Dioneo - founded in 2010 to stage contemporary or lesser known works and to support young singers at the start of their careers - and the Arcola Theatre are to be congratulated for presenting Viktor Ullmann's opera The Emperor of Atlantis, or Death's Refusal. This is a piece which should be performed often - for historical as well as for artistic reasons - but it is sadly neglected. Ullman and his librettist Peter Kien composed their one act opera while incarcerated in the Terezin (Theresienstadt) concentration camp, which was used by the Nazis to hoodwink the International Red Cross and other gullible powers.
Originally built for about 6000 people by Emperor Joseph II, in 1941 the small garrison town Terezin was turned into a ghetto for Jews by the Nazis. They crammed in at least 60000 people at any given time. There were many musicians among the prisoners and, before long, spontaneous cultural activities began. The Nazis recognised the propaganda value of these activities and encouraged their continuation. For about two years cultural life flourished in the camp but by mid-October 1944 musicians were transported to other concentration camps, predominantly to Auschwitz, where most of them were killed.
By the time he was taken to Terezin, Ullmann was an established composer (as well as conductor) in his early forties. In Terezin he composed for the forces at his disposal; hence The Emperor of Atlantis is scored for only a chamber orchestra and for a handful of soloists. The role of Death was written for Karel Berman who miraculously survived Auschwitz and went on to become a successful singer at the Prague National Theatre.
Composed in 1943/44, The Emperor of Atlantis was a thinly veiled criticism of Nazi activities. Nevertheless, it reached rehearsal stage before the Nazis understood its message. They immediately banned any performance of the piece and within days, on 16 October 1944, many of the cast, musicians and the composer were on the next transport to Auschwitz.
The opera concerns the Emperor (probably Hitler), who thrives on war. But he offends Death, and Death resigns. Without the services of Death, people are in a limbo as they are not able to die. Eventually Death agrees to resume duty but only if the Emperor is willing to be the first to die. The Emperor has no alternative but to agree. On conclusion of the opera, death is celebrated by resignation and relief.
It would have been helpful if director Max Hoehn and his whole cast had studied Simon Broughton's magnificent documentary film The Music of Terezin (1992). Among other topics, Broughton's documentary very sensitively portrays the circumstances in which the opera was composed and rehearsed. Judging by the performance, I cannot help feeling that although for this particular opera the detailed knowledge of background is essential, director and cast were somewhat in the dark. Fortunately one of Broughton's cast, the now 90 year-old Terezin survivor Zdenka Fantlová, attended the second (and sadly last) performance and she spoke to director and cast at length afterwards. Hopefully this charismatic lady will inspire further in-depth research before future performances.
Hoehn's staging does not get into the way of the music but only rarely adds to it. The flower petals dropped onto the young lovers during their final duet rhyme with their music but otherwise Hoehn appears to have focused only on Kien's drama. He allows the plot to unfold without interference, although I still struggle to understand the reason for Death's reading the Evening Standard at the outset. Yes, Death is bored and disgruntled at that stage, but an 18 August 2011 copy of London's Evening Standard arguably (and surely mistakenly) equates life in the Terezin concentration camp with our London experiences in 2011.
Conductor John Murton clearly knows Ullmann's score, and took tempi which suited the material as well as his musical forces. At times, the singers were covered by the somewhat over-loud instrumental ensemble and some of the instrumentalists were not up to the task. The glorius final vocal quartet, sang with dignity, was marred by inappropriate violin playing. Nevertheless, credit is due to the very sensitive but solid percussion player Ollie Taylor (assuming that the names in the programme note are correct).
The entire cast sang with sincerity and clearly with due respect to the score. Unusually for an opera performance, I did not hear a single note even slightly off pitch. But characterisation was random. Musical theatre man Matt Wilding was perfect as Pierrot, but at no point did I think that Thomas Humphreys (Emperor), who sang his final aria heart-breakingly beautifully, was an evil man (like Hitler).
Osian Gwyn (Loudspeaker), Dario Dugandzic (Death), Melanie Sanders (Drummer), Inês Simôes (Girl) and William Petter (Soldier) gave honourable performances; all deserve flourishing future careers. Indeed, hopefully they will get further chances with Ullmann's opera rather than just a single performance (Dugandzic, Sanders and Simôes) or two performances (Humphreys, Gwyn, Wilding and Petter) in all.
Valentina Ricci's set and costumes were well researched; the Anna Frank imitation of the Girl was particularly fitting. The eight-page programme notes omitted to deal with the music, although Hoehn concludes his Director's Notes as follows: 'The beauty and richness of the vocal writing of the final scenes combined with the disturbing message of the words makes it an unusual and thought-provoking experience for the audience.' Exactly so....
By Agnes Kory