Weber’s Der Freischütz is well-known – and variously admired or deplored – as one of the seminal works of German musical Romanticism. Despite its fame and influence, it isn’t now encountered on stage as often as that fact might warrant, though no doubt its association with the emergence of a German national identity puts off some producers and opera houses. It’s certainly not off limits for Swiss director Christoph Marthaler, however, who takes a keen interest in that repertoire, and has developed a distinctive theatrical idiom of the absurd, inspired by the Dada movement, for both the ordinary and musical stages. For a Flemish audience there’s the additional, complicating factor that this opera (in Dutch translation) inaugurated the present theatre at Antwerp when it first became an opera house in 1893, at a time when that Belgian region sought to counter the prevailing Francophone culture with more Germanic repertoire.
Marthaler adapts the scenario (especially the dialogue) while remaining broadly faithful to the overall points of the plot to satirise the mindset and culture of a small town or village club, such as the Rotary or Lions Clubs or freemasonry, where the common interest in this case is shooting. It’s brought forward from its unspecified time in the distant past to a roughly modern setting in the 1960s, but Marthaler’s characteristic scene of a sclerotic, fusty social grouping is still wittily recognisable today: its members – presided over by Karl-Heinz Brandt’s lugubrious, deadpan Ottakar – stare emptily and miserably into their glasses of beer, occasionally and nostalgically recalling past triumphs. Ostensible words of advice from the older members of the club become rather ponderous, sententious clichés, and given the context of this performance in Flanders, one wonders whether there is an ironic nod to the representation of old sayings in some Flemish art, such as Pieter Bruegel’s ingenious collation of over one hundred in Netherlandish Proverbs.
Weber’s famous Hunters’ Chorus (coming usually in Act Three) makes its first appearance as the handful of principals mumble it, without much passion, into their beer glasses in the long, agonising first scene after the Overture as the antiquated atmosphere of the club is established. The chorus is parodied by the orchestra players in the same manner, down in the pit, as the curtain opens on the second half after the interval, such that by the time the movement makes its proper appearance, its purpose as a stirring endorsement by the huntsmen of their passion has been thoroughly deflated. Other musical numbers are also parodied insofar as their assumptions support the insular culture of the club, for example, by having a brass ensemble on stage in traditional German hunting dress to accompany them; the choruses are depicted as items of entertainment on the stage of the clubhouse rather than an integral part of the drama, or other aspects are more or less turned into vaudeville acts (Peter Knaack’s Great Hunter is an added role who serves as a sort of host); and the incident of a family portrait falling off the wall becomes a running joke rather than a one-off mishap.
But it is not all simply screwball humour; a sinister undercurrent runs through some of the re-written spoken dialogue as some members espouse the reactionary views on immigrants and immigration, and social change, that are the common cause of populist right wing parties across the West. Amidst the unedifying atmosphere of the hunting club there remains the sympathetic case of Max however. Ilker Arcayürek’s generally suave musical performance (if some notes and tonal production are a little loose) draws pity for the disconsolate character’s unenviable prospect of having to prove himself in the forthcoming shooting contest, despite his lack of ability, otherwise he doesn’t get the girl. Victory proves illusory though and there is no positive transformation of the shooting club as a result; rather, the Hermit’s intervention is ignored, and the club (including Agathe) are rendered pitiably impotent as they twitch and writhe around on stage as though out of their mind, adding to the general confusion and cacophony of the climax where different passages of the opera all compete for attention at the same time, as various groups sing or perform their own chosen music from the opera. It is surely no coincidence that Kuno can barely stop his arm from involuntarily rising in what looks suspiciously like an intended Nazi salute, just as Elon Musk seems unable to help himself from fawningly hailing a new leader.
Louise Kemény sings with an attractive modesty as Agathe, not given over to excessive displays of emotion, seeming to exemplify deliberately the ironic characterisation of the role here as an obedient ‘tradwife’. Ännchen is also more like an old maiden aunt than Agathe’s cousin in Rosemary Hardy’s dowdy depiction of her with a thin wiry voice, all the more so in her comical delivery in English of some of her spoken lines in a schoolmarmish manner. By contrast Thomas Jesatko and Manuel Winckhler both express a lustrous sense of evil and cunning as Kaspar and Samiel respectively. Raphael Camer’s Kilian insidiously spurs Max onm while Raimund Nolte’s Kuno is more reserved.
Conductor Stephen Zilias oversees a versatile performance in the pit with the house orchestra. Despite generally avoiding vibrato, there is a notable depth and range of expression from the ensemble with strings that are often lucid but firmly grounded by the cellos and basses, and appropriately horns are to the fore. Marthaler’s overhaul of the opera certainly makes for a highly interventionist brand of Regietheater as it doesn’t give the standard, straightforward sequence of music which will frustrate some. But there is a consistent, unrelenting satirical vision at work which enthrals.
Curtis Rogers
Der Freischütz
Composer: Carl Maria von Weber
Libretto: Friedrich Kind
Cast and production staff:
Max – Ilker Arcayürek; Agathe – Louise Kemény; Kaspar – Thomas Jesatko; Ännchen – Rosemary Hardy; Kuno – Raimund Nolte; Ottakar – Karl-Heinz Brandt; Samiel & Hermit – Manuel Winckhler; Kilian – Raphael Camer; The Great Hunter of the Black Forest – Peter Knaack
Director – Christoph Marthaler; Staging – Joachim Rathke; Scenography and Costumes – Anna Viebrock; Lighting Designer – Rolan Edrich; Dramaturgy – Malte Ubenauf & Roman Reeger; Musical adaptation – Titus Engel; Arrangements of stage music – Noel Engel; Conductor – Stephan Zilias; Opera Ballet Vlaanderen Chorus and Orchestra
Antwerp Opera House, Belgium, 8 March 2025
Top image by Theater Basel © Ingo Holm. All other images © Annemie Augustijns.