How queer is Dionysos allowed to be ?
Barrie Kosky directs Die Fledermaus in Munich (****½) [stream]
It took the Bayerische Staatsoper twenty-one years to admit Die Fledermaus to the canon of works played on the Isar, five years after the work's final consecration at the Vienna State Opera. The very Parsifal conductor Hermann Levi would lead the premiere in 1895.
“I'm not really a big operetta fan. I have only devoted myself to this one piece so far, because for me it is simply one of the best things ever composed in the western hemisphere - both in the field of musical theater and in the field of purely orchestral music. I am simply an absolute Johann Strauss fan. I think his music is like a drug. If you fall for the drug, it's forever. And I'm in very good company. Because if you look at the statements of his contemporaries, whether it's Richard Wagner or Giuseppe Verdi or Johannes Brahms: they were all madly in love with Strauss”. These are surprising words that Vladimir Jurowski speaks in an interview with BR Klassik. In the program booklet, he also states : "Dionysos is our god. He is the god of theater". That sounds like music to our ears. Dionysos is also the god of wine. And let that be the main theme of Die Fledermaus.
"In my opinion, purely updating does not work on many levels for Die Fledermaus. You have to honor tradition, but at the same time break away from it," says director Barrie Kosky quite rightly. And that is exactly what he did in Munich. The good news is that he succeeded, too. In doing so, he has succinctly formulated what the reactionary segment of the opera audience just does not want to understand: honoring tradition and breaking away from it at the same time is the adage of true conservatism. Of course, it comes as no surprise that Kosky turns Die Fledermaus into a revue operetta, partly recalling the style with which he pulled the Berlin operetta from under the dust at the Komische Oper. As a result, the Viennese character of the piece is somewhat affected but not lost. The Viennese accent and melodiousness of Georg Nigl and Diana Damrau's attempts to emulate him in this stand for it. However, playful touches on local Viennese situations are completely absent from the text. Let that be a concern for the Vienna State Opera. Any political allusion, which usually places the operetta on the edge of a volcano like WWI or II, is also barred. No brownshirts in this production. Kosky reserves such comments for the composers with whom he himself has not come to terms and with whom he has a bone to pick. He did it with Richard Wagner at Bayreuth.
The overture, staged as a delightful pantomime, is like a nightmare by Gabriel von Eisenstein. Chased by dancing bats (does he anticipate the vengeance of Dr. Falke?) he wanders the streets of nineteenth-century Vienna, reconstructed from old facades, to finally pause at the breakfast table of a coffee house. The houses are modularly conceived so that they themselves can dance. In the finale of the second act, the facades will peel off like wallpaper: a very clever realization by scenographer Rebecca Ringst. By putting the Eisensteins' bourgeois salon on the street, Kosky has turned Otto Schenk's outdated staging, which ran for decades in both Munich and Vienna, inside out. It is a great opening move in his chess game with tradition. The delightful Katharina Konradi is really funny as Adèle, even when she has to play the crybaby. Diana Damrau's petulantly-charming Rosalinde, addicted to the high C of tenors, especially when it comes from Alfred, fits the refreshing, slightly challenging mood. "Glücklich ist wer vergist," the actual maxime of the piece, is among the best moments of the evening. It is also the best summary one can give of the Kosky concept.
Coming from a country where gender reassignment surgery is gradually being banned, presenting Russian Prince Orlofsky as a flamboyant drag queen is the pinnacle of decadence. Queerness is smuggled into the second act . This should come as no surprise : after all, "Chacun à son goût" is his motto. The gender fluid bearded girls of the chorus are equipped with feathers, sequin dresses and boas. Costume designer Klaus Bruns drew inspiration from the taboo-breaking theater of the legendary Coquettes, a hippie collective from 1960s San Francisco. Die Fledermaus, a farce that can go either way, can take a lot in that regard. From the wings an occasional waltzing chamber orchestra sounds in a soft tone during the dialogues. Of course Adèle provokes another climax in "Mein Herr Marquis," tickling Eisenstein during the laughing passage. "Klänge der Heimat" can't quite match that, nor is the watch duet among the evening's best moments. And that's due to the mediocre vocal performances of both Nigl and Damrau. A battery of twinkling chandeliers descends from the stage towers on the colorful ensemble during the utopian atmosphere of fraternization. "Brüderlein und Schwesterlein" is the magnificent resting point of the evening. Too bad it is introduced by a somewhat hesitant Markus Brück as Dr. Falke and the chorus sounds rather chaotic at the beginning. Stormy jubilation follows the "Donner und Blitz" polka enlivened with ten butt-wiggling dancers in Otto Pichler's choreography. Dr. Falke quietly awaits Eisenstein's demise. The latter may conclude the second act, swaying from side to side, hanging from one of the chandeliers.
Metal facade scaffolding is now the backdrop for the third act. Kosky does not think it is funny to laugh at an alcoholic. For decades, that was the general course of the performance of prison guard Frosch, the Jedermann of operetta. And so Kosky breaks with the tradition of making time-critical cabaret out of his monologue. Instead comes slapstick and Frosch gets 5 doubles. You can never have enough slapstick in a comedy, the director believes. Max Pollak provides a brilliant tap dance interlude complemented by body percussion which Jurowski blends into the Pizzicato polka. Meanwhile, the queerness of prison warden Frank has taken an upward turn. Here he appears on pumps and in a silver sequined panty from which he digs up the prison's keys. He will also drink soap and blow bubbles. With "Spiel ich die Unschuld vom Lande," Adèle takes a last gamble to find a sponsor for her theatrical career. She succeeds : after all, she has long been the star of the evening. When the masks have come off, only the champagne remains.
Katharina Konradi's roots are in Kyrgyzstan. She is indistinguishable in every way from her Russian colleagues who make up the champions league among sopranos. She has the technique for perfect coloraturas and radiant high notes. The fun required playing Adèle and her feminine coquetry : it all fits her like a glove. This is a little more challenging with Diane Damrau, formerly Adèle in service but now making her debut as Rosalinde. She has lost the obvious ease with which she used to sing such roles. Often she sounds strained and the voice loses focus. Georg Nigl, clearly in his element with comic roles like this can demonstrate his talent for comic roles but vocally he does not have much to offer in this piece. With Andrew Watts, Orlofsky is cast with a countertenor. This does not always work well. Some high notes escape him, sometimes the intonation is impure and the sound is not balanced over the entire range. In Amsterdam, Lorenzo Viotto's sister will sing the part. Martin Winkler is quick to indulge in overacting. Think of his failed Baron Ochs in Brussels. In this piece, overacting is not easily a problem. Sean Pannikar was a terrific Loge in Kosky's Rheingold. Here he has another opportunity to demonstrate his acting talent and his efficient tenor.
Through Carlos Kleiber, the music of Die Fledermaus is part of the DNA of the Bayerisches Staatsorchester. Vladimir Jurowski makes the orchestra sound more angular, sometimes with quirky tempi.
Watch the show at Arte Concert.