Viva Espana amigos! But before we get to that, lots and lots of theatre to go over.
So, Thursday, I mistakenly miscalculated the times of one of my shows, and being the exhausted mess I was, I opted against going to my first Pollesch, and instead watched the Spain-Russia semifinal. It was quite the match, with spain dominating the whole time. I was with my friends and a group of Fernando's Spanish friends and we were certainly among the most vocal of Spanish fans. There was quite a funny cooincidence between the way Russians said Russia (Ruhseeah) and the name of Spain's marvelous goalkeeper Iker Casillas (Cahseeah), so when the Spaniards heard the Russians go Ruhseeah, they thought they were saying Casillas, so they'd respond likewise. Each side thought the other side was crazy.
Thursday was a calmer night, I opted to go to bed early since I knew that wouldn't be the case for the rest of the weekend...
Friday, I premiered the Berliner Ensemble to see Bertolt Brecht's version of Antigone...I was particularly interested in this piece since I had read this particular piece was a great inspiration for Heiner Müller to start adapting classic texts and led to the creation of Hamletmachine, which incidentally was on my bill the next day (have I stressed before how perfect this schedule is? It's as if the major berlin theaters knew what class I was taking).
Ok, so, Berliner Ensemble Antigone...
Um...
One Word?
Boooooorrrrrrrrrriiiiinnnngggggggg, and when it wasn't boring it was just plain silly.
The set was two crossed white planks, with a white background and a box in the back. A sort of minimalized version of what a Greek stage might have looked like if you were Le Corbusier. Or something like that.
Ok...so we enter and half the stage is visible the curtain is just a white tarp upon which projected (yes, projected. Plays with video or projection of some sort 12- plays without any multimedia 0 ) upon which projected we have ANTIGONE written in either Zorro handwriting or some Shakesperean scrawl.
I forgot to mention the cheesiest bit, upon the end of the right wood plank, you have a sword sticking out. Thank you TH White. I guess the scene designer was busy reading the 'Man Who Would be King' or watching the Disney adaptation. Ja. Schlecht.
That and the really cheesy fight music that kept going in the background of the absolutely gorgeous theatre, let me know that this was going to be painful. I was just glad it ran only a bit more than an hour. Though I can tell you already it was too long.
One note about the theatre. It is breathtakingly beautiful, but in an incredibly aristocratic way. It's hard to imagine Brecht's epic theatre happening in something that looks like it belongs in Versailles or something. But who knows, Brecht was a genius, he probably found some way to bond with the proletariat in such an obviously bourgeois space.
And the public was as bourgeois as they come. If they werent the obvious german tourists, they were old men and women in suits. The young people you see were most obviously theatre students, or were there with their school (those were the bored ones). Everything about the Berliner Ensemble screams "refined!". Even their programs are thin and fancy, not fashionable or chic like say the Schaubuhne or Gorki's, or artsy and pretentious like Deutsches Theater, or experimental and crazy and pamphlet-like like Volksbühne. These programs (which I decided not to purchase) were thin and genteellady-like, tall and with just a bit of text. As if I were reading off a menu at le cordon bleu. Blech.
You notice that I am spending lots of time speaking about other stuff other than the play. But thats only because there is really nothing much to say about the play.
Sophocles's antigone was my first introduction to greek tragedy. I remember reading it my second semester in Prep (Prep for Prep, that is) and it having a tremendous impact on me. I loved the character of Teireisias most of all, and his wisecracks to the noble Creon. The interesting thing about Antigone in the trilogy, rather than the other two (and in my opinion equally excellent but for different reasons) plays, is that in Antigone we have double-protagonists, each tragic characters for different reasons. Creon, whose job is to uphold the law of state, and then Antigone, whose job is to protect the will of the Gods and the morality of family. Both characters end up getting, for better or for worse, screwed over. And we end up with an interesting dichotomy and something to talk about over Sushi later (well, in Greek times there would be less talking and more hedonistic Bachhanalia, but times they change). I remember reading Anouilh's adaptation of Antigone and finding it interesting how much more sympathetic he makes Creon - putting his whims and his strictness as a way of justifying the will of his people and the security of his state after war. I never fancied Anouilh a neocon!
Wait, so Brecht's antigone. Ok. Well, I really hope Brecht didn't make these directorial choices because they were, how do you say, Crap.
Teireisias begins the play in typical Brechtian fashion by letting everyone know whats going down. he is an alright actor. Old, white shirt, yep, very traditional. So far so good.
Antigone is thankfully a bit less crap than everyone else, and her scene with Ismene is definitely passable. The role of duty as always comes in. Brecht's main job in adapting from the Holderlin translation is to make the text less flowery and the ideas more accessible. So accessible that someone with as little German as I could understand it passably. And by verstehen I mean...well, ein bisschen, ja? Ok Ok...
Creon must have taken the sword in the ground to heart, because he acted more like a disney villain than a Greek Statesman. Something tells me theres no Brecht note in the text that says "Creon must act with his ridiculous cape instead of making any real effort to commiunicate to the audience anything but cape". Yes, he only acted with his cape. When he was mad, he would flap his cape, and he was usually mad. If it were some glorious aesthetic flap, something Wilson like where you can go - eh, at least its pretty. But no, his cape flaps were messy, like some preschooler throwing a tantrum, and the cape was some horrible material between the Spartan capes in 300 and the ripped up canvasses of modern artists. Blech.
When he was mad he would sit in his chair and grumble. And Antigone? She would just smile. Her passionate defense and confidence in the right of her brothers revealed itself in a childish smile, that says to us, I know better than, I am doing this because I must, because I must defend the rights of my family and of tradition. It was more young comrade, than Antigone, but then again this might have been Brecht. But she was far too immature, but since Creon was equally immature you didnt know who to trust. The chorus was an old man and women, the elders of Thebes of course, but they were more clowns, the old lady half either senile or just very sick of everything. She was my favorite, but neither Chorus really was able to save us from what a vapid well of non-acting and half-theatre we witnessed. Scenes would go slowly and painfully, the stagings, ok, they were geometrically sound, but they left nothing to be desired. It was like watching Masterpiece theatre sword in the stone. Borrrring. The soldier and Hamon (sp?) played nearly identical roles, both of them dying in different moments, and not being very clear at all about why that is at all important to us, the audience. My next door neighbor was asleep have the time, and I'm sure she was enjoying herself far more than me.
Especially painful were the chances that they took. I usually like it when directors choose in the name of kitsch or ridiculousness, but these kitschy moments looked like John McCain trying to recite rap lyrics, or one of his aides claiming he is "aware" of the internet. Here we had some cheap Italian Opera and French lounge singing thrown in, just moments, as if our director was going - Hey, look at me, I can be avant-garde too! Hey! Over Here! Yooohooo.
Oh brother.
And the ending, oh brother the ending. First the soldier comes in dead. Antigone, crawls into the black coffin, poisoned by Hemlock. WTF. hemlock? Antigone = socrates? No. No way. No way Jose. Socrates would have come into this play, started fuckin questioning everyone, and soon everyone would be so confused as to what family is, what state is, what right is, that they'd all decided its better to just murder him and go grab some Eis or something.
She crawls into a black coffin and just before she does, we see a glimmer of desperation on her face and then, vanishes! (gag)
Then Hamon comes in with, a WHAT, a gun? Oh come on. It wasnt exactly historically accurate, but you cant have people in breast plates and tunics and then bring out a gun. Not if youre not good enough to keep me entertained. That just makes me mad. And then, he oh what he points the gun at Creon! Oh is he gonna shoot the fucker? Oh no, he shoots himself. How...hollywood.
There is a band of greeks, bass clarinet, trombone and sax, who play some sort of Nyman esque music, they're fine I guess. They got the most applause out of anyone.
Then Teireisias comes back after everyone is dead. Great. I've already given up on the play by then and so little attention is paid. Some old lady dressed in red comes onstage and also mourns. Ismene comes on and FINALLY pulls the sword from the stone, I mean floor and stabs herself. Hurrah.
Finally the play ends, after too much denouement and the silly creon collapsed in hi s chair with the sheet draped over him like a goddamn fort.
Mon dieu.
long night the next night. Mucho partying, standard fare in Berlin. A large factory like club called Tresor. Clubs in Berlin are very much like experiences. Theyre these isolated places that just have layers upon layers. Tresor is an old abandoned factory, which they left in many places intact. Two huge hazy dance floors where techno blares, on one of the top bars theres actually a window out to the rest of the space, you literally see for 200 meters just this hazy factory, completely empty. Totally surreal. The lower dance floor you must walk through a tunnel to get to (sorry about my grammar, the odd german phrasing is getting to me), this place is seriously out there. Back home at 7. Lovely to walk home in the bright daylight.
Saturdayyyy, Christopher Street Day!!
Berlin Gay Pride, it was fabulous. Me and my friends Becky and Steph got all dressed up for the occasion. We decided to cross cross dress, so Becks and Steph were the men and I was the lovely lady for the occasion. Steph's apartment had a piano, so it was nice to finally play a bit. I miss playing piano. When I get back that will be the first thing I touch (after I get into my home). Skirts and makeup were fun, but I'll take my trousers and loose fitting shirts anyday. Plus, having done makeup before (actor, remember?) I can't handle eyeliner without my eyes tearing up and making a fine mess of it. We got quite a few stares on the U Bahn and I was already regretting our choices, but when we got off on Potsdamer Platz, I realized I was probably dressed among the most conservatively.
The parade was wild, and long. Each part of the parade consisting of cars full of dancing half naked men and women (some gay but not all) and then paradeers in all sorts of costumes. So much music, so much alcohol being passed around so much debauchery, it was like one long party. They werent much for floats, or creative cars,but the costumes were amazing, from the lavish to the downright filthy to the so wrong, to the so funny, it was a healthy mix. Even with the rain pouring down on us the party was bumping. Different organizations handed out anything from Condoms (that was most of what they handed out) to lube, to energy bars, to candy, to bottles of water, and stickers, so many stickers. It was a great time. Apparently it was the largest pride party in the world. I can believe it, since the parade took nearly 2 and a half hours to pass through, with nearly 40 stations, each moving quite slowly.
Lovely. Though pictures will speak more than any of my descriptions
Afterwards, we changed, and I got ready for my 13th(!!!!) play in Berlin.
Hamletmachine von Heiner Müller, director Gottscheff...
phewww. Thats all I have to say after seeing nearly a play a day. 4 days (thats it) of rest so far. That means a theatre experience every night. And here they really are experiences.
Hamletmachine was no different. What a mindfuck of a piece already by Heiner Müller and what a quizzical production by Gottscheff, one of the most acclaimed of German directors after Castorf, Thalheimer (who regrettably I wont be able to see his version of 12th night) and Ostermeier.
The stage design here is usually flawless and this was no exception. Completely empty stage except for these 10 horizontal coffin-like rectangular holes. 5 on each side. They were lit at different points of these plays, and these holes led to the austerity of the piece.
It's easy to think of Hamletmachine as any director's litmus test. It is exceptionally confusing with stage directions that verge on the impossible and text that wavers from complete madness to absolute political pain.
Gottscheff's decision to cast himself is an interesting one, and he dominates the stage for most of it.
First we have a much younger actor in red speak the first paragraph or so. He does it with nearly a smile on his face. He looks very plain and boring and his eneunciation is perfect. He speaks into a microphone (no cameras in this show, but yes microphone. 13- 0 )and as he does so, his voice begins repeating itself in the different speakers, creating a disembodied ocean of sound. Go sound design!
This was an interesting choice for Hamlet, the piece in Gottscheff's hands is almost like a requiem. The repeating voices continuing even almost as Hamlet comes offstage. We have Gottscheff's powerful figure and terrifying visage (he is an old ugly man, to say the least) and as he stands we have the curtains dramatically rise up from behind him, looking as if a sea of black is coming in from outside. It is an incredibly powerful moment and gave us all chills. The actors were all frontlit from now on so with each figure you have a terrifying spectral shadow behind them. Hamletmachine for Gottscheff is about ghosts, the ghosts of idealism, the ghosts of shakespeare, the ghosts of the murdered father, but 10 holes in the ground that Gottscheff at times speaks to, seem to represent more than just the father, but all the characters, even himself, perhaps even the mass graves that bear the 20th century's trademark.
Gottscheff is a bad actor, we all know that (by that I mean he makes it quite clear to us). He speaks slowly and obviously, but part of that makes me think he does it on purpose. He wants to show us himself, his bad acting self, to complete the vulnerable move of Hamletmachine, he never rips up Müller's portrait like it says to do in the text, but the behavior of Gottscheff, the sort of revelation of a weak and almost pathetic seeming dictator is the theatrical equivalent of that. It is almost painful to watch. He speaks so slowly and painfully as if he were reciting back to a schoolmarm. He speaks right at us, wanting us to get every single word. Every german word is shown in its weakest state, not in its powerful angry tempestous haze, but its broken syllabic pathetic nature. verstehen becomes feh-shteh-en, that slow, vielleicht, fiel-eichhh-t. Achhhh It makes me shiver. He talks right into the empty holes that now glow. It goes on for too long however, we get the idea and his tone doesn't change. Shame though, it was quite a good first moment.
And then Ofelia. Ok, so I knew what to expect. Müller gives Ofelia what I believe to be the best lines in the play, the most strong, the most violent, the most fetid lines. And the actress was the opposite, she was this cute short blonde german girl, couldnm't be too old probably in her late 20's in an adorable yellow dress. She would smile sweetly at the audience, a smirk perhaps, but still sweet. A microphone (13-0) comes down to her, except it stays quite high so she must crane her neck completely upwards.
And then.....all hell breaks loose. That girl had Cerberus locked inside her or something. She groans and screams and says her lines in such a low completely evil growl that I feel the room shake. She screams, but it is not the scream of a hollywood damsel in distress or the bloodcurdle of a ripe teenage sacrifice in a slasher film, it is the scream of medea it is the scream of lady macb, it is the scream of the banshee ripping off her flesh. There is a different quality to a scream like that. The blood curdle is smooth, as if you were doing a glissando on a piano. This scream is dirty, you can literally feel the muscles grating, the tissue trembling, you can feel the schmutz and the mucus and the fatigue, you can imagine a nail going through rusty strings, a violin with a broken bow being ferociously rapped. She screams IMMMEEERRRR (to herself away from the mic) and then speaks again, this Immer is a scream but it is held in as if her own organs were revolting. She manages the feat of making Heiner Müller's stage directions useless as you can see those images performed in the mere words themselves, ripped apart. The most terrifying thing? She ends this feat, thsi feat of horror that no applause follows, just shocked silence, and then merely smiles, curtsies and leaves.
Gottscheff goes on, reaching the famed, I am not hamlet I am an actor line and suddenly you dont really care. You see him reading now, the words off the text, but xou cant communicate, this girl has exorcised you from theatre. You sit in your chair, numb.
There are voiceovers in english (when Müller indicates) that seem recited by Jimmy Stewart. They are funny, but I am still in blunt trauma shock.
Hamletmachine became Hamletcoffin became Hamletwtf became Hamletexorcism.
Theres a bit more. Gottscheff sits back down in the audience (they all originally came from the audience as well), and the curtain comes down, revealing a stage again. Hamlet pops up again from a trap onstage. Gets real mad. Then sits with Gottscheff.
Last image, smiling Ofelia comes on, silent scream. BLACKOUT.
Chilling.
-----------------------------
Saturday night one more party. This was the CSD party, in Berlin the best clubs tend to be gay clubs, and on gay night this was no different. A hefty fee to a high rise in Alexanderplatz led to a kickin dance floor with a drag queen dj playing pop. Loads and loads of shirtless men dancing with men in various stages of making out. There were all sorts of people, but that dominated the night. I didnt see as much of the opposite, not many girls with girls. It was a mixed dance floor though, old young gay straight bi black white latino asian. It was a great mix every one just dancing and feeling the music. When we wanted to take a break, a rooftop bar (drinks are too expensive to even mention, so I didnt have any) where we watched the dawn, and walked back home with our tired legs.
SUnday night the Euromeisterschaft FINALE!! We went to Brandenburger Tor where there were over a million people. We found a good spot. I was a bit freaked, my Spanish friend was moreso, and seeing a dearth of spanish flags (there were a few brave souls) decided to see the match in a more welcome venue. Something in my veins always worries me when there are so many germans grouped together. Probably too much History Channel. It was incredible though, German flags everywhere, people chanting and screamign different soccer hymns. People passing by with cartons of beer nearly on the minute.
We waited for so goddamn long standing up. But it was a unique experience. Too bad Germany lost. Spain played better and I was (secretly) rooting for Spain though my German flag strapped to my bag was there only for protection (jk).
Germans may be rude and certainly aggressive when it comes to fußball, but it never got too out of hand. Theyre perfectly willing (if not more) to pick a fight with one of their own than a foreigner. As a woman I met at the game told me, Berliners treat everyone equally as bad. It wasnt that bad though, the game was dissapointing, but it was alright. Spain totally deserved to win, and I was glad they did. Even if it meant no party in Berlin that night. We got home safe and all, and we had quite the walk across unter den linden. Throngs of angry fans still chanting, or people walking back. The streets were closed and it was pretty great to see all those people marching on the historic square.
All in all an interesting, must-do experience. But I prefer a Theaterstuck to a Fußballspiel anyday (unlee it's argentina or boca hehe)
well thats all for now (long entry I know). Tonight Pollesch! (finally!!)
Tschüss!
- J
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