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[Musical] Lazarus in Breslau/Wroclaw (PL)

"Lazarus" zum ersten Mal in Polen.

Jan Klata wird bei "Lazarus" Regie führen. Die polnische Premiere des Stücks findet im Herbst 2020 auf der Großen Bühne des Capitol-Musiktheaters in Wrocław/Breslau statt.

„Lazarus”– słynny musical Davida Bowiego po raz pierwszy w Polsce - Teatr...

Reinhold

Antw.: [Musical] Lazarus in Breslau/Wroclaw (Polen)

Antwort #1 –
Für mich als Polen-Freund klingt das interessant - ich bin bis jetzt nur einmal mit dem Zug durch Breslau durchgefahren, auf dem Weg nach Krakau; aber doch noch ganz schön JWD - immerhin auch noch 5 1/2 Stunden mit dem Eurocity von Berlin aus - in Posznan umsteigen.

Antw.: [Musical] Lazarus in Breslau/Wroclaw (PL)

Antwort #3 –
Breslau/Wroclaw

"Lazarus" zum ersten Mal in Polen: Jan Klata führt Regie bei David Bowies Musical.

Das Capitol kehrt nach einer Pause mit einer neuen Spielzeit und Premieren zurück.



Kurzer Trailer

Antw.: [Musical] Lazarus in Breslau/Wroclaw (PL)

Antwort #6 –
oha... das tät ich ja gern sehen....

gruß, Z

Antw.: [Musical] Lazarus in Breslau/Wroclaw (PL)

Antwort #13 –
James Reeve hat für Samstag 20:00 Uhr eine überzählige Karte für Lazarus in Breslau. Hat jemand Lust und Zeit hat? Bitte bei @Marita‍ oder @jimreeve melden.

Reinhold

Antw.: [Musical] Lazarus in Breslau/Wroclaw (PL)

Antwort #14 –
Quarantining… time on my hands… so elsewhere I wrote a quite extensive review of Lazarus Wroclaw. Thought that people might (or not!) be interested to read it. If you are, here’s the – rather long! – text.
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It’s taken me a few days to put together my thoughts about the superb Wroclaw production of Lazarus. There’s so much to say that this is a LOT longer than usual, and even then, it’s really just a selection of the many thoughts that this complex, brilliant production provoked. Despite the length, I hope this will prove interesting to those interested in the play.

Let me firstly say thanks, in particular to Jan Klata the director, Konrad Imiela, theatre director and Valentine, Marcin Czarnik, Newton, and Joanna Kiszkis, all-round wonderfully helpful person - for being so welcoming, friendly, and incredibly generous with your time (and books, mugs and posters!). It is hugely appreciated. It was also delightful to finally get to meet Marita Ritter and her partner, with whom I spent an entertaining evening after the Saturday night show.

Let me also set the scene a little. Jan Klata, who directed this Lazarus, is a multi-award winning, radical figure within Polish theatre. As such, this production was much anticipated. Although their life-experiences have been very different, there are parallels that can be drawn between Jan and Ivo van Hove: both made their names via controversial but brilliant productions, often reworking classic texts in surprising and challenging new ways; both embrace contemporary/pop culture and frequently juxtapose it with more traditional ‘high-culture’ elements; and both have moved from being seen as enfants terrible in their early careers to now being regarded as grandmasters. The difference when it comes to Lazarus is that whereas Ivo was the originator with considerable scope for authorship, Jan was presented with a fixed text which he was contractually prevented from changing in any but the smallest ways. For a director accustomed to reworking texts freely according to his own vision, this must have been an interesting challenge.

Presented at the Capitol Music Theater, a fabulous venue comprising an old cinema (at the time the largest in Eastern Germany) now lovingly restored to its former 1929 glory and encased in a brand new five-story glass atrium, one would expect Lazarus to be well-sung and musically well played. And it is. The singing is faultless, and the band superb. It’s unusual to see everyone, even the smaller roles, performing to such a universally high level. Here there is simply no weak link on the stage: everyone shines. As a guest star, Marcin Czarnik is the only non-professional singer, but he more than holds his own, turning in a beautifully sung and deeply moving performance.

It’s worth mentioning here that Jan had avoided seeing any other productions, so this is a wholly original vision of Lazarus. As a result it feels fresh, with interesting new interpretations of the characters and their relationships. Unusually, Elly (Ewa Szlempo-Kruszyńska) and Zack (Albert Pyśk) are not presented as being in a marriage that’s wholly dead in the water from the very start – their communication is feisty, but still carries warmth. Some of their more waspish lines are played with humour, and in contrast with every other production, they clearly do go on to make love (seemingly without needing a sandwich first) at the end of their first scene. The tragedy lies in seeing the marriage crumble as Elly falls increasingly under the influence of the spectral Mary Lou, and in Zack’s inability to deal with it.

As the Girl, Klaudia Waszak avoids the rather tedious sense of bland goodness which often characterises the role; instead she’s spiky, sparky, genuinely compelling to watch and ‘othered’ in a manner that fits the character like a glove. In her unreality, she feels real, and she’s a charismatic presence, drawing the eye whenever she is onstage. She sings Life on Mars? beautifully, in character whilst hitting all the right beats in the song. Which is not easy!

Valentine (Cezary Studniak and Konrad Imiela, alternating in the role) is – thankfully – far from the pantomime villain that is frequently seen. Instead these are intelligent, nuanced performances. This is Valentine as a collector of people, a necessary force, the sense of threat present but sublimated. Of the two actors, Cezary carries a greater sense of overt menace – there is something cadaverous and darkly intimidating about his presence – whilst, startlingly, Konrad displays an almost complete absence of malice. This doesn’t mean that he won’t do what he considers necessary; oh, he will, but he doesn’t have to dislike you whilst doing it. There’s a relentless sense of necessity rather than animosity. It’s a fascinating and unnerving take on the character. The first murder takes place offstage, so the means are undisclosed, but the second is deeply creepy, as Valentine caresses Ben’s face, exploring it in detail, before drawing back his hand as if sucking out Ben’s soul like a dementor’s kiss. Also unnerving are the other, unidentified photos which Valentine carries pinned to his jacket. One gets the feeling that what we see onstage is part of a larger pattern of murderous behaviour.

It's worth mentioning that sudden illness meant that Konrad had to take over the Valentine role at four days' notice before the opening night, and that Covid shutdowns meant that the first performance which I saw was only the fifth which had been played. In this context, Konrad's achievement is all the more impressive.

Newton himself is a looming, blindfolded Button Eyes, emotionally maimed, distant, distracted, but vulnerable. It’s an immensely powerful image. Overt emotion breaks through after the therapy session; he finally fractures, amidst a cacophony of engine noise and crashing trains. Station to Station indeed. Czarnik remains blindfolded until the play’s final moments, a serious challenge for an actor deprived of his eyes. That he carries it off so well is remarkable. When he finally removes the blindfold as the Girl lies dead by his side, it reveals a face of immense humanity, a Newton who has passed through the fire. It’s a desperately moving, quite brilliant theatrical moment, which leads into a beautiful “Heroes”. As the song begins the stage scenery clears, the rear backdrop lifts to finally reveal the band, and the artifice of theatre is gently stripped away, to be replaced by the utter simplicity of two actors, side by side, singing.

Before the final moments, the staging is anything but simple. The stage is soaked in immersive video throughout, which implies that the characters and events are located pretty completely within Newton’s mind. We are viewing his internal television, and as an audience we too are located within it. Despite verbal reference being made to the screen in Newton’s apartment, no such screen features separately onstage, or in the context, needs to. On a purely practical level, the video work adds immense vibrancy and colour which, in combination with the superb costume and stage design, produces a sumptuous visual experience. Put simply, this production is beautiful to look at. But it’s also deeply intelligent and meticulous in its imagery. To an extent unseen since the original production, the video work here does not merely reflect the onstage action or create a suitable mood to illustrate the songs, but actively informs the action, and, crucially, adds thematic material and new chains of allusions. The images are complex, interconnected and information-rich, requiring the viewer’s attention.

Dense linkages become apparent. As one thematic example from many: the design of Newton’s apartment alludes to the room in which, during the closing sections of 2001 A Space Odyssey, astronaut Dave Bowman is imprisoned to live out his solitary life until death brings his transformation to the Starchild, his new form of existence amongst the stars. The parallels with Newton’s situation and foreshadowing of his ultimate fate are obvious. Then, during The Man Who Sold the World, the Teenage Girls (Alicja Kalinowska, Agnieszka Oryńska-Lesicka and Justyna Woźniak) are costumed as the women from Mark Romanek’s Jump They Say video (imagery which was itself derived directly from 2001): they truss Newton in a straightjacket (Ashes to Ashes) then hang him by his hands from ceiling-mounted rings (possibly a reference to the mock execution scene in Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence) before coolly observing him through telescopes (as per the video), much as one would observe an interesting celestial object. This examination subtly links with Michael’s (Adrian Adam Kąca) performance of the song, during which he uses a hand-held pointer, as if delivering an academic lecture examining Newton. A little later, buried within video of quasi-psychedelic landscapes during No Plan (another possible reference to the final act of 2001) something very similar to the light tunnel which takes astronaut Bowman ‘beyond the infinite’ can be briefly seen.

There may be further levels at play. Romanek’s video is an appropriate source in the context of Lazarus, as it features themes of an individual oppressed by corporate life, supplanted by psychosis and death. Indeed the apparently deceased Bowie suddenly opens his eyes, seemingly transcending death. The Jump They Say women are based specifically on 2001’s spaceflight stewardesses from Dr Haywood Floyd’s flight from earth to the moon. Haywood and Floyd are, of course, both names which figure in Bowie’s history and iconography, and the earth/lunar journey was the setting for another spacefarer called Tom who, like Dr Floyd, encounters a profound and lifechanging experience when he arrives at his destination. Major Tom’s fate, as an alienated solitary spaceborne junkie, is not so far away from Newton’s present alienated, solitary, gin-soaked condition. It’s even possible that the projection of the broken-Bowie from the cover of Lodger during the Girl’s first encounter with Newton connects obliquely with these themes: the image has been manipulated, melding Marcin Czarnik/Newton’s face with something a lot more disturbing – something older, something primitive, something which perhaps just might put us in mind of the proto-humans at the beginning of 2001, the leader of which was, of course, known as ‘Moonwatcher’.

This, then, is a production which repays close attention, thought and reflection. Jan Klata is a serious Bowie fan, as I found out when talking to him for nearly three hours one afternoon in the theatre’s staff café, a highly entertaining conversation that was as much about mutual Bowie fanboying as it was about the production. When I asked him what had attracted him to direct Lazarus, he simply replied: “David Bowie!” Jan, therefore, is in a position to deploy Bowie-related imagery with depth and subtlety. This ability has proven to be a curse as much as a blessing in some productions, where highly Bowie-literate directors have given into the urge to shoehorn Bowie-references into the show at every available opportunity. Thankfully – in my view – Jan has chosen his references carefully and intelligently. There is no whiff of ‘tribute show’ here, as has been the case for many productions. Instead he has taken the play strictly on its own terms, without compromise or dumbing-down, selecting only Bowie-imagery which supports and enlarges his existing themes. The result is multi-layered, the inevitable presence of Bowie enhancing rather than distracting.

And there are other themes here. One major theme is evolution into new forms, spiritually and physically. This is seen most overtly in the Teenage Girls, who first appear as shapeless extrusions of Newton’s furniture, then as half-formed humanoid figures, as yet still faceless; they coalesce into the Jump They Say stewardesses, before reappearing as beautiful blonde women, then as surf-babes, before finally transforming into Bowie-clones of the Life on Mars? video for the show’s closing scenes.

The surf-girls allow a moment of light relief, and also serve to disconcert the audience. Where Are We Now? is played accompanied by Berlin-related video, as one might expect; but in an attempt to universalise the lyric (to ‘de-Berlin’ the song a little, as Jan put it) the Teenage Girls stalk elegantly across the stage carrying turquoise surf boards – a quintessentially American image. Their elegance breaks down, however, as the entrance of other characters impedes their attempts to leave via the wings, until they are milling around in confusion, the now-revealed back of the three surfboards reading ‘where’ ‘are’ ‘we’.

A deep sense of ritual also permeates the production, again in part expressed through video imagery, but here primarily through dance and onstage movement. Ben/Maemi, Elly/Zach and Newton/Girl all express their relationships through their own, often mirrored, movement. Later on, hands are circled over prone bodies as if to ritualistically revive them. Newton kills the Girl with an empty hand, miming the action of a knife, whilst on-screen an ancient obsidian sacrificial knife is displayed, present but not-present, there but ungraspable in the physical world. The knife is itself an evolution of more overt religious imagery: Valentine’s Day is performed against a cemetery backdrop of standing crucifixes which speak to death whilst foreshadowing a sacrifice leading to redemption; a crucifix entwined with a snake evokes both the healing staff of Asclepius and the conjoined symbols of Jesus and Satan.

Movement also informs character more broadly. Elly’s movement in the opening scene is regimented, robotically militaristic, suggesting that she is guarding Newton as much as assisting him (the source for this was Ai Weiwei’s account of his guards’ behaviour during his imprisonment). The shift of one line from Michael to Elly during this scene – here it is she that expresses criticism of Newton’s early-morning drinking – further suggests that, even after a mere two days in the job, she is beginning to seek to exert some degree of control over her employer. Later, her possession by Mary Lou might well be taken literally, which would of course suit the production’s more mystical themes. Ewa Szlempo-Kruszyńska’s violent physical contortions, as if struggling with a raging inner demon whilst Valentine casually looks on, make Dirty Boys a traumatic experience to watch. Still later, Maemi’s (Justyna Antoniak) solitary recreation of her and Ben’s (Artur Caturian) mutual dance, in an increasingly frantic attempt to revivify him as he lies dead at her feet, is a powerful and desperately moving moment.
 
One subtler point being made by the video work relates to the tension between our image-soaked, transitory contemporary culture and the more enduring power of the word, written and otherwise. Michael’s reference to Newton reading all the books that he has always wanted to read thus takes on a new resonance. During Valentine’s speech following Killing a Little Time, addressed as much to the audience as it is to Newton, the video imagery gives way to a simple display of words: Świat (the world), przyjaźń (friendship), gorycz (bitterness/enmity), smutek (sadness/grief) and wsparcie (help/support) are successively displayed. Later ‘There’ll always be love that needs killing’ appears (a subtle change from the original text, from ‘a love’ to the more universal ‘love’). Klata has explored this tension between now/then, permanence/impermanence in other productions, and it is something of a recurring theme for him. His 2013 Hamlet, for example, opened with hundreds of books falling to the stage, amongst which the actors performed (and at one point from which a tomb was constructed for Ophelia) whilst techno, Pink Floyd, U2 and other contemporary music accompanied the action. Only Hamlet read books with understanding and appreciation, but the disturbing implication was that in order to live and function effectively in the current world, memory must be buried or abandoned. One could, of course, say this of both Hamlet and Newton. Klata emphasises the memorial and mystical power of words – specifically names – by withholding the Girl’s true name form the audience. She whispers it to Newton: but we don’t learn it. Because the true name is a source of magical power.

Finally, it’s tempting to see other parallels between Newton, Hamlet and previous Klata productions. The implicit and explicit Hamlet/Newton matrix in Lazarus is most obvious in Newton’s quotation of two lines of the ‘to be or not to be’ soliloquy, a moment which Klata expands from the original text to seven lines and, as if to draw emphasis to it, reproduces prominently in the theatre programme. Klata has produced two versions of Hamlet in the past, 2004’s radical and brilliant H, performed on location in the abandoned Gdansk shipyard, and in 2013 the equally radical (though in a very different way) Hamlet. The former, interestingly, included a memorable scene featuring the pounding Aphex Twin remix of Philip Glass’ version of “Heroes”.

An interesting thread connects these productions with Lazarus. Both Hamlet productions starred Marcin Czarnik, firstly as the eponymous H and, latterly, as Old Hamlet and Fortinbras. In both, Czarnik was costumed in a white fencing suit, an iconic image which bridged the two productions and caused them to relate. Spookily, Czarnik’s Newton appears in a very similar white costume, somewhere between fencing suit and spacesuit. It’s hard not to see an echo here, a kind of ghost-Klata/Czarnik Hamlet residing in Newton as he recites a section of the famous ‘to be or not to be’ soliloquy. Amusingly, it’s the first time that Czarnik has spoken these words, as the speech was not given by Hamlet himself in either the 2004 or 2013 production. As he presents it, in English, during Lazarus, there’s a weirdly satisfying sense of something coming full circle.
 
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