In the mid-19th century, Wagner introduced the theory of the “total work of art.” This concept unites all artistic disciplines under a single vision and reflects human desire and social concerns. Subsequent artistic movements, like Symbolism, dismissed this idea as overly complex or impractical for the stage.
Today, with advancements in technology, video, computing, music, and innovation, we might say that Alexander Ekman’s Play comes close to realizing Wagner’s vision of a total work of art.
When I saw extracts from Play‘s final scene, I had been looking forward to fully appreciating this ballet. This Christmas Eve, I finally had the chance to witness this magnificent performance.
Before the curtain rises, a dancer appears quietly on the left wing of the stage. As he dances in front of the curtain, the audience continues to settle in, lights remain on, and conversations fill the air.
“Look! He’s there! Has it started? But…” These murmurs ripple through the crowd. In this unexpected moment, we are already drawn into the universe of his unannounced dance.
The “official start” of the performance feels equally unconventional. The curtain does not rise yet. The dancer is joined by four brass musicians positioned opposite him. Meanwhile, the cast and crew credits are projected onto the curtain. The whole scene’s burlesque tone, movements, and ambiance evoke the charm of Buster Keaton’s 1920s films.
Unsurprisingly, the title Play encapsulates the production’s theme. But what happens to the playful games we carry from our childhood as we step into adulthood?
The first act, “children’s games,” bursts with joy. Dancers move freely and laugh exuberantly. Mikael Karlsson’s intense and beating music accompanies them. It stirs the heart like the excitement of children towards anything. Nothing constrains them; everything is play, and limitless imagination reigns.
Dressed in white costumes in various forms, the dancers create a cosmos of pure creativity. They surrender completely to the game, free of intention or reservation.
Adulthood, however, introduces grey suits and separations between work time and play time. In the adult’s games, music and movement grow repetitive, and joy restrained. Play becomes a precious reward after a good work performance, no longer a spontaneous act. Why do we stop playing like children? Why do we impose limits, rules, and goals on our games and playtime?
Midway through the first act, I found myself moved to tears—a rare experience for me with contemporary production. For the first time, I realized how adulthood had dulled my capacity for aimless joy and creativity. Work and societal expectations consume us, leaving little room for free imagination. When did I stop engaging in activities unrelated to my career goals or lacking a specific purpose? When did I start doing things solely for their “benefit” to me?
The finale of Play is unforgettable. The dancers break the barrier between the stage and the audience. White balloons float across the room, and green foam balls are tossed into the crowd. The theatre transforms into a playground, where performers and spectators join in the shared act to Play.
