Not that long after I moved here (Wikipedia informs me, rudely, that it must have been 2003) I saw the Chicago Opera Theater production of a pair of short operas, Brundibár and Comedy on the Bridge. Tony Kushner had recently given them new librettos. Maurice Sendak directed, as well as designing the sets. They were lovely. (It looks like the 2006 production had the same design, as far as I remember?)
Brundibár might best be known as the opera that was performed by children in a concentration camp. The composer, Hans Krása, was Jewish, and developed the opera with the Jewish orphanage in Prague; when the Nazis took over, Krása and nearly all of his artistic collaborators were sent to Theresienstadt. The Nazis used a performance as evidence that conditions in the camps were happy and humane. Somehow—for a while, anyway—they ignored what everyone in the audience knew: the titular villain was a stand-in for Hitler. Eventually, Krása, the children, the director, and most of the musicians and designers were sent to their deaths at Auschwitz.
I have gone on making art as our country has enabled and perpetrated genocides: we need art. We need it as a respite, we need it as a source of connection and joy, we need it as a howl of outrage, we need it as a stubborn reminder of shared humanity.
Mephisto is another Nazi-related story that has stayed with me over the years. It follows the German actor Henrik Hoefgen (Klaus Maria Brandauer) as the Nazis rise to power. Hoefgen wants to make Brechtian shows on an underground black box stage; he doesn't like the Nazis. But he doesn't speak any language but German, and he doesn't think he can perform anywhere but Germany. In a decision familiar to every performer, he takes a high-profile role to pay the bills. Unfortunately, the Nazis see the performance and declare him exemplary: exactly what German theater and German actors ought to be. Suddenly his artistic career depends on his willingness to be a mascot for the Third Reich.
You have to know where you stand. You have to know what you'll do and what you won't. You have to know if you have a price.
I was in The Designated Mourner with the Right Brain Project in...oh, I guess 2006 or 2007. Wallace Shawn does not write easy work. To do it any justice, you must dig into the squirmier parts of yourself. (Roger Ebert's review of the film does a nice job of that.) Mourner is about a group of artists in an unnamed country where an unnamed totalitarian regime is coming to power. They're a familiar type of New Yorker bohemian, intellectual, arch, certain that their oblique sonnets count as political action. The regime tolerates them, until it doesn't.
You do have to go on making art. You also have to call, write, march if you can, donate if you can, triage when you must, blockade, inform yourself, inform others. And you have to know why. These three works are some of the ones that crystalized it for me.
There's a concentration camp in Florida. What are you doing about it?
Brundibár might best be known as the opera that was performed by children in a concentration camp. The composer, Hans Krása, was Jewish, and developed the opera with the Jewish orphanage in Prague; when the Nazis took over, Krása and nearly all of his artistic collaborators were sent to Theresienstadt. The Nazis used a performance as evidence that conditions in the camps were happy and humane. Somehow—for a while, anyway—they ignored what everyone in the audience knew: the titular villain was a stand-in for Hitler. Eventually, Krása, the children, the director, and most of the musicians and designers were sent to their deaths at Auschwitz.
I have gone on making art as our country has enabled and perpetrated genocides: we need art. We need it as a respite, we need it as a source of connection and joy, we need it as a howl of outrage, we need it as a stubborn reminder of shared humanity.
Mephisto is another Nazi-related story that has stayed with me over the years. It follows the German actor Henrik Hoefgen (Klaus Maria Brandauer) as the Nazis rise to power. Hoefgen wants to make Brechtian shows on an underground black box stage; he doesn't like the Nazis. But he doesn't speak any language but German, and he doesn't think he can perform anywhere but Germany. In a decision familiar to every performer, he takes a high-profile role to pay the bills. Unfortunately, the Nazis see the performance and declare him exemplary: exactly what German theater and German actors ought to be. Suddenly his artistic career depends on his willingness to be a mascot for the Third Reich.
You have to know where you stand. You have to know what you'll do and what you won't. You have to know if you have a price.
I was in The Designated Mourner with the Right Brain Project in...oh, I guess 2006 or 2007. Wallace Shawn does not write easy work. To do it any justice, you must dig into the squirmier parts of yourself. (Roger Ebert's review of the film does a nice job of that.) Mourner is about a group of artists in an unnamed country where an unnamed totalitarian regime is coming to power. They're a familiar type of New Yorker bohemian, intellectual, arch, certain that their oblique sonnets count as political action. The regime tolerates them, until it doesn't.
You do have to go on making art. You also have to call, write, march if you can, donate if you can, triage when you must, blockade, inform yourself, inform others. And you have to know why. These three works are some of the ones that crystalized it for me.
There's a concentration camp in Florida. What are you doing about it?
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