The Pallid and the Full-Blooded Life Lie Side by Side

The director, booked by major houses worldwide, has delivered a piece of work that, instead of answering questions, leaves each and every one of them open.

He presents a Faust who is catapulted out of his study – which looks more like a sausage stand – by a violent explosion, and who from that moment on finds himself displaced in time, in our present. With an elaborate stage design by Sebastian Hannak and equally opulent costumes by Katharina Gault, the action begins on an inner-city square, bordered by large apartment blocks. Faust has essentially given up his constant searching. Disgusted by, or rather weary of, life itself, he sees no more point in carrying on. Whether this was triggered by the life-threatening blast or was already the case beforehand is just one of the riddles the director imposes on his audience. Pavel Petrov, with few exceptions, remains consistently cool to anxious in the role assigned to him and fittingly conveys the opposite attitude to life held by his adversary. Mephisto, or rather Méphistophélès, as he is called in the French Berlioz version. He is sung and acted – truly devilishly – by Nikita Ivasechko. While the one has buried himself entirely in his apparently chemical studies, the other celebrates life wherever he can. Including where the beautiful sides are mere gloss and illusion, or utterly repellent.

Thus the society in Auerbach's cellar, into which he brings Faust, shows itself as a murderous gang of bald-headed men who take pleasure in beating down strangers and kicking them. That Mephisto survives this unscathed he owes solely to his diabolical lineage. As a trans being he also moves between the worlds of gender, without, however, showing any declared preference. In Marguerite he procures the decoy who is meant to teach Faust love. But in vain. After the single encounter between the two, the shot backfires, to put the outcome casually. The ‘queen of the nightclub' leaves the stage marked, worn out and stripped of her blonde mane of seduction, so that at their second meeting Faust no longer recognises her, or no longer wants to. Anna Brull's vocal achievement is impressive, all the more so since she can effortlessly hold her own against orchestra and chorus.

The orchestra is positioned onstage, towards the rear. The conducting is shared by Johannes Braun and Stefan Birnhuber at different performance dates. Resolved with the utmost technical sophistication, it can also be seen on various screens in the auditorium, where many scenes take place as well, scenes that the chorus – a formation well worth hearing – has to carry. The Chorus of the Oper Graz, augmented by the Philharmonia Chor Wien and the Singschul' der Oper Graz, as well as the Oper Graz extras, frequently leave the stage in order to exit through the central aisle of the stalls or to sing from the circles or from various boxes.

They play insurgent Hungarians with a strong contemporary resonance, characters who have gathered for their repulsive drinking bout, but also those fairy and spirit beings who ensnare Faust in dance. The entrance in ballet costumes, in which the men too wear tutus, with wonderfully comic allusions to the interpersonal ill-feeling that is part of everyday life in ballet ensembles, adds to the general merriment. The scene changes carried out in full view during the scenes make usually hidden theatre work and those who perform it visible, and never let one forget that here appearance and being coincide, are indeed one. The one is unthinkable without the other, which, however, one usually prefers not to see.

The plot, with the seduction of Faust, who signs over his soul to Mephistopheles, and society's condemnation of Marguerite, right up to her execution, remains intact, albeit dressed in new garb. And these are not the emperor's new clothes!

Marguerite's resurrection and the plunge into hell of Faust and Mephisto borrow from historical as well as art-historical achievements in Europe. Thus the men are lifted into the air by a montgolfière of the kind used by the brothers of that name when, in 1783, they floated aloft in it before the assembled nobility at Versailles. The fall of Faust and Mephisto follows soon after, tersely visualised by that iconic pointing finger of God with which Michelangelo called his Adam into life.

The poppy, trashy production, which can be interpreted by the audience in every conceivable direction, follows the zeitgeist feeling of not being able – or not wanting – to commit. The magnificently beautiful voices of the soloists and the top-class performances of the choruses make the evening an unforgettable musical experience that also offers plenty of food for the eyes and for discussion.

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