“One Million Words: Rilke”, Pleasance Dome, Edinburgh

Mark Brown at the Edinburgh Fringe
★★☆☆☆
24 August 2026 

A one-man show that plunges us into the work of the great, Prague-born poet and (fiction and non-fiction) prose writer Rainer Maria Rilke, One Million Words is an intriguing prospect. Created and performed by the Brazilian actor Ivo Müller, the piece has its roots in Müller’s 2010 piece based on Rilke’s extraordinary Letters to a Young Poet.

Those letters offer remarkable insights into the supreme difficulty of love, and the moral and emotional growth (and the living side-by-side) that profound love requires (in counter-distinction to the “becoming one flesh” that religion so often insists upon). The letters – which contradict our society’s fixation upon young love, as depicted in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet – form a significant part of this latest iteration of Müller’s admirable interest in Rilke.

The Brazilian performs his selections from the poet’s various writings on a pleasingly simple set that comprises a small table, two chairs and (suspended from the ceiling, to either side of the table) a white rose and a red apple. These design choices – like the texts that are selected – are more than fine.

The same cannot be said, unfortunately, for the invasive use of coloured lights (for instance, the set is, at a moment Müller considers dramatic, suddenly illuminated in a bright, unforgiving red). The moments in which music and sound are introduced tend to feel more like unwanted invasions than meaningful accompaniments to the text.

Nor does the poor decision-making end there. Aware, presumably, of the danger of the show becoming a mere seated recitation of Rilke’s writings, Müller inserts moments of what appear to be (either by accident or design) gymnastic choreography.

At one point, the actor seems to be doing some kind of arm-strengthening exercise as he stands, hands on a corner of the table, doing a form of push-ups. In another, he exhausts himself by running on the spot.

Neither of these exertions brings anything to the text. Great solo performers – such as the late Michael Gambon and Edinburgh Fringe legend Guy Masterson – know, almost instinctively, how to make movement serve the text.

Sad to say Müller’s movement – like his application of lighting, music and sound – points towards an anxiety (whether conscious or subconscious) that his speaking of the text is lacking. With the best will in the world, one has to say that – in this English-language production, at least (I can’t vouch for the original, Brazilian-Portuguese version) – that anxiety is well-founded.

Performing Rilke’s German texts in English translation over 55 minutes, Müller simply doesn’t have the charisma (or the vocal dexterity) to do justice to the work of one of the twentieth century’s most fascinating and brilliant writers. Nor does it seem necessary for him (in line with Chekhov’s famous dictum that a playwright should not introduce a gun into a drama if they do not intend to use it) to (like Adam in the Garden of Eden) take a bite out of the hanging apple.

Until 31 August: pleasance.co.uk