"Eggs on Earth" or about the feints, traps and crashes in the modern working day Berlin. The cheerfully whistled and stomped applause in the broken charm of the Sophiensaele, just around the corner from Hackescher Markt in Berlin's breezily lively Mitte makes it clear: "Nico and the Navigators," a small cross-border ensemble from different disciplines and countries, has become a cult favorite of the off-scene in just under two years. All around 30, from theater, dance, but also from the design sector, they came from the Bauhaus in Dessau to the guest performance with the claim "I've also been to America before" and stayed in Berlin with the wish "Lucky days, stranger!". Now they are familiar and friends and devote themselves to the phenomena of the working world with astonished seriousness, with familiar craziness, with grotesque, mostly quiet, comedy. With a title that should not and cannot be taken broodingly seriously. For Nicola Hümpel, who has long since developed her own signature from Achim Freyer's environment and who, with amiable, unobtrusive determination, is the head of the troupe responsible for direction, concept and costumes, likes to leave things in the fog of the pensive and mysterious. "Eggs on Earth" probably stands for the perfect archetype and for the fact that the beautiful simple "eggs on earth" there among people, employers especially, can probably only harm. Don't worry, this is not an ideological-aggressive agitprop show. Oliver Proske, who has gone from being an industrial designer to an inventor of deceitfully versatile, confusingly simple spatial solutions, places the "Glorious Seven" in the adventure playground of the working world in an office furniture with ever new surprises, insidiously funny traps. In it, Verena Schonlau, Sinta Tamsjadi, Martin Clausen, Lyon Roque, Patric Schott, Lajos Talamonti and the spilling Julius Weiland move like birds that have fallen out of the nest, like people on the wrong steamer. Between Kafka's surreal fears and the sovereign clumsiness of the Marx Brothers, they tumble like butterflies, failing in all seriousness like office Don Quixotes. From their blue, old-fashioned business suits, with red ties and red briefcases, they look amazed, dumbfounded and always a bit confused from the success laundry that brings them no luck. "Mr. Fock," the big, powerful stranger, is not available to them. "Your case is being processed" echoes anonymously and frighteningly from the off. "I would like to expand worldwide" wishes the ambitious businesswoman-to-be. But "When will I become a father?" is written on the washboard belly of a business offspring, which probably brings us to the topic: that there must also be a "life" besides, in front of, behind, in addition to "work," and that one must be able to bring all of this under an individual hat. There must be a solution between the "adventure life" and the accounting calculation and filling of lifetime. The Nico-Navigators, being quite clever and modest, of course don't show it. But they sail between all kinds of rituals and dangers, between a mysterious world of riddles and everyday guidelines like innocent, imaginative children: endangered, but still determined not to let their thoughtful reverie be cut off as a guideline for life. For this they are celebrated like adventurous, enterprising friends, cheerful and thoughtful and enthusiastic at the same time.

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