The big swimming pool feeling

Hannah Biedermann, Lisa Zehetner, congratulations on winning the 2025 Tabori Prize! Have you celebrated properly yet?

Hannah Biedermann (laughs): When the call came from Holger Bergmann ... 

… the managing director of the Fonds Darstellende Künste, which awards the Tabori Prize …

… we were right in the middle of rehearsals for our new production, which premieres in October: “Der Riss.” And because the Fonds was naturally keen to ensure that the information didn't get out before the official press release, I just called Lisa first, and we freaked out together on the phone. When everything was announced in mid-August, the joy spread like wildfire – via text messages. Many of us were on vacation, so we shared digital images of champagne glasses.

But surely an analog award party with non-alcoholic refreshments is also planned? After all, your art is aimed at a specific audience, namely children and young people, and what makes it special is that you not only work for this group, but also with them – on an equal footing.

Lisa Zehetner: We will definitely celebrate in person, including with the JUNGENpulk – simply to celebrate the fact that we can continue to work together. Thanks to the Tabori Prize, our next two projects already have financial security. So, we know that despite the current cuts to culture here in North Rhine-Westphalia, we can continue to work for and with young people. I think it's important to raise awareness about the fact that the spaces for our work cannot be taken for granted, but require structures that must be fought for, maintained, and nurtured.

When you founded your group pulk fiktion in 2007, your approach was considered by many to be a novelty in theater for children and young people. How do you remember your own socialization into the theater?

Biedermann: I grew up with the Junges Theater in Bonn, a theater where well-known plays such as “Lukas der Lokomotivführer” were performed, and everything looked like you would typically imagine a theater to look like: red auditorium seats, illustrative murals, classic costumes that often reflected the milieu. I had a good time there. But the really formative experience for me was the independent theater Marabu. I got to know a completely different theatrical language there. One that interested me more than “The Cherry Orchard” at Bonn’s municipal theater, for which I had a subscription as a teenager. Through my cultural studies at Hildesheim University and the fact that we founded pulk fiktion not only with people working in the theater, but also in film and music, I developed a great desire to think about the medium of theater in a more aesthetic and provocative way in a way that I had known already from Marabu. But this path was less about resistance than about seeking further development.

What about you, Lisa Zehetner: Do you pursue your art more out of joyful reminiscence of your own early childhood aesthetic experiences or out of resistance to them?

Zehetner: I didn't go to the theater at all as a child or teenager. I actually only came into contact with it during my cultural studies degree, when Kathrin Tiedemann, the director of the FFT Düsseldorf, gave a guest seminar. That's when I realized that theater is a pretty cool place because you can experience the theory you've read about in practice, so to speak. That's how I ended up working with this art form.

However, what applies to the theater in general – namely, that there is less fame to be gained and less money to be made than in the film industry, which has wider reach – is even more true for youth theater, even though everyone tirelessly points out how important it is. What was the reason for your decision to create theater specifically for young people?

Biedermann: Well, first of all, there’s also a certain feeling of relief to be involved in this scene. You start out knowing that you'll never be featured in “Theater heute,” you'll never be invited to the Theatertreffen, and so on (laughs). On the other hand, the children and youth theater scene, especially in North Rhine-Westphalia, where we work, is extremely collegial; a very productive way of talking about theater has become established here. And – most importantly – for people who decide to make art because they truly believe they can make a difference, this is most tangibly implemented in theater for young audiences. I’ve experienced this time and again: How the atmosphere in the auditorium suddenly changes, how protests arise or questions are asked in the post-performance discussion that would certainly not have come up without the production. For me, that’s meaningful.

Zehetner: Coming back to the relationship between youth and “adult” theater: I don't really see any major differences in terms of precariousness. No matter what audience the group is performing for, at least in the independent scene, the conditions are equally difficult everywhere and not ideal for many lifestyles. I find it interesting – and much more gratifying – that, at least in my context, there are hardly any divisions in terms of content. On the contrary, there are many valuable overlaps; artists from the “adult” scene often feel inspired to stage productions for other age groups themselves. In dramaturgy, it has become established practice to ask directors from “adult” theater to work on productions for young audiences.

Biedermann: However, it’s interesting that the reverse is not true! I’ve never heard of anyone from children's and youth theater being invited to work for adults!

Zehetner: That's true, although to be honest, I don't know if anyone would really want to! In any case, I myself love this moment that I call the “swimming pool” and that really only exists in children's and youth theater: You're still standing in the foyer, and there's already loads of action. Then the theater doors open, the show begins – and you can immediately tell from the fluctuations in concentration in the audience: where a scene or a plot line is working, and where it might not work at all. I find it totally exciting to observe the young audience in these moments, because they don't just sit back intellectually and perform, so to speak.

You’ve been working on stage with children and young people for 18 years now. In 2007, the year pulk fiktion was founded, the world was a different place, at least in Europe: People lived in a postmodern consciousness of the supposed “end of history”; crises, wars and global power shifts like those we’re experiencing today seemed unimaginable. To what extent has your target audience changed over the last two decades?

Biedermann: Of course, first and foremost, digitalization is omnipresent today. And in addition – even at the risk of sounding like a cliché – the fear of climate change plays a huge role. And that's true in every context – even when the work is actually about a different topic. The personal questions that preoccupied earlier generations – will I make it into a good high school, will I get a good job – have now been superseded by an awareness of something much more encompassing, something over which you seem to have no influence, even though it threatens to have a massive impact on your own life. It’s similar with the war in Ukraine.

Zehetner: I also get the feeling that children and young people are far more concerned about the question of power relations today – regardless of whether it's parents, teachers or politicians who decide things one way or another. In any case, I see a much stronger reflection about having to deal with these structures – and in most cases about how to deal with them – than in previous generations. At the same time, the debate is taking place at a more individual level. I myself was still socialized with the classic demonstrations that involved the whole of society: “Nuclear power? No, thank you.” Today, young people searching for the right stance tend to position themselves more directly and personally within the respective constellation and ask themselves: Where exactly do I stand in this specific power context? 

The examination of power dynamics – especially between children and young people and adults – is a central motif in your work, and plays a role in one way or another in practically every production. And you do so performatively— you enter the game with an open mind and expose yourselves to questioning about your roles, live and in real time.

Biedermann: We really do try to be fairly consistent in designing the theater space as a space for negotiation or experience. If you just talk about things, it quickly takes on an educational, didactic tone. We are far more interested in repeatedly enticing our audience to become part of the situation themselves, while at the same time revealing this situation and opening it up to questioning. This allows us to discuss at a completely different level whether we can actually back the things we’ve just done. Or whether we, as adult theater makers, are credible in what we represent.

In your 2016 play “All about Nothing,” in which you address classism from a child's perspective, there are many instructive and touchingly honest quotes from children about their own experiences of poverty. How do you manage to build this kind of trusting relationship with them in your work?

Biedermann: Interestingly, we repeatedly find when we come to schools that children and young people are immediately extremely open. They seem to really appreciate it, but rarely experience, strangers taking an interest in their lives. We consult with the teachers beforehand, then offer workshops on our respective production topics in the classes and, during these workshops, we always ask children or young people to come to other rooms for 15-minute one-on-one conversations. We only talk to those who have brought a signed consent form from their parents and who expressly want to talk to us. Experience has shown that it’s often the children who tend to be quiet in class who have a lot to say – and who are particularly happy at the premiere when their voices can be heard in the performance.

What is the biggest mistake you can make when it comes to doing theater work with children and young people?

Zehetner: You shouldn't pretend to be them, you shouldn’t imitate them and you shouldn't make fun of them. When you're on stage with them, you have to be open about where you are “manipulating” them within the context of the play – in other words, you have to make the theater situation transparent at all times. And you have to be really consistent in inviting them to play along – within the framework of safety precautions, of course. This is an issue that we had again and again in “Unsere Grube,” for example.

In this production, the stage literally becomes a playground at times: The kids climb around on huge mountains of rubber tires, and you actually leave a lot of room for contingency.

Biedermann: Yes, and that's not only exciting for us every time, but it's precisely these moments that negotiate the play’s core question in the theatrical space between parents, children and performers: What is allowed, and who is in charge? And I can think of another thing that doesn't work in children's and youth theater – at least not for me. Namely, staging topics just because you think they're appropriate for the age group you're staging them for. Along the lines of: between the ages of three and five, children go through a defiant phase, so I'll write a play about anger. It's quite different if I myself have a serious interest in the topic, because, for example, I'm concerned about the rise of hate speech on the one hand, and on the other hand, I ask myself how I actually deal with my own frustrations. That’s precisely the moment when we encounter five-year-olds and can learn something from their outbursts ourselves, instead of always trying to train them out of it.

A complete change of topic: Although you’re one of the most renowned independent groups – as evidenced by your many national and international invitations and awards – you’re currently being affected by financial cuts: The state of North Rhine-Westphalia has decided to impose severe austerity when it comes to cultural funding, as a result of which, among other things, the “top-level funding” that you’ve received annually and will continue to receive until the end of the year has been reduced from €80,000 to €60,000. In addition, this funding is now being allocated to significantly fewer groups than before, both in “adult” and in children's and youth theater. And even that’s already a compromise, after the scene protested against even tougher cuts. How do you view your current situation within this context?

Zehetner: Initially, the state of North Rhine-Westphalia had actually considered abolishing top-level funding for youth theater and completely eliminating this funding instrument for our sector. We rebelled against this: That's not possible, we need it! Nevertheless, the revised decision also shows how theater for children and young people is regarded: The principle reduction in top-level funding of €20,000, which affects all the groups in our sector, does not apply to the “adult” sector. So, the fatal signal is that top-level theater for young people is worth €20,000 less. And what you hear when you try to talk to them – that we could do “smaller productions” or “less art education” – only confirms this impression, unfortunately.  

Biedermann: That's where the Tabori Prize is worth its weight in gold, of course! Not only because it comes with prize money of €100,000 – which is tied to one or two productions – but above all because it sends a signal to politicians that youth theater is in the same league as theater for adults in terms of quality. Specifically, the prize now puts us in the luxurious position of not having to make any financial cutbacks to our productions for the next two years, assuming we continue to receive the now reduced state funding. But of course, this isn’t a long-term solution. Beyond this one-off prize money, we need a structure that remains stable and reliable!