbert Fritsch loves the stage, the theater, and people who love all of that too. Thirteen years after his last Cologne production—Brecht's "Puntila and His Servant Matti" as a "festival of unleashed actors" (Deutschlandradio)—he's back. Entirely in the Dada tradition, he embarks on a search for the unspeakable, the non-representational, the dissolution of language, which should, in fact, be redemption.