ELISABETH … an historic historical musical

 I have just flown in from Vienna, after a little visit of two days.

Two days. Why only two days?

Well, I went to see a musical. A musical which had already played Vienna last time I was there…  fifteen or twenty years ago. And which has been playing in the city and out of it ever since. But, somehow, I always managed, everywhere, to miss it. Which was distinctly unfortunate, for Elisabeth is the most successful central European piece of musical theatre of the modern era. Perhaps of any era.

What Jesus Christ Superstar, Evita or Les Misérables are to English-speaking parts of the world, in terms of success or in terms of historical importance, Elisabeth is to this part of the world. And as a writer on, and historian of, the musical theatre, it was pretty culpable of me not ever to have seen it. So on Tuesday I got on a plane, and headed for Vienna, for the show’s latest season at the Raimundtheater.

And now I know exactly why it has been so successful.

Like the three shows mentioned above, Elisabeth is based on history. The tale of the Empress known as ‘Sis[s]i’ is known everywhere – particularly, of course, in Austria and Hungary -- and she has been the subject of plays, films and of a number of previous vaguely historical musical stage works of the romantic kind, composed by musicians from Fritz Kreisler to Francis Lopez.

This one – words Michael Kunze, music Sylvester Levay -- is different. It follows the facts of Sisi’s personal and political life, in relation to four men: her husband, the Emperor Franz Josef, her ill-fated son, Rudolf, her assassin, Lucheni, the narrator of the tale … and ‘Der Tod’. Death ... personified by an attractive young man, who is at her shoulder, ever present, throughout her often unhappy life, until its end, and the end of the show.

A lush musical score sweeps this story on, through the panorama of court and country politics, until the show reaches it apotheosis in one of my favourite stage-pictures ever: the magnificent sinking of the old Europe and those who sailed in it, in the shadow of the new century.

The story is by nature episodic, but the show largely avoids a ‘and then she did’ flavour in its series of dramatic scenes and musical pieces. Since I have to find something to quibble about in a show which simply doesn’t permit too many quibbles, a whorehouse scene which reeked of the conventional and the Wildhorny was probably the only small portion of the show that left me less than staunchly enthusiastic.

I gather the production at the Raimundtheater is largely, in scenery and direction – and give or take a change of stage – much as the Harry Kupfer original. That must have been startling in 1992. It’s still pretty startling. But what is truly startling, is the casting. As I well know, from my casting years, when you are on to a fifth or fifteenth or twentieth cast change, where do you go? How many young women have played the large and difficult role of the Empress?  Well, I refuse utterly to believe that anyone, from Trier to Tokio, has played it as well as the present incumbent of the part, a young Dutch actress and singer, by name Annemieke van Dam.

Hers was one of the best performances, in any role in any show, that I have seen in a decade. Or two. Firstly, she is ‘wondrous fair’. Sisi was famously beautiful. This lady has a serene beauty which makes you gasp. Secondly, she is the most sympathetic and skilled actress imaginable. And third, she can sing. Oh, can she sing. Her singing of the show’s principal solo, ‘Ich gehör nur mir’, was simply golden.

The world has changed. I remember how amazed we all were when Elaine Paige took a E in chest voice on the first night of Evita. Elisabeth peaks on an F sharp. In what I am sure was pure chest. My friend Paul, who was my theatre companion on Tuesday, is a Proper Musician and a very good judge of theatre. I checked with him to be sure (a) my ear was right, and (b) that I wasn’t falling head over heels with an actress. He was with me, all the way.

Beautiful, beautiful performance. But please be careful Miss van Dam. Repeated chest F sharps come at a price…

The four men (all tending more or less to the tenor range) fufilled their parts splendidly. Lucheni (Kurosch Abbasi) rolled the narrative along with gleeful and (welcome) comical cynicism, Franz Josef (Jörn-Felix Alt) – in necessarily a dramatically ungrateful role – joined warmly in duet with his Empress, and with the blondely top-singing Death (Mark Seibert) in the fine first act final trio version of the hit number. Rudolf’s role is a short one, but Lukas Perman made a distinct impression in his distraught solos.

Daniela Ziegler was the ‘evil’ mother, who – in one of the show’s most effective scenes – showed herself to be not evil at all, just pragmatic, and there was a splendid cameo by Sonja Schatz as a madwoman who fancies herself to be Elisabeth.

But, in the end, the show revolves around Elisabeth herself. And with this radiant Elisabeth, nothing else is possible.

I went to see a show, and I saw a performance with a capital P.

But, of course, one can’t be radiant in an ordinary role, in an ordinary show.

So I saw a show as well. With a capital S. A major and important show, which I hope the English-speaking world will one day share.

I’m glad I didn’t wait any longer to see it.

FROM A PLUS TO C MINUS

The next night, we went to see the same management’s other Vienna production: a German version of the musical version of Legally Blonde (curiously retitled Natürlich Blonde) (songs: O’Keefe and Benjamin; book: Heather Hach).

At half time, I said ‘The English-speaking world is welcome to this one. And I’ll speak French’.

Loud, strident, brainless, charmless, loud, loud ... quite awful.

But someone found a sense of humour and half a tune in the interval, the orchestra and singers intermittently stopped blasting ff, the plot cheered up nicely, and this alarming representative of the Broadway musical 21st century (and of Hollywood) became quite bearable. Not the least because of the hectic efforts of the brave young cast.

So, it seems that the days are well and truly gone when America produced the quality shows, and central European works were an embarrassment.

I wonder where history will lead us next. And when. And if I’ll be around to see and hear it.

OPERETTE LIVES or, Back to the Future

I have been shuddering under the memory of the appalling, amateurish Blume von Hawaii at the dreaded Halle Theater for a couple of years now. So I haven’t been to many Operette performances in Germany since. But the grand Toi c’est moi in Altenburg cheered me largely. And tonight’s premiere of Pál Ábrahám’s Ball im Savoy at the Komische Oper cheered me all over again.

Ball im Savoy is the third of Ábrahám’s trio of successful (in Germany) Operettes of the early 1930s. It’s also the least colourful and the most conventional as regards libretto, and the least original musically. Which is probably why tonight’s version fiddled with the book and introduced better-known music from his better shows. But, minor Ábrahám is better than major almost anyone else of the period … so, hey, thanks!

I didn’t know what to expect tonight. You see so many distorted, old-fashioned regietheater productions of all kinds of shows in German theatres. Or did. But I knew, from the moment the orchestra (md: Adam Benzwi) started, that I was going to enjoy myself. The overture was accompanied by a front-cloth screening of the most adorable, imaginative silhouettes … I’ve never seen anything so clever. If it was original, it was staggering. What a good start!

The show proper began less well. Music awry, leading man voiceless … but it soon came right, once the chorus came on. My goodness, that chorus! They sang and danced at full blast and full rate all evening!  It was actually 40 minutes into Act one before we got a slow, soft, solo-stage number without a huge dance-break … and, as good as the young dancers were, what a relief it was. It really had been rather frenetic and relentless.

And it would be again, as the stage filled with whirling dancers, joyous comical interaction (director: Barrie Kosky), marvellously silly costumes, first-class supporting players, an hilarious elevator ('Who's coming?') … oh yes! crazy, colourful, inconsequential, and fairly campy Operette! Yes!

By and large, design, direction and choreography were all gold star winners. Except when they mixed up vulgarity with fun. The poor lady who had to do a simulated orgasm (for no reason) on stage diminished her performance, and whoever made her do it, did ditto to the show. The same goes for the childish cock and twat business from the otherwise excellent choreographer (Otto Pichler). Grow up, little boys. When the rest of your work is so supremely good, why do that stuff? Yawn.

Which brings us to the principal players.

Here, honestly, I was a little disappointed.

This show has two leading ladies – which is supreme, depends on which version you do. We had more Gitta Alpár and less Marika Rökk, and almost no – alas - Rózsi Bársony. Originally, the pairing was singing prima donna and dancing soubrette. Not any more. Anyway, both players, tonight, were good, but imperfect.

Dagmar Manzel is a deliciously funny comedy actress – her Greta Garbo (or was it Zarah Leander) imitation was a hoot – and when she sings in the lower register she produces some splendid sounds. Alas, the soprano top is worn and unreliable. But she sang her two quiet solos – the blessed relief ones – delightfully, and didn’t go too far over the top in her Hello, Dolly bits of acting. So, all in all, a firm ‘yes’. How many actresses can do all that?

Katharine Mehrling, in the Bársony role, did go over the top. This young lady seems equipped to be a first-class Operette player. When she got a rare chance to sing properly, she was stunning. She has style too. Great style. But apparently doesn’t do the Bársony dancing. Instead, we had grotesque low comedy. Fair enough. We had enough dance elsewhere. The audience adored her. I liked her. But … she can do much better than this. When toned down a tad.

The third lady of the piece is Tangolita, the sultry Rita Hayworth seductress. This role was inspiredly cast with plunging contralto Agnes Zwierko, who played the temptress as the Italian lady from Nine, in a wholly and utterly successful way. Great idea, great performance, gorgeous singing, a treat!

So, the ladies, all scored a 'fine' or even better. I cannot say the same for the leading men. So I will pass by in silence. Singing in time and tune is a necessity for even the most striving of very-light-barihunks. And if you are going to play a charming, light-comedy, dance role, it helps if you have an ounce of charm, a touch of real as opposed to pasted-on comedy and some dance ability.

But there were compensations elsewhere! Grand ones. One of the big hits of the night was a rearrangement of the show’s best-known song ‘Toujours l’amour’, sung so wonderfully sweetly by Peter Renz and Christiane Oertel as to have me jumping from my seat. The other, was a cleverly arranged and splendidly sung rendition of Ábrahám’s Goodnight song (one of the borrowed bits from Viktoria und ihr Husar), sung as a curtain piece by the whole company.

There were so many great moments tonight. In a 3 ¼ hour show (too long! cut some dialogue, some dance-breaks and the cursed second verses) you can’t like everything. And if I’m sounding grumpy here, it’s just that ... well, I wanted it to be perfect … and, heck, what in this world is perfect?

It was a grand evening. And it reaffirmed my growing belief that Germany can still produce first class Operette in a joyous and adult style …

Bravo! Komische Oper! You are leading us (back) to the future.

Viva il Vino!

Tonight, to the Grüner Salon of the Volksbühne, for my latest bit of multi-coloured Berlin entertainment.

And another splendid evening.

Actually after Felix Bloch Erben’s lavish and lovely riverside party yesterday, I thought I wouldn’t be saying ‘Viva il vino’ for a few hungover days: but….

Tonight, my date was with ‘Riccardo Vino and the Technicolors’.

Sounds odd doesn’t it. I’ve no idea why the 6-part band are Technicolors (especially as they were all dressed in unrelieved black), but what’s in a name?

The Grüner Salon was the ideal place for this programme. A slightly tatty 1930s 200-seater salle, decked out with green everythings, a jolly good bar (nooooo!), an excellent sound system, glitter balls, lovely waitresses … took me back to the Blackpool of my young days.

 The programme. Il Signor Vino is a handsome, dapper, clever Italian man-boy (age? somewhere between teenage and middleage!) with a very attractive and unpretentious singing voice (no vibrato!) and a definitely appealing style.

He chatted (in German, and a little too much) and sang (in Italian and English, and not enough) to the music of his excellent band through an interesting musical evening, with, as always, some highs and lows. We had everything from ‘Arrivederci Roma’ to ‘By a Waterfall’, to a particularly good version of ‘The Trolley Song’, via some much more novel, tasty and tuneful stuff from the Italian back catalogue.

Let me say right away, it was a thoroughly enjoyable evening. The ‘act’ – which was in the way of being a first-time showcase – has a very definite potential. But at the moment it doesn’t quite know where it’s going. The first half I found delightful: grand 1930s-ish songs, sung with a perfect command of the manner, and with stylish little touches and movements that made me think of the wonderful French (I don’t know the Italians) chanteurs de charme of the years between the wars.

But the second half wandered off into a (well-done) imitation of a 50s pop singer and a rather unpleasant song about American whisky (?!!!) and rock’n’roll … and all the work done, so successfully, to establish the personnage of the charming Italian light-comedy-leading-man in part one went down the drain. We were into il signor Vino doing his cabaret act.

Is that what the show is supposed to be? If so, shame. Because the Riccardo of part one was what I wanted to see. He was delicious. Let him sing about ‘primavera’ and ‘amore’ and leave the Americano stuff to the folk who aren’t gifted as he is.

 OK. I have to mention the name. Max Raabe. Whom I love. Riccardo could undoubtedly become an Italian Raabe. He has a better voice, potentially equal style ... but he doesn’t have – as yet – the experience, the confidence, the consistency of Raabe. It’s in there, but he needs a director, a …. well, he probably needs me. As I was.

Il Signor Vino is a work in progress. If he gets the right help, I am sure he will progress fast. And make himself a name. If I were still an agent, I’d take him on: and shackle him securely to the 20s and 30s repertoire …

But, I’m not, so, in the meantime, I’ll just watch and wait … and say, good luck Riccardo, your future is really in your own hands…

DIVINE DUETS amongst dead pianos ...

When I got back to Berlin a couple of months ago, and was sorting out my concertising programme for the coming months, Paul said to me ‘you’d like the Piano Salon’. So we booked to go to a concert. And the diva cancelled. Douche froide.

But we tried again, and actually found a much more exciting programme …

Tonight we visited the Salon to hear two young girls singing the wonderful duet music of Mendelssohn, Brahms, Schumann and some surprising others.

The venue, first. The Piano Salon Christophori in the Uferstrasse by the little river Panke. Christoph, who runs it, is a surgeon. His hobby is restoring old pianos. And in amongst the warehouseful of beautiful ailing, disjointed and retired old keyboard machines he has created a delightful 150-seat area where all sorts of concerts are played.

It’s a place of musical dreams. It is a joy. And it certainly was tonight.

The art of the duet has largely died. But in the later 19th century it was alive and singing, and such as Mendelssohn, Brahms or Schumann wrote some glorious pieces for two female voices, pieces which became huge international hits in the hands of such as Britain’s Williams sisters, or Frlns Friedländer and Redeker. Tonight, Bele Kumberger and Lena Haselmann brought the tradition, for me, alive again in the 21st century, in a superbly chosen programme of largely two-part music.

Duet singing is a very special art. Like doubles in tennis, it is not a case of one and one makes two. Togetherness is the key…

Our two ladies tonight did pretty well on all counts. They had an obvious empathy, and excellent technical and timing skills. My only slight worry was that their splendidly sympathetic voices did not entirely ‘match’. Miss Kumberger has a vibrant and bright-textured soprano organ, powerful and sometimes thrilling. Miss Haselmann has a warmer, more softly-grained voice. Not a true mezzo, more a shy soprano, I reckon, and she excelled richly and colourfully in, especially, the French music. So, for me, some duets – mostly those where the mezzo part was more for a second soprano rather than a quasi-contralto -- worked better, vocally, than others.

They opened their programme – daringly - with a delightful interpretation of perhaps the best-known duet of its time, Mendelssohn’s ’I would that my love’; topped everything in the next set with Brahms’s grand ‘Die Schwestern’, which burst the audience into spontaneous applause (it always got an encore in the nineteenth century!) and, in the second half, introduced me to the simply glorious music of the French composer Ernest Chausson. Some Delibes, some Britten (including a very odd ‘Ash Grove’) and an interesting but uninspiring Saint-Saens to finish … oh! encores were inevitable. I shouted audibly for a repeat of ‘Die Schwestern’. Sadly, they only gave us the British Airways Lakmé duet, which didn’t go quite right.

It is thrilling to find young artists of this ability devoting themselves to the great duet music of the last two centuries. Thrilling to listen to that music well sung.  Thrilling to find a venue like the Piano Salon where they can sing it. So it was – no other word -- a thrilling night.

And free. Wine – all you can drink – included!  Donations at the door. I dug deep. If these girls are good enough to treat me to music like that…  they deserve it.

 I hope they go on to be the ‘Williams sisters’ (not Serena and Venus! the singers were Ann and Martha) of today. Perhaps with a third attractive girl as a permanent pianist? In this kind of show, it’s really a team-of-three effort. There were some odd tempi and things from the rather self-effacing but smilingly supportive piano tonight, and I could feel Paul’s pianistic hands wanting to leap to the keyboard…

But enough. Bele and Lena, thank you for a great night out. Christoph too. Until next time! And next time … repeat ‘Die Schwestern’.