Conceived as a voice-and-piano tale in the first person, Schubert’s song cycle to texts by Wilhelm Müller, Die schöne Müllerin, seems almost impregnable in its individualism, its account of an unrequited love flowing as self-absorbedly as the brook that is the poet’s trusted interlocutor. Yet on closer inspection, the surface hides swirls and undercurrents, rocky obstructions which make the narration less smooth than it appears as the lover moves through fluctuating states of mind. To materialise these internal discordances, bass-baritone Florian Boesch and director Nikolaus Habjan have re-elaborated Schubert’s work not only by multiplying its actors and breaking the narrator into different presences on stage, but also having the score arranged for chamber ensemble, their long-time collaborators Musicbanda Franui. This partially staged production of Müllerin had its premiere at Berlin’s Staatsoper Unter den Linden, resulting in a most successful new take on Schubert’s well-known cycle.
On stage, only a few props appear: an armchair, a long, thin wardrobe, a wooden pedestal covered by a veil, a table on top of which a skull looms before the audience. As soon as the music begins, both Boesch and Habjan walk to the proscenium and reveal what is on the pedestal: a life-size human puppet, consisting only of a head and an armless bust. Made by Habjan himself, this simulacrum is controlled by both performers, as the baritone moves its head and lends it his voice, while its creator provides him with arms and legs.
The “self” that is implied in Müller’s poems therefore gets split between three different bodies, each with his own traits but also strictly dependent on the others. In this scenario, the “other” seems to be the miller’s beloved, whose effigy – also a puppet – is brought out of the wardrobe and managed by Habjan. But distinctions are not so clear-cut, as both characters are played by the same hands, suggesting identity at their core. External tensions and internal conflicts are hardly distinguishable, and on one occasion the miller’s puppet even rebels against its own puppeteers. Oscillating between identification and alienation, Boesch and Habjan’s production questions the Romantic character of the song cycle from within, never forcing misleading interpretations.
Much like the scattering of the narrator’s self, Schubert’s score is also redistributed, between the members of Musicbanda Franui. Recomposed by multi-instrumentalist Markus Kraler and conductor Andreas Schett, this Müllerin proves how, even while preserving its recognisability and outline, this music offers itself to a number of unexpected, if fortunate, rewritings. Indeed, the very composition of the ensemble guided the endeavours of the authors, since the rearrangement was shaped with Franui in mind. Mostly wind- and more specifically brass-led, the score’s new clothes were often strikingly rhythmic, reminiscent of Weill and even klezmer. Yet Schubert’s melodic streak was never abandoned – instead, it was rephrased and extended, complemented by the timbres of harp, zither and hammered dulcimer. Sitting with the musicians and occasionally playing the trumpet, Schett coordinated his colleagues, rather than conducting them, and made sure that the playing was always well-balanced.
Lastly, credit must be given to Florian Boesch as interpreter of his creation. By his own admission a very “physical” performer, the bass-baritone managed to channel his energy into not just puppeteering, but also – and mostly – singing the Lieder with continuous zeal, moving steadily through the registers. His rendition parted from the usual image of a sorrowful, melancholic man, in line with Boesch’s conviction that the cycle ends with hope, not in tragedy – so that when the brook, sung by some members of the ensemble, replies to the miller, we are indeed convinced that it is not death awaiting, but “a new star in the sky”.
