A fresh take on H-town
‘Remote Houston’ blazes an audiovisual trail from the East End to downtown
Do you think about mortality? Do you trust technology? Do you know your city?
“Remote Houston,” an eye and ear-opening tour created by the German experimental-theater collective Rimini Protokoll for the Alley Theatre, provokes those questions and others, gently.
Launched during this week’s Counter-Current 16 festival, the experience leads groups of 50 people on a two-hour trek from the East End to downtown guided by “Heather,” an invisible, remotely controlled, synthesized character.
Heather directs you through
headsets over your ears, which means that she pretty much consumes your psyche. Her voice is laid into a stereo soundtrack of otherworldly electronic music, jaunty beats, rock songs (when she wants you to speed up) and ambient, recorded effects.
The effects seemed so real on a recent tour that I thought I
should be seeing things that weren’t there: A jet flew very low overhead, didn’t it? An invisible train barreled down the tracks as we crossed safely.
The journey began in weedy Evergreen Cemetery.
All cemeteries mark time, but Evergreen feels especially poignant, tucked into a modest neighborhood in the shadow of industry. The oldest headstones, revealing the histories of Anglos and Germans whose lives straddled the 19th and 20th centuries, mingle freely with the flamboyant, colorful and more personalized resting places of Hispanics who are still arriving. The first one that caught my attention seemed to be inspired by Disneyland, with a monument shaped like a turret and a nook containing a Mickey Mouse figure.
To describe the full “Remote Houston” route would ruin too many surprises, but we walked a good bit, got barked at a little (Chihuahua alert!), rode MetroRail, contemplated views of the city from high above the landscape and below ground, observed “a museum of status symbols” and danced in a spectacular bank lobby that felt like a church — “although they worship a different god here,” as Heather put it.
Trying hard to think like a human, or at least attain the same wavelength as her charges, Heather mused a lot: “Movement is much more complex than thinking. So it seems”… “Every traffic light is an exercise in automated dictatorship”… “To move on, you have to leave things behind, and forget, and forget …”
Thankfully, she also displayed a sense of humor.
“The train has stopped again. I can see why you don’t use it,” she said.
She coaxed us to move to the Van Halen song “Jump.” “Wow. Shake it, shake it, baby,” she said.
Some of the half-dozen or so “real” riders on the train watched us, perplexed. Some tried to ignore us. Observing the reactions of nonparticipants is part of the fun.
Downtown, Heather ramped up the action another notch. A few undercover agents walked discreetly among us, managing moments when Heather gave conflicting instructions that split our “horde” into a few “herds.”
“Remote Houston” aims to make you think about a lot of things in your world differently. The stereo sound effects, the mental manipulation and the group dynamics are intentionally disorienting.
But I felt most out of my comfort zone simply walking: traversing streets I would never dream of walking down by myself, and feeling like a different person on familiar pathways. (Funny how safe the pack mentality makes you feel, even when you’re doing something foolish: You might begin to feel a little invisible yourself.)
“You are unique, but the end is the same for everybody,” Heather told us early on. Before the tour ended, a male voice took over guiding us. His name was Will, and he wanted us to be more willful.
“Heather was too thoughtful,” he said.
I thought I’d be exhausted by then, but I felt oddly exhilarated. I had warmed up to the playfulness and bonded with people I only knew by their faces and bodies.
During the bird’s-eyeview moment, the universe seemed to be humming smoothly: Traffic pulsed in steady streams below the monolithic stillness of the skyscrapers. The view seemed distant and yet not so distant from the little cemetery where we’d begun.
At the final stop, on a low balcony, Will reminded us once again that technology controls our lives.
“If I asked you to jump, would you?” he asked.
Then came a visceral surprise. (No spoilers, here.)
Computers may have better memories than we do, and some of them can even move through space. But they can’t sweat. They don’t breathe.
The best thing about “Remote Houston” isn’t all it prompts you to ponder. It’s the lingering effect: a giddy awareness that you’re alive.