Opera Review: Goggles, Gears and Genocide

Opera Moderne returns with Der Kaiser von Atlantis.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

The cast of Der Kaiser von Atlantis at the Bohemian Hall. Vincent B. Vincent
(center) stars as the Emperor Overall. Death (Jeffrey Tucker) is at right.
Photo by Sara L. Gamarro © 2012 Opera Moderne.

Viktor Ullmann's Der Kaiser von Atlantis is a work with a most painful genesis. It was written in Theresienstadt, the Nazis' "show" concentration camp where Ullmann was an inmate along with his librettist Peter Kien. Using a chamber orchestra of whatever instruments were available (including ad banjo!) they created a one-act, one-hour show: a bold lampoon of Hitler and the German idea of "total war."

The opera was cancelled when the SS learned of its subject matter. Ullmann and Kien were sent to Auschwitz and killed.

However, their collaboration survived, coming to light in 1975. Since then, the work has had a number of productions in Europe, but only a few in America. This is a short, difficult one-act work which requires serious vocal talent to bring off. And while Kaiser is not difficult to stage, its unique history and back-story make it difficult to pair with another short opera.

Opera Review: Death Quits, Then Punks Hitler

Boston Lyric Opera takes on The Emperor of Atlantis.

Death plays chess: Kevin Burdette in The Emperor of Atlantis.
Photo by Jeffery Dunn © 2011 Boston Lyric Opera.

This week, the Boston Lyric Opera staged Der Kaiser von Atlantis, a powerful opera written in the Nazi concentration camp of Theresienstadt. Billed as The Emperor of Atlantis, or Death Quits, this is a scintillating work by composer Viktor Ullmann. Ullmann, an Austrian composer whose teachers included Alexander von Zemlinsky, was sent to Auschwitz shortly after the first dress rehearsal.

The team of director David Schweizer and set designer Caleb Wertenbaker re-imagined the Calderwood Pavilion as a reclaimed disaster zone, its walls covered in duct-taped rolls of white plastic, the entire production lit by white work-lights. Audience members were greeted by uniformed, zombie-like members of the chorus, wearing dark suits and brassards with a mysterious red symbol on their sleeves. They droned: "Welcome to our performance. The venue is under repair. We apologize for any inconvenience. What is your name?"

(And yes, they even fooled a certain jaded New York opera critic.)