Anne Imhof’s three-hour performance at the Park Avenue Armory in Manhattan is overwhelmingly infantile, comically apolitical, excessively pessimistic about the future, and tragically hollow beneath all the hype.
Doom: House of Hope, curated by Klaus Biesenbach, is a Gen-Z adaptation of William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet set on a high school prom night and performed under a giant jumbotron with a ticking doomsday clock.
“We hope, we’re doomed,” the young performers chant as they part the audience in the armory’s cavernous drill hall. “We’re fucked, we’re dead, I think I made you up inside my head.”
The vibe — trust me, the vibe is at least half of it — alternates between a sad school play and a Ketamine-infused Berlin rave. Zombie-like teenagers climb atop shiny black Cadillac SUVs where they vape, get tattoos, or just stare into space, looking generally bored.
They are downtrodden by this unfair world, where oppressive adults destroy the climate and take away trans rights. That’s as political as the show gets: tossed somewhere on floor were a few ripped-up cardboard pieces with phrases like “Help me I’m trans” and “don’t touch my tits.” Surrounded by rings of spectators, they sing out their angst in hymns that recall Radiohead’s whimpering youth anthems, occasionally breaking into Rammstein-style heavy metal guitar distortions.
Unfortunately, what could have been a screwed-up generation’s rebellious scream against the brutalities of capitalism and the murderous ideologies of our leaders ends up looking, feeling, and sounding like a photoshoot for a Balenciaga ad. Indeed, many of these handsome dancers are busier posing and pouting than actually performing.
Imhof’s “cool factor” is a core element of her success. A former bouncer in Frankfurt’s nightclubs, she still has a keen eye for the young and beautiful. She received international attention — and the Golden Lion top prize — during the 2017 Venice Biennale, where she unleashed Doberman Pinschers into the German pavilion as her chic, pale cast performed beneath a glass floor. Some of those performers reappear in the Armory piece, notably Imhof’s longtime collaborator and former partner Eliza Douglas, who’s also a real-life Balenciaga model.
“We hope, we’re doomed,” Imhof’s languid company laments, refraining from any direct political statement. Luckily, today’s youth couldn’t be more far removed from this glum vision of disaffection. Gen-Zers are not afraid to fight for justice, equality, and the future of this planet. They’re anything but passive and apathetic, and they should be a source of pride for the generations before them.
On opening night, the three-hour show was also a durational performance for the audience, made up of the who’s who of the art and performance worlds. Apart from having to be on their feet that long, the audience members were also seemingly required to perform coolness for each other. Two hours into the show, they were visibly yawning and spacing out. Maybe that time would have been better spent at a protest, a reading, or an organizing meeting with young people who are actually doing something to change the world.
Doom: House of Hope, continues at Park Avenue Armory (643 Park Avenue, Upper East Side, Manhattan) through March 12. The exhibition was curated by Klaus Biesenbach.
