"Faustus, the Last Night" and "L'italiana in Algeri" at the Staatsoper, Berlin

Last Monday, I saw "Faustus, the Last Night" with Liv, Hugo & Theodore.
Reviews are ecstatic, talking of "eight solid minutes of fervent and constant ovations". I need to explode this myth: this production is a serious case of the emperor's new clothes.

“A giant clock dominates the stage of the Staatsoper Unter den Linden for Pascal Dusapin's new opera, "Faustus, the Last Night". Its hands move in both directions, signaling the suspension of time in an otherworldly void between life and death, heaven and hell.

The opera opens with Faustus plaguing Mephistopheles with questions about the universe in his search for knowledge, while a distraught angel sings high-pitched fragmented sentences.

Dusapin, born in 1955, laces his impressive though daunting work with references to European literature and philosophy. His English libretto borrows from Christopher Marlowe's version of the Faust parable rather than Goethe's and quotes liberally from Shakespeare.

The ending moves into Samuel Beckett territory: There is no descent into a Dante-style vision of the inferno. Instead, there is a fading into nothingness, as the music melts away and Togod (an anagram of Godot) sings: 'There is nothing. That's the way it is.' ”
Overview by Catherine Hickley on Bloomberg

Without referring to the synopsis, my understanding was something along these lines (be warned: I give away the ending!):
A giant clock dominates the stage of the Staatsoper Unter den Linden. Mephistopheles perches on one arm of the clock, mischeivous and smug, assured of his triumph. Faustus is desperately clinging to the clock. He looks almost identical to Mephistopheles, in a black suit with goth makeup. A girl in a bright white body stocking sings very high indistinguishable sounds, and rolls around intermittently. This continues for twenty minutes or so.


The surtitles indicate that Faustus is grilling Mephistopheles for even more knowledge, however the diction in the singing is unclear. The music is difficult, with long sustained syllables; however this is not a great excuse for the most highly thought-of opera house in Berlin: much more work on English pronunciation is required.

A large carrier bag is present, the girl gets in and out occasionally. A very fat man enters. He is also wearing a body stocking, and is covered in mud. They remove all the markings from the clock, leaving only the hands. The numbers are used to make stepping stones, and Mephistopheles quietly leaves.

Two more characters enter, wearing bunny suits. They get out of the bunny suits: one is Mephistopheles! The other is God, but he has forgotten this.
The surreal experience continues for the rest of the production. The ending is spectacular, if pretentious. The holes which once marked the hours on the clock are removed, and the red fires of hell shine piercingly upward through the dark void of the stage. Faustus lies in one of these holes, and slowly descends downwards. A single white balloon rises, floats uncertainly, and is captured and burst by the dark fat angel.


Whilst I didn't admire the production as a whole, two aspects stood out. The setting was remarkable and innovative: it gave a weighty presence to Dusapin's purgatory. It was starkly minimalist, yet surprisingly adaptable with lighting: the 'fires of hell' were particularly effective, the twelve shafts of light shining menacingly upward.
Dusapin's music was perfectly fitted. It was insistent filling the auditorium to the point of claustrophobia, but evoking an eerie emptiness. The mood of the music was dominated by low drones, the strings adding abstract melodies which spurred confusion and fear. The tension was relentless: but nothing could maintain that level of tension for an entire 90 minutes. The music became irrelevant and monotonous.

Dusapin envisioned an empty, monotonous void; it swallowed his production.

On Friday, we saw "L'italiana in Algeri" by Rossini. It was great fun, and totally restored my faith in the Staatsoper. The full plot is extremely complex, and needless to say, I didn't understand it all. What I did understand was great fun: the plot had been adapted to the present day.

The Bey of Algiers was remodeled a pimp. The set was an extravagant portrayal of his brothel and the street, but with the front of the stage portraying his apartment. A single freestanding door cleverly divided the space. Miraculously, the designer complemented blazé neon with expressionist painting to make something spectacular. A corridor led through the city backdrop: red lights pinged on and the stage was suddenly full of writhing belly dancers, exotic and enticing, almost vibrating with their strange style of dance.


Rossini's music was beautiful: intricate duets which captured your attention. I particularly enjoyed one duet between Mustafà, the pimp, and Lindoro, remodeled as a street cleaner. Lindoro wants a woman he can love and marry. Mustafà sings over him that he could have any woman in his brothel. Lindoro continues about the joys of love and marriage, Mustafà continues: "black hair, blonde hair...blue eyes, brown eyes, green eyes...you could have any woman you want!"

The production was perfectly executed glitz: way over the top, but fantastic fun.