Meet Annette in the School Comedy – A brilliant social satire at Aarhus Theatre

By: Carsten Wyrle – Press photo for Aarhus Theatre Emilia Therese

I laughed with Annette until the seriousness hit me.

A nice clown in a cone of light starts it all. Almost like in a circus. A show with animals, tightrope walkers, magicians and danger. But I haven't stepped into a circus tent. I'm sitting in Aarhus Theatre to see a performance about Annette. A completely ordinary elementary school teacher. Over two acts, Store Scene transforms itself with the help of magical stage technique from a hilarious recognition party to a thought-provoking stomach-churning experience. What looked like a comedy ended up being the strongest and most gripping experience I've had in the plush seats.

At first, the hall is completely dark. It's the dense darkness just before the magic breaks loose. Then a single, sharp cone of light cuts through the darkness and hits the arena on the stage.

He steps into the light. The clown. Forget all about creepy horror clowns. He looks out at us with a warm and understanding smile. Friendly and welcoming. With a gesture that feels like an embrace, he welcomes us to his story. He invites us to sit back and lower our shoulders to just enjoy the performance. It feels safe. He is our storyteller and promises us a good evening in the spirit of Skolekomedien. We think we are going to see a light comedy. And we are going to at first. But behind the playful exterior there is a deep seriousness; the play is built around the real voices of authentic letters and stories from teachers and students all over the country, which provide a raw, honest insight into everyday life in primary school.

The stage magic with the school in the middle

When the clown steps aside, the technical prowess of Aarhus Theatre is revealed. It is not just a flat backdrop, because in the middle of the stage an impressive construction towers up. A building. A school. It is fascinating to see how this multifunctional structure is used. It is magical, and it is alive. It turns around and creates new spaces in a split second. One moment we are in a classroom, the next we are outside. It is the scenography as a co-player, emphasizing the feeling of being trapped in an institution that you cannot escape from. An everyday battleground where expectations tower.

The students enter the building. Not noisily, but in a lingering and beautiful slow motion. It is a sight that makes the room hold its breath and burst into laughter. In the slow motion, each individual personality emerges so clearly. I see the quiet girl who is hiding. I see the troublemaker, quivering with energy. I see the dreamer. The room surrenders immediately. I laugh out loud, and so does everyone around me. We laugh because we recognize them. We see our old classmates, our own children and perhaps most of all ourselves in this tragicomic portrait of the school's many faces and the emotions behind them.

The dream and the ambition

Annette enters the room. She is radiant. She smiles with a calmness that makes my shoulders fall into place. I am filled with empathy for her. With gentle authority, a smile and an inclusive manner, she introduces a completely new subject. It sounds simple and is meant as an experience for the students. An invitation to the development of life. But this is where the dream collides with reality.

Because while Annette presents the subject with her heart, we see the chaos in the students' minds. We experience how this simple thing develops into a total mental breakdown in them in a split second. For them, it is life-threatening. It is as if we are looking directly into a generation that has been stuffed with fear from worried parents, screen culture and social media. In their minds, the new subject becomes the end of the world. The contrast is hilarious. Annette wants to develop, but the students only see the abyss. It is the fear of the unknown, magnified through TikTok dances and Aula, that hits the room like a shock wave.

The heart against the paragraphs

We really laugh a lot in the first act. Also when we see Annette in three guises. It seems like a funny take on the busy teacher who has to juggle everything from lesson plans and tests to inclusion and diagnoses all at once.

But beneath the laughter, seriousness simmers. It becomes painfully clear when Annette is assigned a consultant from the ministry. We see the hope in her eyes. She thinks he is coming to help with a specific student. But he does not come with help. He comes with rules and innovation. It cuts to the heart. Annette is the teacher who has always taught with her heart. She is the one who is just as nervous as the students when they are about to take exams, because she wants them to do well. She puts all her feelings into preparing them for life, well-being and community. She just wants to embrace and protect them.

But the consultant's rules make it impossible. Annette would like to try to include everyone, but can't say anything without someone being offended by a choice of words or a way of being. She is fighting an impossible battle against development, her life as a mediator with a huge heart and a system that only speaks in codes about educational readiness and measurable results.

The lights were turned on in the hall for the break.

The first act is a real celebration, but also an invitation to an Annette, whose inner self is challenged by the constant pressure to deliver more and faster. After the break, the air has changed. The clown is back and sings a song about how when dad comes home, mom has gone to work. When mom comes home, dad has gone to bed. I wish it were Sunday every day, because then we would all be together. Now the play and the emotions suddenly become serious.

The parents are a good example, and I couldn't help but look inside myself with shame, as I could see myself reflected in what I saw on stage. The parents' meeting is one of the most toe-curling and precise things I have ever seen. We experience the parents who, via the Aula, abdicate responsibility for their own offspring, and you can see yourself in the children's behavior based on the parents' expressions. They expect the municipal Annette not only to teach, but also to deal with bullying, stress and upbringing as well as inclusion, diagnoses and special needs.

Now I realize what the three Annettes mean. What we laughed at is no longer funny. They are not multitasking, but are being torn apart into three personalities under the weight of impossible demands. The laughter in the room fades. The silence descends.

The Elephant and the Heavy Silence

And then the theater uses its stage magic again. The Elephant enters the room. It is gigantic. I have heard that the process of building the elephant took a year. When it stands there, heavy and gray, it is the elephant in the room made real. It is the collapse of the system. It takes up so much space that it literally squeezes the last hope out of Annette.

When the clown stops the music, there is complete silence on the Main Stage. The Annette we laughed with is now left standing. Torn apart by consultants, parents and the failure of the system. A single tear runs down one of Annette's cheeks. These are not theatrical tears. They are real tears, born out of the authentic teacher destinies that the play is based on. As a thank you for sacrificing herself, she receives a honey heart from the ministry. A shiver runs through the hall. The reference to the nurses' cake thank you is clear from the corona crisis, and I directly hear the boos in support of the staff who sacrifice themselves every day. Seeing her standing there with a cheap gingerbread in her hand while she breaks down is so tragicomic that even the laughter dies completely.

Reflection

It was a big circus I experienced. Filled with animals and confetti. And yet not. Behind the facade the world is so different. When measurements, well-being analyses and national tests are done, it may look fine. But where is Annette in all this?

As I walk out into the Aarhus night from the theatre's beautifully lit building, I am shaken in a good way. I went in to laugh and be entertained, and I did. But I left with a lump in my throat and shame. The contrast between the euphoric laughter in the ring and the chaos I laughed at, and then the brutal seriousness in the second act, made it the most captivating and thought-provoking performance I have seen at Aarhus Theatre.

I saw a person being crushed by expectations on a stage that was constantly changing. We saw the system in all its absurdity. Behind Annette's smile, the students and the messages in the Aula lies a story that we are all closest to ourselves. But in Annette beats a heart of flesh and blood that cannot simply be patched up with a thank you in the form of a honey cake heart.

It is a social satire about Annette in all her worlds. An experience you take home with you and that stays with you. The performance should be seen by everyone, as it touches on a highly topical life story. Now I understand very well that this performance was named Reumert's Performance of the Year and the City's Best Theater Experience in 2024.

Thank you to the Annettes. Thank you to all of you who want to make a difference for all of us every day. I see you clearly now. Thank you so much for you!

The school comedy

The performance can be experienced during the period:

February 12 — March 21

Ticket price
100 – 490 kr.

Playing time
2 hours including break