The Mismatched Bat: Die Fledermaus in Melbourne

The plotline of Die Fledermaus (1874) by Johann Strauss II is familiar to followers of opera. Gabriel von Eisenstein has been condemned to an eight day sentence for insulting an official. Adele, Eisenstein’s maid, receives a letter from her enthusiastic sister – an invitation to the ball arranged by Prince Orlofsky. Eisenstein’s wife, Rosalinde, is similarly invited, on the proviso that she dress as a Hungarian countess. Eisenstein also has his chance at merriment before the prison walls close in. As all this is happening, an old fan of Rosalinde’s, Alfred, proves persistent in his flirtatious advances, though he is eventually taken away by the police on the assumption that he is, in fact, Eisenstein.

As it turns out, they all have invitations to the ball, not to mention the apprehending officer, Frank, who comes disguised as Chevalier Chagrin. All this is due to a plot hatched by the vengeful notary Dr. Falke. This will be his revenge for having been left stranded dressed as a bat in town by Eisenstein the winter before. With friends like these, deceptions are born, and thereby revealed in a night of effervescent consumption. (Surely champagne has never gotten a finer advertisement on stage.)

Operettas such as this one ought to be played with, toyed and twisted to fit the director’s fancy. Strauss, and the playwright Julius Roderich Benedix, have given the production team enormous leg room. That said there was little reason to kick out as far as this performance by Opera Australia at the Melbourne Arts Centre on May 11 did. Presumably the director Lindy Hume, who did more than just toy with the dialogue, got a bit carried away. This operetta abandoned Viennese play for the language of calculating ‘broads’ and shifty ‘detectives’. It eviscerated any European elements, and, if anything, mocked that very essence of the opera. Absurd accents are played out. Eisenstein, as Marquis Renard, is about as convincing as Inspector Clouseau. (‘Good god,’ cried a fellow in the audience, ‘Peter Sellers on show’) Frank, the inspector, is a mere carbon coby. Be wary, audiences, of these usurping Pink Panthers on stage.

Eisenstein’s apartment is based in New York, not in itself problematic, though deeply jarring to the Viennese temper. Adele sounded hoarse, playing Brooklyn working class to emphasise her ‘peasant’ (in this case, working class) origins. The exaggerated gait comes with the package. The only thing lacking were the bagels. (Coffee was provided.) Indeed, the audience is greeted in Act 3 – the prison scene – with a spectacle that seems to have been lifted from any motley assemblage of Raymond Chandler creations, equipped with audience participation, cigarette smoke and local commentary. The jailor Frosch has his own pretensions, and we are brought into the twenty first century with a commentary on sub prime mortgages and market derivatives. Such eloquence.

In what must be a marked effort to confuse the audience, Marlene Dietrich appears on stage, taking the performance presumably into the Cabaret age. What’s the diff, ladies and gentlemen? Strauss meets the Berlin of the 1920s. A nod is made to Fred Astaire and tap dancing (or so Eisenstein seems to have thought prior to attending the festivities.) In a sense, Hume is right – a world of dreams, for that moment in time, needs to be prolonged as long as possible. Strauss, Dietrich and the golden age of Hollywood can all mix on stage – why not, some might say?

For the green and untested, this production approximated to a cross between Gilbert and Sullivan and a soup of New York expressions and drunken revelries. One could be forgiven for thinking that Strauss had simply stayed in the United States and readjusted his focus accordingly. A lady in the audience was thrilled to bits, this being her first visit to the opera. ‘Surely not all of them are like this?’ No, indeed. For one, there are no merciful deaths. One does leave such a performance amused but for the wrong reasons. And searching for bagels and donuts.

Binoy Kampmark was a Commonwealth Scholar at Selwyn College, Cambridge. He lectures at RMIT University, Melbourne. Email: bkampmark@gmail.com

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