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angelofmusic) wrote2010-03-18 09:44 pm
angelofmusic) wrote2010-03-18 09:44 pm
Elisabeth the Musical: The Influence of Culture & Heritage
In 1992 Vereinigte Buhnen Wien opened the musical Elisabeth, based on the life of one of the last Habsburg empresses. A tragic and fascinating figure through her life and assassination, Elisabeth - or Sisi - has become an icon for Austria. After World War I and the fall of the Empire, the image has been a glossy one, perfect and magical, of a glory and golden time now lost. This was the image made famous by the series of films starring Romy Schneider as ‘Sissi’.
In 1980, Brigitte Hamann produced a biography of Elisabeth, and for the first time, Elisabeth’s own writings were to made public, both poetry and letters. Far from the glowing, beautiful, confident Empress, Sisi revealed a troubled mind. Melancholy and extremely shy, she was forced into a restrictive life in court, a wild bird in a gilded cage. She shied from her responsibilities, rejected Austria in favour of Hungary, starved herself to retain her beauty, and fled from Vienna as often as she was able.
Michael Kunze himself said that he wished to look past the Sissi cliche, and a new version of Elisabeth was revealed. It was this one who has been immortalised internationally in the musical by Kunze & Levay.
It seems strange that a musical focussed on the life of an Empress not well-known beyond Austria and its former lands should become popular in as far flung reaches as Japan, yet the show has held great appeal ever since it first opened. Even so, no two countries interpret the musical the same way, each of them taking their own cultural experience to make it relevant to the country it is for.
NB: the Thun, Finnish and Swedish productions will not be featured, as I have been unable to find sufficient visual material to examine them fairly.
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Eine Kaiserin muss glänzen - Death & Royalty: An Austrian Obsession
Songs removed: Jagd (Revival)
Songs added: Kind oder nicht (Revival), Wenn Ich Tanzen Will (Revival), Vater Und Sohn (Revival)
It was only natural that in the original production, written for Vienna’s theatre and about a Viennese Empress, the show was entirely directed at a knowing audience, all of whom knew exactly who Elisabeth was and what had become of her.
In a country that became a Republic after World War I, even now there is a deep love for the monarchy, particularly for Franz Josef, who was quite literally the father and kindly grandfather of his country. As his wife, Elisabeth benefited from some of this adulation and as the last Emperor and Empress to truly rule the Austrian Empire, they mark a significant point in their Empire’s history. Those were the days of Austrian Glory, success and magnificence, a time now long lost.
However, a simple musical about a tragic but flawed Empress was made more fascinating by the use of her poetry and writing in the lyrics of the show itself. The figure of Death, who haunts her every step, is the embodiment of the edge of madness that she walked on. In the original production, Death seemed a mostly malevolent figure, the dark side of Elisabeth herself, urging her to end her life and choose him.
Why Death? Why not some other form of madness? Well, if there is one thing that it is easy to find in Vienna, aside from Habsburg-related landmarks, it is death in all its glory. There is a long-standing fascination of death and what comes with it in Vienna, where even now, the arrangements of Habsburg burials are discussed and the crypts are still regularly decked with flowers. Viennese art is filled with images of Death, and even in death, you are regarded as you are in life: you can’t stop making an effort, just because you’re dead.
In the Q&A on Michael Kunze’s website, he explains his fascination with Elisabeth’s writing and her eternal struggle with the figure of Death. He describes this figure as both her own death-drive and even a darker version of herself. The concept of a twisted, erotic relationship with this darker side of herself meant the production could focus on the long-concealed madness that haunted Elisabeth and her Bavarian family.
It is stated in the prologue that to Elisabeth, Death is embodied in Heinrich Heine, whom she idolised throughout her life, and it is in his image that Death is presented. Although blonder, the enigmatic figure of Death originally bore an unsettling resemblance to the poet whom Elisabeth fantasised about for much of her life. This changed with the revival, but at this point in the show’s history, Death was Heine in Elisabeth’s mind.
As part of the Wittelsbach heritage, to say that Elisabeth came from a long line of people with mental instability would be an understatement. Her cousin and one of her closest friends was known as Ludwig the Mad, and much of the family was so interbred that abnormalities in body and mind were common. The fact that Franz Josef and Elisabeth were first cousins - and probably related several times over - did little to redeem their bloodline.
There are several scenes that show Elisabeth acting in ways that - historically - distressed and disturbed her family: the visits to the asylums, her summoning of Heinrich Heine’s spirit, the hunts that she risked life and limb for. Layer by layer, they show the Empress’s deep-seated misery and sorrow and the life she desperately wanted to be away from.
Death’s whispers were a quiet, dark seduction, for after all, what better escape is there than death, where none of those people who torment you can find you? The enigmatic, ethereal, androgynous figure is there in the background, all the time, tempting and cajoling her, the living incarnation of her death-wish.
Some confusion arises from Death’s relationship with Rudolf: is her son developing the Wittelsbach madness? This seems the case, at least in the original production. Young Rudolf was fascinated with death and the dying, and would kill animals to watch them die. Many of his drawings as a child emphasis hunting and killing, and a quote from his journal supports the fact he would seek out dying people to witness their ends.
It is telling that when he reaches the pinnacle of his madness, his suicidal dance with Death at Mayerling is not the man who has been his friend. Instead, Death is a woman, and given the historical events, it can not be questioned that She is representing Mary Vetsera, the woman who Rudolf murdered before killing himself.
In a whirling waltz, representative of his own madness, woman after woman keeps the gun out of his reach until he finally finds the right one, and ends his life. Crown Prince Rudolf did not only ask Mary Vetsera to die with him. He first asked his wife, who refused, and his favourite Mistress (incidentally, they both went to the chief of police, but he didn’t believe them). The symbolism of the women stealing the gun out of his reach would have a pointed significance to a Viennese audience.
Much of the Rudolf storyline would have been familiar to Vienna. In the revival, the confrontation between Franz Josef and his son over a newspaper would need no explanation to the Viennese: Rudolf wrote an open letter to his father under an alias, criticising the monarchy, which was one of the things father and son argued about.
Despite this look at the darker and less familiar side of Elisabeth and her son, a lot of the show was also a cynical satire of the Vienna of the 19th century, a time when the members of Viennese society cheerfully stuck their heads in the sand when it came to political upheaval and disaster. In Die Froliche Apocalypse, Milch, and Hass, different aspects of society are put in front of the spotlight, while inserting exposition.
Hass is particularly significant, with the rise of the German Empire, the fall of the Habsburgs and the events that followed with Nationalism taking a darker turn into World War II. It didn’t just start, and the musical shows the roots of it were already there, more than half a century before. Again, this harkens back to the Viennese wistfulness for the time of Empire, before things went so terribly downhill for the country.
The Habsburg family members are, of course, treated with a measure of reverence, for it is one thing to focus on the potentially insane Empress, but one can not speak ill of Franz Josef. At least not in terms people don’t already know about. The court and the society themselves are lampooned extensively, with cloying, toadying behaviour, all overseen by the iron hand of Archduchess Sophie, the woman who would never be Empress, but didn’t let that stop her.
The biggest change that came when the show was revived in 2003 was the change in dynamic between Death and Elisabeth. While Death still was clearly some aspect of her mind, a new song (Wenn Ich Tanzen Will) made them a more balanced counterpoint to one another: he is still the devil on her shoulder, but there is less malevolence behind him.
Additional confrontation scenes featuring Sophie with young Rudolf (Kind oder Nicht) and Franz Josef (Bellaria) added more depth and sympathy to a character who had initially been nothing more than the tyrannous mother-in-law.
Kind oder Nicht, set just before Mach Auf Mein Engel, is used to emphasise Sophie’s part in Rudolf’s upbringing, Bellaria allows her to show how much she has sacrificed to keep the country great, and her confusion at people unwilling to do the same. Sophie herself was initially as uncomfortable with court life as Elisabeth on her first arrival, yet she became the most powerful figure in the Empire.
The sets and designs all reflect the very nature of the story. It is a dark set, simply decorated, but the props tell such a story. For every scene, there is something you can see in a museum somewhere in Vienna: the skull in the Prologue is on one of the coffins in the crypt, the Imperial carriage in the original production is in the coach museum at Schonbrunn, the Spiegelsaal is open to visits in Schonbrunn, Elisabeth’s gym equipment can be seen at the Hofburg. These props were simply there, not highlighted, seldom focussed on, yet they added to the layer upon layer of history built into the story itself.
Over the course of ten years, influenced by the many incarnations across the globe, Elisabeth has shifted from a dark and psychologically unsettling look at a woman’s struggle against her own inner demons to the Gothic love story. By the revival, Death is a less malevolent force, even more seductive and persuasive, and Elisabeth is stronger. When she finally belongs to him, in the end, it is her choice.
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Ai to Shi no Rondo - A Pure Proper and Beautiful Love story
Songs removed: Hass (1996), Jagd (1996), Wie Du: Max’s Ghost (1996)
Songs added: Ai to Shi no Rondo (1996), Die Verschwörung (Rudolf’s fantasy version - 1996), Watashi ga Odoru Toki (2002/3)
The first production outside of Vienna was by the Takarazuka all-women revue company in Japan in early 1996, after one of their performers saw the show and the possibilities it had while in Vienna. It faced some major changes, particularly given the Viennese production’s political situations being unfamiliar to the Japanese.
Another major feature that had to be changed was the character focus. The Takarazuka otokoyaku - male-playing actresses - are the leading figures, and while Death and Franz Josef both feature extensively, it was not enough for one of their leading men.
Accordingly, the role of Death was shifted from the darker side of Elisabeth’s own psyche to be a manifestation of the figure of Death itself. This was a reflection of the tendency in both Buddhism and shinto, the main Japanese religions, to regard deities, demons and spirits as autonomous creatures.
Using the name of ‘Death’ was problematic, due to the European use of the word as name as well as function. Instead, Takarazuka presented 黄泉の帝王, which translates as the Lord of the Yellow River, which has associations with Enma, the Buddhist Lord of the Dead. The juxtaposition of Death and his angels reflect Enma-ou, and his helpers, and in this production Death received a throne and a sword as a sign of his power.
The Japanese have a long-standing love affair with the concept of death. It features in poetry and art, and while Western art focuses on spring and the symbolism of resurrection, Japanese art follows the path of the seasons, representative of mortality itself. It is not something to be wholly feared, but it is to be respected.
In a company whose motto is ‘Pure, Proper & Graceful’ with an audience made up of mostly married women and mothers, the focus moved from the political to the relationship that Death and Elisabeth share. With Death incarnate as a supernatural man, a new song ‘Ai to Shi no Rondo’ was added as a theme running through the show: the dance of love and Death. It was written for Ichiro Maki, the leading otokoyaku of the Snow Troupe at the time. It is performed once in full, on the first encounter of Death and Elisabeth, and after further confrontations, it is reprised, emphasising that this love is a constant, sometimes painful, but always true one.
The Takarazuka revue presents the hyper-ideal man, the perfect, genteel and noble man, and it takes romance to new heights. To have a supernatural creature fall for a normal woman is the perfect dream of romance in Takarazuka. When Death promises that he will follow her all through her life, he proceeds to do so. He is there, sometimes as intercessor, sometimes as silent witness, in all the major events of her life, such as her wedding, coronation in Hungary and her triumph over Franz Josef, and even steps into the affairs of men to change what will happen around her.
This is the Death who calmly and methodically works to bring down the Empire that is bent on breaking the woman he loves. Lucheni - only the narrator in the Vienna version - interacts and loyally follows Death’s commands. Under Death’s direction, Lucheni urges the populace to revolt against the Empire, while Death conspires with revolutionaries and even goes to the extent of guiding Elisabeth’s son to treachery and suicide.
The use of the Hungarian revolutionaries is one of the bigger changes in the show. While part of this would simply be to expand the number of male roles for otokoyaku, it also displays rather than explains the political hotbed that was Austro-Hungary at the time. Introduced to replace the death of Elisabeth’s infant child, a topic too drastic and jarring for the female audience of the Takarazuka shows, they became a theme throughout, clearly showing the length of the Hungarian struggle for independence.
The removal of Hass takes away the additional conflict rising German nationalist and antisemitic sentiments, the subject matter again considered too sensitive for the audience. Instead, Rudolf’s allegiance is brought into question. While in the Vienna production, focus was placed on the newspaper article he had written, Takarazuka was the first company to highlight the contact he had with the revolutionaries. Openly consorting with Hungarian conspirators would be a clearer display of treachery than the newspaper, which would have little meaning to a Japanese audience (though it is still mentioned briefly just before Yami Ga Hirogaru (Die Schatten Werden Länger)).
In a culture where a son is expected to succeed his father or at least follow in his footsteps, this behaviour would set Rudolf apart as troublesome and disturbing, yet he is sympathetic because many of his ambitions are shown to be what he believes to be right. Like Elisabeth, he is trapped in a society where one must do what is proper, not what is right. To use a Japanese proverb, he is a nail that sticks out and must be hammered in. Unfortunately for Rudolf, instead of being hammered in, he breaks, and Death is waiting.
The theme of suicide in the show was not only shown by Rudolf. Another addition was Elisabeth’s consideration of suicide, just before Watashi Dake Ni (Ich Gehor nur mir). Given that her other suitor is presented as Death, this is the first opportunity she has to make the choice to go to him.
In a country with one of the highest suicide rates in the world - there is less moral judgement than in Western religion - for Elisabeth to consider the option would not be shocking. Likewise, Rudolf choosing to kill himself is the only honourable end to a life in which he has been shamed.
Elisabeth, however, is proven to be the stronger individual, by resisting the impulse to end her life. The possibility arises again, when she finds out about Franz Josef having an affair. Again, this aspect of the storyline has been purified. Rather than Elisabeth contracting an infection from her wayward husband, the evidence is produced in the form of a photograph. Again, though, she rebuffs Death’s advances, maintaining she never would have chosen him. He shows her the knife she would have used to kill herself, pointing out that she did - and may still - desire him.
In 2002, with the fourth Takarazuka production, a new song was imported from a new German production: Watashi ga Odoru Toki (Wenn Ich Tanzen Will). Before this, there were only four encounters between Death and Elisabeth, as Death appeared as by-stander in many scenes: the wedding, her self-realisation in Watashi dake ni and again in the reprise, her triumph over Franz Josef, as well as her coronation.
The addition of this song gave the lovers a proper duet, which allowed Elisabeth to stand her ground against Death, his equal and worthy of his devotion. Before this point, Elisabeth’s only romantic duet had been with Franz Josef and in the final scene when she accepts Death. It added a new dimension to the relationship to have them placed together as equals in the middle of the show.
The situation that Elisabeth is portrayed in, in this production, becomes less about an Empress and more about a woman struggling for the right to be and do what she wants in a world that is telling her not to. In her enmity with Sophie, her mother-in-law, Elisabeth is in a place familiar to many married women in Japan: the husband choosing his mother over his wife. It is one of the main causes of divorce in the country, and given that the majority of the audience is made up of married housewives, it is unsurprising that they took Elisabeth so wholly to their hearts.
In the end, she is just a woman like them, but unlike them, she is able to fight for what she wants and in the end, chooses the man who has changed the world for her and together, they ascend to paradise.
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Éljen Erzsébet - The Image of Hungarian Independence
Songs added: Bellaria (1996), Die Verschwörung (1996), Totenklage - Sophie’s lament (1996)
In the autumn of 1996, after the Takarazuka Revue’s successful runs of Elisabeth, the show was premiered in Hungary. As in Vienna, Elisabeth was well-known and even more beloved by the people, due to her part in the creation of an independent Hungary. She made no secret of her affection for the country and people, learning the language and even making sure her fourth and favourite child was born there, and raised as Hungarian as possible.
Due to this, it is no surprise that a musical about her life has continued to be successful, but like the Takarazuka production, there were some changes to be made. Like in the Japanese production, Death became an autonomous character, moving throughout the story, guiding his servants and interceding in human affairs.
In many ways, the two 1996 productions have a lot more in common with one another than with the Viennese production. Death’s love song (Ai to Shi no Rondo) was adopted, although only once with no reprises and with a less romantic text, and Rudolf’s involvement with Death and the notably Hungarian conspirators was expanded upon.
While the Takarazuka production was an ideal love story, Hungary did not shy away from the realities that had been discreetly erased from its sister-production in Japan. Chief among those was the decision to retain Hass and the slurs rained upon Rudolf as a Jew-lover, which have their own meaning in a country that saw massacres of Jews in World War II and where antisemitism and fascist sympathies maintain a fringe political position to this day.
The role of Death in this production is far from the erotic fantasy of the Viennese version or the high romance of the Takarazuka version. With such a collision of old superstitions and mythologies from the cultures that make up Hungary, Death emerges like one of the demons of times gone by, seducing and luring people to choose their end.
Death’s first encounter with Elisabeth (Útvesztő minden út) shows a supernatural creature who finds a diversion, someone interesting that he hasn’t expected or anticipated. Elisabeth is shown as a free-spirited, energetic and intelligent young woman, and this is what captures this particular Death.
However, with this addition of Death as a physically present character instead of an aspect of Elisabeth’s imagination, Elisabeth’s struggle with madness was put aside in favour of a more culturally relevant conflict: Elisabeth’s own fight for freedom, particularly from the oppression of Archduchess Sophie.
The relationship between the two women become the focus of the show in Hungary, despite minimal shared stage time. Even though Franz Josef was present, Sophie represented the overbearing authority figure of the Empire, while Elisabeth was oppressed and fighting against everything the Habsburgs stood for.
By the end of act one, the portrayal of Elisabeth’s independence is unquestionable. The set is arranged so that Elisabeth is raised upon a pedestal, beautiful and radiant (Az már nem én lennék reprise), and just out of reach of the two men who are determined to claim her. Her freedom and triumph is hers, only to be shattered by Maladie.
Sophie is eventually overcome by Elisabeth in the events that follow Maladie. A new song adds a confrontation between Sophie and Franz Josef, but also provides Sophie with the hubris and humanity she had previously been lacking. Despite the Hungarian aspirations for freedom, Sophie’s ambition to do right for the Empire is shown with surprising sympathy.
Despite this one enemy falling, Elisabeth’s fight and flight continues. Unlike its counterparts, the Hungarian production retained - and still retains - the hunt scene, which followed Maladie. After one too many confrontations with Death, Elisabeth not only breaks free of her husband and her duties, but of Death too. She has come to embody freedom itself.
In her place, the focus turns to her son, Rudolf, who also supported Hungarian freedom. Using the conspiracy scenes from the Takarazuka production combined with the darkness of Hass, Rudolf’s own fight for what is right and for his chance to do things his way prove a more unsuccessful mirror of his mother’s actions.
His death allows Elisabeth’s fears to be realised, as she becomes aware that she is not made of stone as she has claimed. In her own stubborn quest for independence, she pushed her family and those she cared for aside. She is reminded harshly by the haunting taunts of the late Archduchess, which pushes Elisabeth to the edge, ready to give up her life, but when she wishes for that release, he no longer wants her.
Empty and broken, she continues to live, but it barely seems like it. Her last encounter with Franz Josef only rouses her to act when he stumbles, and she is the only one who can stop him from falling. Even then, it is only for a moment.
When Death finally comes for her, she sees the freedom he has granted, freedom from all the grief and misery and solitude. He shows her that freedom does not have to be isolation, and then, only then, does she accept him.
The journey made in the story is a significant one: in the opening scene, Death emerges from his tower, bearing Elisabeth’s gown, the symbol of her beauty, femininity and sexuality (due to the fact she is implicitly not wearing said dress in Death’s domain), but by the end of the show, that very gown is being raised defiantly like a flag of victory and freedom, a symbol of Elisabeth herself.
In a country that prides itself on its nationalism and freedom from authority, Elisabeth became the symbol of their own nation. While she was not Hungarian herself, she could relate to them and thus, became the icon of a struggle for freedom.
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Waarom laat je mij alleen? - A Dutch Family Affair
Songs removed: Jagd (1999)
Songs added: Mama waar ben je reprise (1999), Vater & Sonne (1999), De Samenzwering (1999), Rouwklacht - Sophie’s lament (1999)
In 1999, Elisabeth moved to the Netherlands, and a wholly different production was born. In a country that has a very strong Protestant backbone, focussed on the family and relationships, Elisabeth’s story was given a much more human side. Unlike the Viennese madness, Japanese romance or Hungarian liberty, it became the story of an unhappy family.
The televised trailer made this apparent, with Elisabeth’s relationship with her husband and son being curtailed by the domineering mother-in-law, her happiness only returning with Death’s approach.
Like the other non-Viennese productions, elements of Austrian history and politics would have been unfamiliar to many Dutch people, so the plot loosely follows the plot set out in Japan and Hungary, with Rudolf’s conspiracy becoming a focal point, and Death remaining as an autonomous figure taking part. A little more narrative is given to Lucheni to summarise the people involved, should the audience be unfamiliar with them.
The family aspect of the story is enhanced from the word go. The first scene with Elisabeth and her father becomes even more playful, and the visit by Sophie and Franz Josef to meet Helene becomes a very elaborate family affair, through which Elisabeth is a consummate child, playing with ribbons and streamers, and making her older cousin wish he could do the same.
Several scenes are changed by set alone, particularly during ‘Mach Auf Mein Engel’. Instead of Franz Josef petitioning at the door of Elisabeth’s study, the interaction is moved to their bedroom, much more personal and intimate. She is no longer shown as an Empress, but could be any woman in the middle of a domestic dispute with her husband.
Father and son are given a scene together as well. Another level of misunderstanding within the family is made clear with this encounter, another fracture forming between Rudolf and his parents. Contrasting the angry scene between Franz Josef and Rudolf with Was Ik Jou Spiegel Maar added layer upon layer of tension between the family members. Even the dead family members cast their shadow on the living with the reprise of Als Jij and Sophie’s lament in the crypt, after Rudolf’s demise.
One significant change is an additional scene between Death and Rudolf, with a reprise of Mama, Waar Ben Je. In this production, we are shown the youngest Rudolf, alone and neglected in his massive bed and dark bedchamber in act I, immediately before Mach Auf, Mein Engel. Later, a slightly older Rudolf petitions outside his mother’s study in a reprise of the same song, almost an echo of his father’s plea for attention and love, and once more, Death comes to him and comforts him.
Unlike some other productions, the Dutch Death changes and grows as much as Elisabeth herself. While she becomes colder and more distant from those around her, Death grows warmer, as can be seen in the scenes with Rudolf, when he is the only person in the show who actually embraces Rudolf. It shows clearly how dysfunctional the family is, while also humanising Death. It is difficult to imagine a Rudolf in another production throwing pillows at Death, and Death laughing with him.
Another change, to add to the humanity of the story, was the way the death of the infant Sophie was played out. Normally, a coffin is displayed at distance, but in the Dutch production - and later in the German production - Death himself brings the child, carrying her like a father would. The tenderness with which Death treats the child was definitely unusual.
The Dutch production took away a great deal of the malevolence of the character, just as it made the whole Imperial family more human. Like them, this supernatural being had his own weaknesses, in particular his affection for Elisabeth. This Death is the least androgynous and most definitively male Death in any production. Most incline towards the supernatural and androgynous figure, so this male and very human Death is a novelty.
Unlike other productions, there is less focus put on the homoerotic subtext of Death and Rudolf’s relationship, reserving his desire for Elisabeth. When Death says that he is Rudolf’s friend, that is all he is, and when Elisabeth finally accepts him, Death’s joy is palpable. But in a very butch, blokey way.
From beginning to end, it is a production very much about the people and the relationships they form throughout their lives. Be they Empress, Death, Prince or madwoman, it is made clear that no matter who a person is, their relationships are the things that can make or break them.
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An Deck der sinkenden Welt - The Fall of the Austrian Empire
Songs removed: Jagd (2001)
Songs added: Kind oder nicht (2001), Wenn Ich Tanzen Will (2001), Bellaria (2001), Vater Und Sohn (2001)
The first German production in Essen - and those that followed - gave an opportunity for Kunze and Levay to take their original German-language production and adapt the changes that had been developed in the Japanese and Hungarian productions. Accordingly, the unsteady story-telling from the original production was tightened up and several new songs were added to maintain the flow.
Like most of the other non-Vienna productions, the Hungarian rebellion became the sub-plot to both explains the socio-political climate in Vienna itself, though not to the extent it appears in the Japanese productions. Kind oder Nicht and Vater und Sohn both allowed for more development of Rudolf’s character, as well as setting up the family dynamic.
The biggest shift from the original Vienna production, however, was the portrayal of Death as the autonomous figure that he had become elsewhere in the world.
Germany has a long-standing tradition and is often credited with being the source of much of the ‘Death and the Maiden’ art work, which emerged during the renaissance. It is an old story, which remains in the public consciousness even today. The Totentanz series of images by Holbein showed Death intervening in the every day affairs of man, which meant Death’s intervention in the German production would be seen as fitting. This eventually carried over to the Vienna revival as well.
Like the Viennese production, Death’s character-design was based on the look of Heinrich Heine, Elisabeth’s idol, although the way he was acted was somewhat more formal and Prussian, and very blond. He became a definitively German Death.
Similarly, Elisabeth’s character was given a boost in strength with the addition of Wenn Ich Tanzen Will, shifting the focus away from the madness, and to the woman behind it, since she was a German herself, from Bavaria. This new song allowed Elisabeth to display a strength which had been somewhat lacking in earlier productions, and has since been adopted in many international productions.
What this production focuses upon is not the woman nor the madness, but what happens around her, because of Death’s captivation with her. With this in mind, Death is not present as the end of life for Elisabeth, but in this case, his presence is the symbol of the end of the life of the Habsburg empire as a whole.
Elisabeth’s lifetime was when both the Habsburg empire began to fall and the Prussian empire was on the rise. Nationalism was coming to the forefront of life, and given what followed in World Wars I and II, even now, Hass arouses discomfort in the German audiences.
While in many ways, the German production is a conglomeration of elements from different productions, it was honed and adjusted to make a much more smooth-flowing storyline. The new songs were effortlessly slipped in to link scenes, and on the whole, it made for a more fulfilling production.
Like the other production, it focussed on what was culturally familiar: in this case, the crumbling of one of the superpowers of Europe and the roots of what led their country to extreme Nationalism. Like the Dutch production, it looked at the people behind the Empire, and the hand that Death and fate played in the fall of the Habsburgs.
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Yume to Utsutsu no Hazama ni - A Japanese Dream
Songs removed: - Jagd (2001), Wie Du: Max’s Ghost (2001) Zwischen Traum und Wirklichkeit (2002/3)
Songs added: Zwischen Traum und Wirklichkeit (2001), Kind oder Nicht (2004), Watashi ga Odoru Toki (2004), Wie Du: Max’s Ghost (2004)
In 2001, 5 years after leaving the Takarazuka Revue, the woman who had brought Elisabeth to Japan and played Death in the original production donned a dress and took on the lead role of Elisabeth in the Toho production. Unlike the Takarazuka counterpart, the co-ed production took aspects of the previous Japanese production, but also a lot more from the original and Hungarian productions.
In a country where there is still an Imperial family as structured and formal as the Habsburgs were, it remained an accessible story. There were some parallels to be found within the Royal family itself: Princess Masako, a commoner, had married Crown Prince Naruhito in 1993. By the time the Toho production started playing, the cracks in the Fairytale Imperial Image were beginning to appear, as Masako struggled to deal with the archaic code of conduct expected from the Imperial family.
While this was going on in the Imperial world, in the theatre, some of the realism that had previously been glossed over by Takarazuka was brought back, and while the Hungarian revolutionaries remained, the death of Elisabeth’s child was returned to the storyline, along with Hass, which had previously been removed.
However, Ai to Shi no Rondo remained. The autonomous figure of Death was and remains one of the main draws of the show, when it is performed, although the lyrics were changed from the floral verse of the Takarazuka version.
Like the Hungarian version, this Death is one who was bored and has his interest sparked by the girl who fell into his life. Instead of the ideal man, he is unashamedly portrayed as a supernatural being, who will intrude in the affairs of men when it suits him, particularly in the bringing down of the Habsburg empire. Surrounded by frenetic minions, who pre-empt his appearances and even go so far as to manhandle the woman of his affections for him, he is ruthless and merciless and everything that Death should be.
The biggest difference between this production and the earlier ones was the subtle changes that made transitions from scene to scene even smoother. By 2004, many of the adjustments in the 2001 German production had been incorporated into the production as well. Fragmented reprises of songs are used to link one scene to another, and from the first scene in Hungary, the rebels are used as a steady thread through the storyline, appearing in Fröliche Apokalypse and Milch.
A song that made its debut - and only full appearance with the 2001 production - was the song Yume to Utsutsu no Hazama ni (Zwischen Traum and Wirklichkeit). It was specifically written for Ichiro Maki for this production, and deals with Elisabeth’s own fears of madness, after her confrontation with Death in Maladie. While this production didn’t focus on the madness, it certainly allowed for the possibility that Elisabeth was being pushed to the brink by her very lifestyle, which is something that the Japanese could easily relate to.
However, in the later Japanese productions, the song was shelved, as events in the real world were being too closely paralleled. Crown Princess Masako withdrew from public life. It is believed - though not confirmed - that she was suffering from severe depression due to the constraints of the Imperial lifestyle, and had seldom been seen in the past few years, due to what the Imperial household is calling ‘adjustment disorder’.
Given the importance of the Imperial family and the position of the Toho company in Japan, it is understandable that the song was removed. It has been recorded but sadly never performed in any other productions. Instead, Elisabeth’s visitation by the ghost of her father replaced it, allowing her that moment of self-reflection and despair.
A change inserted in 2004 from the new German production meant more stage time for both Sophie and Rudolf. The addition of Kind oder Nicht, an encounter used to display the brutality Rudolf is victim too as well as Sophie’s authority, means that Rudolf’s existence is not simply reserved for a couple of songs in the second act. Instead, it both reminds the audience of his presence and of Sophie’s continuing dominance, rather than having it repeatedly voiced through Elisabeth.
Wenn Ich Tanzen Will also progressed into the Toho production, after it had been adopted for the Takarazuka 2002/2003 show. While many of Death and Elisabeth’s confrontations had left her the weaker, this allowed her to show some strength of will. It made a fitting replacement for Zwischen Traum, bringing a stronger Elisabeth to act two.
In many ways, this production is a hybrid of the ones that came before it, taking aspects from the Hungarian and Viennese productions, but also the relationships that became so important in the Dutch production and the underlying love story from the Takarazuka production.
However, unlike its Japanese counterpart, this production allowed Elisabeth to be herself from the outset. Takarazuka has its own ideals of delicate and china-doll femininity to adhere to, which are gradually changing with the times, but Toho could show Elisabeth as a woman, with all her strength and weaknesses displayed from the word go. She was not the haunted creature of Vienna, nor the icon of Hungary, nor the miserable wife of Holland, but she was every woman, a person who might be happy or sad, and face trials and joys just like every member of their audience.
More than ten years after the musical first played in Japan, it remains a show of complete escapism for the Japanese people: only in a fictionalised version of the world can a person - particularly a woman, and especially a wife - dare to stand out, resist the pressures of society and do what they wish to do, all while being loved by an eternally faithful and mystical lover.
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Conclusion:
The success of Elisabeth is undeniable, and yet, every culture in which it has been performed sees the story in a different light. Even within these cultural variations, that are layer upon layer of different meanings and interpretations. Everyone can take something different from every production, be it the performers or the audience. That, perhaps, is what makes it such an accessible and global phenomenon.
In 1980, Brigitte Hamann produced a biography of Elisabeth, and for the first time, Elisabeth’s own writings were to made public, both poetry and letters. Far from the glowing, beautiful, confident Empress, Sisi revealed a troubled mind. Melancholy and extremely shy, she was forced into a restrictive life in court, a wild bird in a gilded cage. She shied from her responsibilities, rejected Austria in favour of Hungary, starved herself to retain her beauty, and fled from Vienna as often as she was able.
Michael Kunze himself said that he wished to look past the Sissi cliche, and a new version of Elisabeth was revealed. It was this one who has been immortalised internationally in the musical by Kunze & Levay.
It seems strange that a musical focussed on the life of an Empress not well-known beyond Austria and its former lands should become popular in as far flung reaches as Japan, yet the show has held great appeal ever since it first opened. Even so, no two countries interpret the musical the same way, each of them taking their own cultural experience to make it relevant to the country it is for.
NB: the Thun, Finnish and Swedish productions will not be featured, as I have been unable to find sufficient visual material to examine them fairly.
Eine Kaiserin muss glänzen - Death & Royalty: An Austrian Obsession
Songs removed: Jagd (Revival)
Songs added: Kind oder nicht (Revival), Wenn Ich Tanzen Will (Revival), Vater Und Sohn (Revival)
It was only natural that in the original production, written for Vienna’s theatre and about a Viennese Empress, the show was entirely directed at a knowing audience, all of whom knew exactly who Elisabeth was and what had become of her.
In a country that became a Republic after World War I, even now there is a deep love for the monarchy, particularly for Franz Josef, who was quite literally the father and kindly grandfather of his country. As his wife, Elisabeth benefited from some of this adulation and as the last Emperor and Empress to truly rule the Austrian Empire, they mark a significant point in their Empire’s history. Those were the days of Austrian Glory, success and magnificence, a time now long lost.
However, a simple musical about a tragic but flawed Empress was made more fascinating by the use of her poetry and writing in the lyrics of the show itself. The figure of Death, who haunts her every step, is the embodiment of the edge of madness that she walked on. In the original production, Death seemed a mostly malevolent figure, the dark side of Elisabeth herself, urging her to end her life and choose him.
Why Death? Why not some other form of madness? Well, if there is one thing that it is easy to find in Vienna, aside from Habsburg-related landmarks, it is death in all its glory. There is a long-standing fascination of death and what comes with it in Vienna, where even now, the arrangements of Habsburg burials are discussed and the crypts are still regularly decked with flowers. Viennese art is filled with images of Death, and even in death, you are regarded as you are in life: you can’t stop making an effort, just because you’re dead.
In the Q&A on Michael Kunze’s website, he explains his fascination with Elisabeth’s writing and her eternal struggle with the figure of Death. He describes this figure as both her own death-drive and even a darker version of herself. The concept of a twisted, erotic relationship with this darker side of herself meant the production could focus on the long-concealed madness that haunted Elisabeth and her Bavarian family.
It is stated in the prologue that to Elisabeth, Death is embodied in Heinrich Heine, whom she idolised throughout her life, and it is in his image that Death is presented. Although blonder, the enigmatic figure of Death originally bore an unsettling resemblance to the poet whom Elisabeth fantasised about for much of her life. This changed with the revival, but at this point in the show’s history, Death was Heine in Elisabeth’s mind.
As part of the Wittelsbach heritage, to say that Elisabeth came from a long line of people with mental instability would be an understatement. Her cousin and one of her closest friends was known as Ludwig the Mad, and much of the family was so interbred that abnormalities in body and mind were common. The fact that Franz Josef and Elisabeth were first cousins - and probably related several times over - did little to redeem their bloodline.
There are several scenes that show Elisabeth acting in ways that - historically - distressed and disturbed her family: the visits to the asylums, her summoning of Heinrich Heine’s spirit, the hunts that she risked life and limb for. Layer by layer, they show the Empress’s deep-seated misery and sorrow and the life she desperately wanted to be away from.
Death’s whispers were a quiet, dark seduction, for after all, what better escape is there than death, where none of those people who torment you can find you? The enigmatic, ethereal, androgynous figure is there in the background, all the time, tempting and cajoling her, the living incarnation of her death-wish.
Some confusion arises from Death’s relationship with Rudolf: is her son developing the Wittelsbach madness? This seems the case, at least in the original production. Young Rudolf was fascinated with death and the dying, and would kill animals to watch them die. Many of his drawings as a child emphasis hunting and killing, and a quote from his journal supports the fact he would seek out dying people to witness their ends.
It is telling that when he reaches the pinnacle of his madness, his suicidal dance with Death at Mayerling is not the man who has been his friend. Instead, Death is a woman, and given the historical events, it can not be questioned that She is representing Mary Vetsera, the woman who Rudolf murdered before killing himself.
In a whirling waltz, representative of his own madness, woman after woman keeps the gun out of his reach until he finally finds the right one, and ends his life. Crown Prince Rudolf did not only ask Mary Vetsera to die with him. He first asked his wife, who refused, and his favourite Mistress (incidentally, they both went to the chief of police, but he didn’t believe them). The symbolism of the women stealing the gun out of his reach would have a pointed significance to a Viennese audience.
Much of the Rudolf storyline would have been familiar to Vienna. In the revival, the confrontation between Franz Josef and his son over a newspaper would need no explanation to the Viennese: Rudolf wrote an open letter to his father under an alias, criticising the monarchy, which was one of the things father and son argued about.
Despite this look at the darker and less familiar side of Elisabeth and her son, a lot of the show was also a cynical satire of the Vienna of the 19th century, a time when the members of Viennese society cheerfully stuck their heads in the sand when it came to political upheaval and disaster. In Die Froliche Apocalypse, Milch, and Hass, different aspects of society are put in front of the spotlight, while inserting exposition.
Hass is particularly significant, with the rise of the German Empire, the fall of the Habsburgs and the events that followed with Nationalism taking a darker turn into World War II. It didn’t just start, and the musical shows the roots of it were already there, more than half a century before. Again, this harkens back to the Viennese wistfulness for the time of Empire, before things went so terribly downhill for the country.
The Habsburg family members are, of course, treated with a measure of reverence, for it is one thing to focus on the potentially insane Empress, but one can not speak ill of Franz Josef. At least not in terms people don’t already know about. The court and the society themselves are lampooned extensively, with cloying, toadying behaviour, all overseen by the iron hand of Archduchess Sophie, the woman who would never be Empress, but didn’t let that stop her.
The biggest change that came when the show was revived in 2003 was the change in dynamic between Death and Elisabeth. While Death still was clearly some aspect of her mind, a new song (Wenn Ich Tanzen Will) made them a more balanced counterpoint to one another: he is still the devil on her shoulder, but there is less malevolence behind him.
Additional confrontation scenes featuring Sophie with young Rudolf (Kind oder Nicht) and Franz Josef (Bellaria) added more depth and sympathy to a character who had initially been nothing more than the tyrannous mother-in-law.
Kind oder Nicht, set just before Mach Auf Mein Engel, is used to emphasise Sophie’s part in Rudolf’s upbringing, Bellaria allows her to show how much she has sacrificed to keep the country great, and her confusion at people unwilling to do the same. Sophie herself was initially as uncomfortable with court life as Elisabeth on her first arrival, yet she became the most powerful figure in the Empire.
The sets and designs all reflect the very nature of the story. It is a dark set, simply decorated, but the props tell such a story. For every scene, there is something you can see in a museum somewhere in Vienna: the skull in the Prologue is on one of the coffins in the crypt, the Imperial carriage in the original production is in the coach museum at Schonbrunn, the Spiegelsaal is open to visits in Schonbrunn, Elisabeth’s gym equipment can be seen at the Hofburg. These props were simply there, not highlighted, seldom focussed on, yet they added to the layer upon layer of history built into the story itself.
Over the course of ten years, influenced by the many incarnations across the globe, Elisabeth has shifted from a dark and psychologically unsettling look at a woman’s struggle against her own inner demons to the Gothic love story. By the revival, Death is a less malevolent force, even more seductive and persuasive, and Elisabeth is stronger. When she finally belongs to him, in the end, it is her choice.
Ai to Shi no Rondo - A Pure Proper and Beautiful Love story
Songs removed: Hass (1996), Jagd (1996), Wie Du: Max’s Ghost (1996)
Songs added: Ai to Shi no Rondo (1996), Die Verschwörung (Rudolf’s fantasy version - 1996), Watashi ga Odoru Toki (2002/3)
The first production outside of Vienna was by the Takarazuka all-women revue company in Japan in early 1996, after one of their performers saw the show and the possibilities it had while in Vienna. It faced some major changes, particularly given the Viennese production’s political situations being unfamiliar to the Japanese.
Another major feature that had to be changed was the character focus. The Takarazuka otokoyaku - male-playing actresses - are the leading figures, and while Death and Franz Josef both feature extensively, it was not enough for one of their leading men.
Accordingly, the role of Death was shifted from the darker side of Elisabeth’s own psyche to be a manifestation of the figure of Death itself. This was a reflection of the tendency in both Buddhism and shinto, the main Japanese religions, to regard deities, demons and spirits as autonomous creatures.
Using the name of ‘Death’ was problematic, due to the European use of the word as name as well as function. Instead, Takarazuka presented 黄泉の帝王, which translates as the Lord of the Yellow River, which has associations with Enma, the Buddhist Lord of the Dead. The juxtaposition of Death and his angels reflect Enma-ou, and his helpers, and in this production Death received a throne and a sword as a sign of his power.
The Japanese have a long-standing love affair with the concept of death. It features in poetry and art, and while Western art focuses on spring and the symbolism of resurrection, Japanese art follows the path of the seasons, representative of mortality itself. It is not something to be wholly feared, but it is to be respected.
In a company whose motto is ‘Pure, Proper & Graceful’ with an audience made up of mostly married women and mothers, the focus moved from the political to the relationship that Death and Elisabeth share. With Death incarnate as a supernatural man, a new song ‘Ai to Shi no Rondo’ was added as a theme running through the show: the dance of love and Death. It was written for Ichiro Maki, the leading otokoyaku of the Snow Troupe at the time. It is performed once in full, on the first encounter of Death and Elisabeth, and after further confrontations, it is reprised, emphasising that this love is a constant, sometimes painful, but always true one.
The Takarazuka revue presents the hyper-ideal man, the perfect, genteel and noble man, and it takes romance to new heights. To have a supernatural creature fall for a normal woman is the perfect dream of romance in Takarazuka. When Death promises that he will follow her all through her life, he proceeds to do so. He is there, sometimes as intercessor, sometimes as silent witness, in all the major events of her life, such as her wedding, coronation in Hungary and her triumph over Franz Josef, and even steps into the affairs of men to change what will happen around her.
This is the Death who calmly and methodically works to bring down the Empire that is bent on breaking the woman he loves. Lucheni - only the narrator in the Vienna version - interacts and loyally follows Death’s commands. Under Death’s direction, Lucheni urges the populace to revolt against the Empire, while Death conspires with revolutionaries and even goes to the extent of guiding Elisabeth’s son to treachery and suicide.
The use of the Hungarian revolutionaries is one of the bigger changes in the show. While part of this would simply be to expand the number of male roles for otokoyaku, it also displays rather than explains the political hotbed that was Austro-Hungary at the time. Introduced to replace the death of Elisabeth’s infant child, a topic too drastic and jarring for the female audience of the Takarazuka shows, they became a theme throughout, clearly showing the length of the Hungarian struggle for independence.
The removal of Hass takes away the additional conflict rising German nationalist and antisemitic sentiments, the subject matter again considered too sensitive for the audience. Instead, Rudolf’s allegiance is brought into question. While in the Vienna production, focus was placed on the newspaper article he had written, Takarazuka was the first company to highlight the contact he had with the revolutionaries. Openly consorting with Hungarian conspirators would be a clearer display of treachery than the newspaper, which would have little meaning to a Japanese audience (though it is still mentioned briefly just before Yami Ga Hirogaru (Die Schatten Werden Länger)).
In a culture where a son is expected to succeed his father or at least follow in his footsteps, this behaviour would set Rudolf apart as troublesome and disturbing, yet he is sympathetic because many of his ambitions are shown to be what he believes to be right. Like Elisabeth, he is trapped in a society where one must do what is proper, not what is right. To use a Japanese proverb, he is a nail that sticks out and must be hammered in. Unfortunately for Rudolf, instead of being hammered in, he breaks, and Death is waiting.
The theme of suicide in the show was not only shown by Rudolf. Another addition was Elisabeth’s consideration of suicide, just before Watashi Dake Ni (Ich Gehor nur mir). Given that her other suitor is presented as Death, this is the first opportunity she has to make the choice to go to him.
In a country with one of the highest suicide rates in the world - there is less moral judgement than in Western religion - for Elisabeth to consider the option would not be shocking. Likewise, Rudolf choosing to kill himself is the only honourable end to a life in which he has been shamed.
Elisabeth, however, is proven to be the stronger individual, by resisting the impulse to end her life. The possibility arises again, when she finds out about Franz Josef having an affair. Again, this aspect of the storyline has been purified. Rather than Elisabeth contracting an infection from her wayward husband, the evidence is produced in the form of a photograph. Again, though, she rebuffs Death’s advances, maintaining she never would have chosen him. He shows her the knife she would have used to kill herself, pointing out that she did - and may still - desire him.
In 2002, with the fourth Takarazuka production, a new song was imported from a new German production: Watashi ga Odoru Toki (Wenn Ich Tanzen Will). Before this, there were only four encounters between Death and Elisabeth, as Death appeared as by-stander in many scenes: the wedding, her self-realisation in Watashi dake ni and again in the reprise, her triumph over Franz Josef, as well as her coronation.
The addition of this song gave the lovers a proper duet, which allowed Elisabeth to stand her ground against Death, his equal and worthy of his devotion. Before this point, Elisabeth’s only romantic duet had been with Franz Josef and in the final scene when she accepts Death. It added a new dimension to the relationship to have them placed together as equals in the middle of the show.
The situation that Elisabeth is portrayed in, in this production, becomes less about an Empress and more about a woman struggling for the right to be and do what she wants in a world that is telling her not to. In her enmity with Sophie, her mother-in-law, Elisabeth is in a place familiar to many married women in Japan: the husband choosing his mother over his wife. It is one of the main causes of divorce in the country, and given that the majority of the audience is made up of married housewives, it is unsurprising that they took Elisabeth so wholly to their hearts.
In the end, she is just a woman like them, but unlike them, she is able to fight for what she wants and in the end, chooses the man who has changed the world for her and together, they ascend to paradise.
Éljen Erzsébet - The Image of Hungarian Independence
Songs added: Bellaria (1996), Die Verschwörung (1996), Totenklage - Sophie’s lament (1996)
In the autumn of 1996, after the Takarazuka Revue’s successful runs of Elisabeth, the show was premiered in Hungary. As in Vienna, Elisabeth was well-known and even more beloved by the people, due to her part in the creation of an independent Hungary. She made no secret of her affection for the country and people, learning the language and even making sure her fourth and favourite child was born there, and raised as Hungarian as possible.
Due to this, it is no surprise that a musical about her life has continued to be successful, but like the Takarazuka production, there were some changes to be made. Like in the Japanese production, Death became an autonomous character, moving throughout the story, guiding his servants and interceding in human affairs.
In many ways, the two 1996 productions have a lot more in common with one another than with the Viennese production. Death’s love song (Ai to Shi no Rondo) was adopted, although only once with no reprises and with a less romantic text, and Rudolf’s involvement with Death and the notably Hungarian conspirators was expanded upon.
While the Takarazuka production was an ideal love story, Hungary did not shy away from the realities that had been discreetly erased from its sister-production in Japan. Chief among those was the decision to retain Hass and the slurs rained upon Rudolf as a Jew-lover, which have their own meaning in a country that saw massacres of Jews in World War II and where antisemitism and fascist sympathies maintain a fringe political position to this day.
The role of Death in this production is far from the erotic fantasy of the Viennese version or the high romance of the Takarazuka version. With such a collision of old superstitions and mythologies from the cultures that make up Hungary, Death emerges like one of the demons of times gone by, seducing and luring people to choose their end.
Death’s first encounter with Elisabeth (Útvesztő minden út) shows a supernatural creature who finds a diversion, someone interesting that he hasn’t expected or anticipated. Elisabeth is shown as a free-spirited, energetic and intelligent young woman, and this is what captures this particular Death.
However, with this addition of Death as a physically present character instead of an aspect of Elisabeth’s imagination, Elisabeth’s struggle with madness was put aside in favour of a more culturally relevant conflict: Elisabeth’s own fight for freedom, particularly from the oppression of Archduchess Sophie.
The relationship between the two women become the focus of the show in Hungary, despite minimal shared stage time. Even though Franz Josef was present, Sophie represented the overbearing authority figure of the Empire, while Elisabeth was oppressed and fighting against everything the Habsburgs stood for.
By the end of act one, the portrayal of Elisabeth’s independence is unquestionable. The set is arranged so that Elisabeth is raised upon a pedestal, beautiful and radiant (Az már nem én lennék reprise), and just out of reach of the two men who are determined to claim her. Her freedom and triumph is hers, only to be shattered by Maladie.
Sophie is eventually overcome by Elisabeth in the events that follow Maladie. A new song adds a confrontation between Sophie and Franz Josef, but also provides Sophie with the hubris and humanity she had previously been lacking. Despite the Hungarian aspirations for freedom, Sophie’s ambition to do right for the Empire is shown with surprising sympathy.
Despite this one enemy falling, Elisabeth’s fight and flight continues. Unlike its counterparts, the Hungarian production retained - and still retains - the hunt scene, which followed Maladie. After one too many confrontations with Death, Elisabeth not only breaks free of her husband and her duties, but of Death too. She has come to embody freedom itself.
In her place, the focus turns to her son, Rudolf, who also supported Hungarian freedom. Using the conspiracy scenes from the Takarazuka production combined with the darkness of Hass, Rudolf’s own fight for what is right and for his chance to do things his way prove a more unsuccessful mirror of his mother’s actions.
His death allows Elisabeth’s fears to be realised, as she becomes aware that she is not made of stone as she has claimed. In her own stubborn quest for independence, she pushed her family and those she cared for aside. She is reminded harshly by the haunting taunts of the late Archduchess, which pushes Elisabeth to the edge, ready to give up her life, but when she wishes for that release, he no longer wants her.
Empty and broken, she continues to live, but it barely seems like it. Her last encounter with Franz Josef only rouses her to act when he stumbles, and she is the only one who can stop him from falling. Even then, it is only for a moment.
When Death finally comes for her, she sees the freedom he has granted, freedom from all the grief and misery and solitude. He shows her that freedom does not have to be isolation, and then, only then, does she accept him.
The journey made in the story is a significant one: in the opening scene, Death emerges from his tower, bearing Elisabeth’s gown, the symbol of her beauty, femininity and sexuality (due to the fact she is implicitly not wearing said dress in Death’s domain), but by the end of the show, that very gown is being raised defiantly like a flag of victory and freedom, a symbol of Elisabeth herself.
In a country that prides itself on its nationalism and freedom from authority, Elisabeth became the symbol of their own nation. While she was not Hungarian herself, she could relate to them and thus, became the icon of a struggle for freedom.
Waarom laat je mij alleen? - A Dutch Family Affair
Songs removed: Jagd (1999)
Songs added: Mama waar ben je reprise (1999), Vater & Sonne (1999), De Samenzwering (1999), Rouwklacht - Sophie’s lament (1999)
In 1999, Elisabeth moved to the Netherlands, and a wholly different production was born. In a country that has a very strong Protestant backbone, focussed on the family and relationships, Elisabeth’s story was given a much more human side. Unlike the Viennese madness, Japanese romance or Hungarian liberty, it became the story of an unhappy family.
The televised trailer made this apparent, with Elisabeth’s relationship with her husband and son being curtailed by the domineering mother-in-law, her happiness only returning with Death’s approach.
Like the other non-Viennese productions, elements of Austrian history and politics would have been unfamiliar to many Dutch people, so the plot loosely follows the plot set out in Japan and Hungary, with Rudolf’s conspiracy becoming a focal point, and Death remaining as an autonomous figure taking part. A little more narrative is given to Lucheni to summarise the people involved, should the audience be unfamiliar with them.
The family aspect of the story is enhanced from the word go. The first scene with Elisabeth and her father becomes even more playful, and the visit by Sophie and Franz Josef to meet Helene becomes a very elaborate family affair, through which Elisabeth is a consummate child, playing with ribbons and streamers, and making her older cousin wish he could do the same.
Several scenes are changed by set alone, particularly during ‘Mach Auf Mein Engel’. Instead of Franz Josef petitioning at the door of Elisabeth’s study, the interaction is moved to their bedroom, much more personal and intimate. She is no longer shown as an Empress, but could be any woman in the middle of a domestic dispute with her husband.
Father and son are given a scene together as well. Another level of misunderstanding within the family is made clear with this encounter, another fracture forming between Rudolf and his parents. Contrasting the angry scene between Franz Josef and Rudolf with Was Ik Jou Spiegel Maar added layer upon layer of tension between the family members. Even the dead family members cast their shadow on the living with the reprise of Als Jij and Sophie’s lament in the crypt, after Rudolf’s demise.
One significant change is an additional scene between Death and Rudolf, with a reprise of Mama, Waar Ben Je. In this production, we are shown the youngest Rudolf, alone and neglected in his massive bed and dark bedchamber in act I, immediately before Mach Auf, Mein Engel. Later, a slightly older Rudolf petitions outside his mother’s study in a reprise of the same song, almost an echo of his father’s plea for attention and love, and once more, Death comes to him and comforts him.
Unlike some other productions, the Dutch Death changes and grows as much as Elisabeth herself. While she becomes colder and more distant from those around her, Death grows warmer, as can be seen in the scenes with Rudolf, when he is the only person in the show who actually embraces Rudolf. It shows clearly how dysfunctional the family is, while also humanising Death. It is difficult to imagine a Rudolf in another production throwing pillows at Death, and Death laughing with him.
Another change, to add to the humanity of the story, was the way the death of the infant Sophie was played out. Normally, a coffin is displayed at distance, but in the Dutch production - and later in the German production - Death himself brings the child, carrying her like a father would. The tenderness with which Death treats the child was definitely unusual.
The Dutch production took away a great deal of the malevolence of the character, just as it made the whole Imperial family more human. Like them, this supernatural being had his own weaknesses, in particular his affection for Elisabeth. This Death is the least androgynous and most definitively male Death in any production. Most incline towards the supernatural and androgynous figure, so this male and very human Death is a novelty.
Unlike other productions, there is less focus put on the homoerotic subtext of Death and Rudolf’s relationship, reserving his desire for Elisabeth. When Death says that he is Rudolf’s friend, that is all he is, and when Elisabeth finally accepts him, Death’s joy is palpable. But in a very butch, blokey way.
From beginning to end, it is a production very much about the people and the relationships they form throughout their lives. Be they Empress, Death, Prince or madwoman, it is made clear that no matter who a person is, their relationships are the things that can make or break them.
An Deck der sinkenden Welt - The Fall of the Austrian Empire
Songs removed: Jagd (2001)
Songs added: Kind oder nicht (2001), Wenn Ich Tanzen Will (2001), Bellaria (2001), Vater Und Sohn (2001)
The first German production in Essen - and those that followed - gave an opportunity for Kunze and Levay to take their original German-language production and adapt the changes that had been developed in the Japanese and Hungarian productions. Accordingly, the unsteady story-telling from the original production was tightened up and several new songs were added to maintain the flow.
Like most of the other non-Vienna productions, the Hungarian rebellion became the sub-plot to both explains the socio-political climate in Vienna itself, though not to the extent it appears in the Japanese productions. Kind oder Nicht and Vater und Sohn both allowed for more development of Rudolf’s character, as well as setting up the family dynamic.
The biggest shift from the original Vienna production, however, was the portrayal of Death as the autonomous figure that he had become elsewhere in the world.
Germany has a long-standing tradition and is often credited with being the source of much of the ‘Death and the Maiden’ art work, which emerged during the renaissance. It is an old story, which remains in the public consciousness even today. The Totentanz series of images by Holbein showed Death intervening in the every day affairs of man, which meant Death’s intervention in the German production would be seen as fitting. This eventually carried over to the Vienna revival as well.
Like the Viennese production, Death’s character-design was based on the look of Heinrich Heine, Elisabeth’s idol, although the way he was acted was somewhat more formal and Prussian, and very blond. He became a definitively German Death.
Similarly, Elisabeth’s character was given a boost in strength with the addition of Wenn Ich Tanzen Will, shifting the focus away from the madness, and to the woman behind it, since she was a German herself, from Bavaria. This new song allowed Elisabeth to display a strength which had been somewhat lacking in earlier productions, and has since been adopted in many international productions.
What this production focuses upon is not the woman nor the madness, but what happens around her, because of Death’s captivation with her. With this in mind, Death is not present as the end of life for Elisabeth, but in this case, his presence is the symbol of the end of the life of the Habsburg empire as a whole.
Elisabeth’s lifetime was when both the Habsburg empire began to fall and the Prussian empire was on the rise. Nationalism was coming to the forefront of life, and given what followed in World Wars I and II, even now, Hass arouses discomfort in the German audiences.
While in many ways, the German production is a conglomeration of elements from different productions, it was honed and adjusted to make a much more smooth-flowing storyline. The new songs were effortlessly slipped in to link scenes, and on the whole, it made for a more fulfilling production.
Like the other production, it focussed on what was culturally familiar: in this case, the crumbling of one of the superpowers of Europe and the roots of what led their country to extreme Nationalism. Like the Dutch production, it looked at the people behind the Empire, and the hand that Death and fate played in the fall of the Habsburgs.
Yume to Utsutsu no Hazama ni - A Japanese Dream
Songs removed: - Jagd (2001), Wie Du: Max’s Ghost (2001) Zwischen Traum und Wirklichkeit (2002/3)
Songs added: Zwischen Traum und Wirklichkeit (2001), Kind oder Nicht (2004), Watashi ga Odoru Toki (2004), Wie Du: Max’s Ghost (2004)
In 2001, 5 years after leaving the Takarazuka Revue, the woman who had brought Elisabeth to Japan and played Death in the original production donned a dress and took on the lead role of Elisabeth in the Toho production. Unlike the Takarazuka counterpart, the co-ed production took aspects of the previous Japanese production, but also a lot more from the original and Hungarian productions.
In a country where there is still an Imperial family as structured and formal as the Habsburgs were, it remained an accessible story. There were some parallels to be found within the Royal family itself: Princess Masako, a commoner, had married Crown Prince Naruhito in 1993. By the time the Toho production started playing, the cracks in the Fairytale Imperial Image were beginning to appear, as Masako struggled to deal with the archaic code of conduct expected from the Imperial family.
While this was going on in the Imperial world, in the theatre, some of the realism that had previously been glossed over by Takarazuka was brought back, and while the Hungarian revolutionaries remained, the death of Elisabeth’s child was returned to the storyline, along with Hass, which had previously been removed.
However, Ai to Shi no Rondo remained. The autonomous figure of Death was and remains one of the main draws of the show, when it is performed, although the lyrics were changed from the floral verse of the Takarazuka version.
Like the Hungarian version, this Death is one who was bored and has his interest sparked by the girl who fell into his life. Instead of the ideal man, he is unashamedly portrayed as a supernatural being, who will intrude in the affairs of men when it suits him, particularly in the bringing down of the Habsburg empire. Surrounded by frenetic minions, who pre-empt his appearances and even go so far as to manhandle the woman of his affections for him, he is ruthless and merciless and everything that Death should be.
The biggest difference between this production and the earlier ones was the subtle changes that made transitions from scene to scene even smoother. By 2004, many of the adjustments in the 2001 German production had been incorporated into the production as well. Fragmented reprises of songs are used to link one scene to another, and from the first scene in Hungary, the rebels are used as a steady thread through the storyline, appearing in Fröliche Apokalypse and Milch.
A song that made its debut - and only full appearance with the 2001 production - was the song Yume to Utsutsu no Hazama ni (Zwischen Traum and Wirklichkeit). It was specifically written for Ichiro Maki for this production, and deals with Elisabeth’s own fears of madness, after her confrontation with Death in Maladie. While this production didn’t focus on the madness, it certainly allowed for the possibility that Elisabeth was being pushed to the brink by her very lifestyle, which is something that the Japanese could easily relate to.
However, in the later Japanese productions, the song was shelved, as events in the real world were being too closely paralleled. Crown Princess Masako withdrew from public life. It is believed - though not confirmed - that she was suffering from severe depression due to the constraints of the Imperial lifestyle, and had seldom been seen in the past few years, due to what the Imperial household is calling ‘adjustment disorder’.
Given the importance of the Imperial family and the position of the Toho company in Japan, it is understandable that the song was removed. It has been recorded but sadly never performed in any other productions. Instead, Elisabeth’s visitation by the ghost of her father replaced it, allowing her that moment of self-reflection and despair.
A change inserted in 2004 from the new German production meant more stage time for both Sophie and Rudolf. The addition of Kind oder Nicht, an encounter used to display the brutality Rudolf is victim too as well as Sophie’s authority, means that Rudolf’s existence is not simply reserved for a couple of songs in the second act. Instead, it both reminds the audience of his presence and of Sophie’s continuing dominance, rather than having it repeatedly voiced through Elisabeth.
Wenn Ich Tanzen Will also progressed into the Toho production, after it had been adopted for the Takarazuka 2002/2003 show. While many of Death and Elisabeth’s confrontations had left her the weaker, this allowed her to show some strength of will. It made a fitting replacement for Zwischen Traum, bringing a stronger Elisabeth to act two.
In many ways, this production is a hybrid of the ones that came before it, taking aspects from the Hungarian and Viennese productions, but also the relationships that became so important in the Dutch production and the underlying love story from the Takarazuka production.
However, unlike its Japanese counterpart, this production allowed Elisabeth to be herself from the outset. Takarazuka has its own ideals of delicate and china-doll femininity to adhere to, which are gradually changing with the times, but Toho could show Elisabeth as a woman, with all her strength and weaknesses displayed from the word go. She was not the haunted creature of Vienna, nor the icon of Hungary, nor the miserable wife of Holland, but she was every woman, a person who might be happy or sad, and face trials and joys just like every member of their audience.
More than ten years after the musical first played in Japan, it remains a show of complete escapism for the Japanese people: only in a fictionalised version of the world can a person - particularly a woman, and especially a wife - dare to stand out, resist the pressures of society and do what they wish to do, all while being loved by an eternally faithful and mystical lover.
Conclusion:
The success of Elisabeth is undeniable, and yet, every culture in which it has been performed sees the story in a different light. Even within these cultural variations, that are layer upon layer of different meanings and interpretations. Everyone can take something different from every production, be it the performers or the audience. That, perhaps, is what makes it such an accessible and global phenomenon.