Technoboss

Luis Rovisco, geschieden und kurz vor der Pensionierung, bereist mit dem Auto das Land, um Sicherheitssysteme zu installieren. Zwar verwirren ihn die neuesten Entwicklungen und er bringt manches durcheinander, was für schöne Jacques-Tati-Effekte sorgt – doch kann ihn das nicht mehr wirklich berühren. Auf seinen endlosen Fahrten lässt er zum Klang des Radios lustvoll seine Singstimme vibrieren und schafft es schließlich sogar, with a song and a smile, seine alte Liebe Lucinda noch einmal für sich zu entflammen. TECHNOBOSS ist eine nahe am Absurden gebaute Mischung aus Roadmovie und Musical und stellt gleichzeitig beide Genres auf den Kopf. (Thomas Mießgang)

In Anwesenheit von João Nicolau.

“I have lived through travels and travails.” With its hint of the pompous language of ancient epics, this statement is probably a bit of an exaggeration, since Luis Rovisco, a man well into his sixties, has mostly travelled as a salesman and security consultant, and his travails are those of an employee in a small company. If he sees reason to complain, it may have to do with the increasingly intricate technology of the devices he sells and installs for SegurVale – Integrated Systems of Access Control. Luis works in a field with a bright future: the control of society. If he maintains a sort of sluggish distance to the travels and travails of this field, he may very well become something like a monument of resistance. João Nicolau stands firmly in the small Portuguese tradition of workplace surrealism, which was already recognizable in ARABIAN NIGHTS by Miguel Gomes and came into its own with A FABRICA DE NADA by Pedro Pinho. The dancing strikers in the “Nothing Factory” have a lone successor in Luis, who sings himself to an unlikely, even utopian happy ending, which can, of course, only be one of lost access control. (Bert Rebhandl)

In the presence of João Nicolau.