Die Dreigroschenoper (The Threepenny Opera) opened in Berlin’s Theater am Schiffbauerdamm 95 years ago, the home of the Berliner Ensemble since 1954 after its foundation by Bertolt Brecht in 1949. Lowbrow for aristocratic operagoers, highbrow for the theatre, the work has challenged performers and audiences ever since with its often bitter social message tempered with catchy tunes and strong storyline on London lowlife. Expectations were high for this UK premiere of Barrie Kosky’s production for the Berliner Ensemble, one of the hottest tickets at this year’s Edinburgh International Festival.
Kosky’s production was part of a planned Kurt Weill Festival in Berlin, completely disrupted by the pandemic, but more positively allowed for extended development and rehearsal of what Kosky admits is a difficult work to get right. The premiere was postponed five times and the work became radically adapted, sorting out the “dramaturgical jumble” in the final act, and making it speak to today’s audience. Rehearsal in the theatre still using Brecht‘s original production desk may have cast ghostly shadows, but Kosky’s bold approach, choosing a rep company of actors who can sing rather than an opera company, capitalised on the Berliner’s powerful ensemble style. Toning down the abrasion, bark and snark, what emerged was a tangled and intriguing love story, sung and spoken in German, with racy and often amusing supertitles: “This isn’t Shakespeare, this is Brecht!”
Designer Rebecca Ringst's set is a black, rickety jungle-gym of movable towers, all ladders and platforms with sparkling silver strip curtains appearing, dramatically and boldly lit by Ulrich Eh. Dinah Ehm’s modern-day costume designs continue the monochrome theme, apart from Macheath’s women appearing in radiantly coloured garb, an instant focus, like the blood from Macheath’s victims. The set moves about to become an urban playground for assignments, deals and clambering high heeled chases, to a subterranean prison as Macheath’s clock counts down.
With just a face in a tiny pool of light emerging through the silver glitter setting the scene, we were in safe hands as Josefin Platt’s Moon over Soho embraced the show’s hit “Mack the Knife” with stinging intensity. Tilo Nest, in a suave smoking jacket, and Pauline Knof, in a sable coat, were the superficially elegant Peachums, running their shady beggar business but unable to control their wayward daughter Polly – a star turn from Cynthia Micas, oozing defiant attitude but wistfully singing about Pirate Jenny. Gabriel Schneider’s louche Macheath (Mackie Messer) was riveting, confident and completely unrepentant of the trail of disappointed and furious women in his wake and of his lengthy list of crimes. He harangued the musicians mercilessly, reaching down and seizing the score from conductor Adam Benzwi and burning it in a tin bucket. Keeping the Edinburgh audience on its toes, a roving spotlight sought a random singer, Kosky the showman breaking the fourth wall with mischievous menace.
Bettina Hoppe was a robustly soulful Jenny, Amelie Willberg a dangerously wronged Lucy Brown, battling fearlessly with Polly over Macheath’s favours. In a nifty piece of casting, Kathrin Wehlisch played Tiger Brown as a trouser role, bringing a homoerotic slant on those army days in India with Macheath, her Chaplinesque walk and gestures a nod to Brecht’s admiration of the comic actor.
For a company of singing actors, getting the songs across is a challenge, the technique very different from opera, performers using a Sprechgesang approach where music meets speech. The individually miked singers portrayed the drama well, although the sound mix was on the harsh side in ensemble numbers. The athletic stagecraft was engrossing, the set pieces gripping, Kosky somehow making the violence amusing by adding slapstick. Macheath was comically fed asparagus by Tiger Brown as his last chosen meal and was then hung, hoisted high above the stage awaiting his alternative ending pardon.
The tiny Berliner orchestra, just seven lively players covering fifteen instruments, was a spiky powerhouse, attacking the score with depth and insight, Benzwi conducting from harmonium and piano. Double bass, winds, brass and percussion allowed colours to brilliantly dazzle, each instrumentalist very much part of the whole ensemble, Macheath casting them as shady accomplices in early stage–pit banter.
A “Love Me” banner appears in lights at the end as a narcissistic Macheath, now in a sharp suit, gets ready to return to the underworld. The senior Peachums are the stable couple, but everyone else is pitched back into the lonely city. Can Brecht and Weill ever be truly fun? Kosky’s mantra that “there is nothing worse than being preached at for three hours” translates into a stylish, high energy experience. The audience clearly bought into it, and if they felt even a tiny tinge of guilt for complicit over-enjoyment, then Kosky got this work spot on.
