Death in the apocalyptic hidden object picture

In the original by Michel de Ghelderode, he is definitely an actor, but Ligeti deliberately leaves this open for his opera. In my role design, I see him as a big child. One from whom something essential has been taken away and who has suffered a psychological injury as a result. It's important to me to get away from an overly comic portrayal, but a guy shouting around with a scythe in his hand is also too little for me, too one-dimensional. The role needs breadth and depth - let's not forget that Necrotzar, at least according to his own claim, wiped out such evil figures as Nero or Caligula and thus did society of the time a service. So as evil as Necrotzar is, one could also be grateful to him for many things. And strangely, when he realizes in his drunken stupor at the end that something is wrong, that he has made a mistake, he suddenly seems incredibly lonely and thus arouses my pity - even though I generally consider death itself to be a scandal.

Sure, he comes across as a completely aloof, sinister triumphalist. Unfortunately, such types also exist in real life, not least in politics. When a Putin strides up and down a stadium swinging speeches, he is not far removed from the insane attitudes of this fictitious prophet of death. The fact that Nekrotzar is ultimately defeated by the most bizarre, the craziest marginal characters in the plot is of course due to the work's wicked humor, a wicked humor that Ligeti constantly sharpens. At the same time, however, it could be seen as a kind of hope that the most dangerous characters can even stumble over marginalized social figures. Unfortunately, on the other hand, it is the case that we marginalize so much and so many who do not fit into the mainstream corset of the present that they get lost.

In a broader sense, this also applies to the countries of the global South. The talent that is going to the dogs there, which could perhaps provide us with solutions to the major issues and crises facing humanity, is frightening. There is a beautiful passage in Exupéry's novel Wind, Sand and Stars where the author reports how he finds refugees crammed into a crowded train and among them a small, sleeping, vulnerable-looking child. A child, according to Exupéry, who perhaps has the talents of a Mozart, but who can never develop in this environment. Seen in this light, Le Grand Macabre is also a call to return to the margins of society and humanity, to pay attention, as help from an apocalypse can perhaps be found there.

In this opera, we see one night, a detail of human history magnified microscopically. Necrotzar has been cheated, but does that mean a happy ending? Vienna in particular has a beautiful and varied saga tradition in which death is repeatedly outwitted without this ultimately leading to permanent immortality. I think the victory over Necrotzar is only temporary. Especially as people are just the way they are: They only change things for the better when they really have to. And this irresponsible recklessness, with no regard for anyone or anything, as we are shown in Le Grand Macabre in this fictitious, hidden-object Breughelland, cannot work in the long term. There could not be a more topical commentary on the climate crisis on the operatic stage. Nekrotzar is dead, but there will be a new opportunity to teach humanity to fear.

I didn't find the time spent rehearsing this role very pleasant, because a character like that does something to you. Of course, I didn't run around the apartment screaming at my family like a madman. But I couldn't keep Nekrotzar completely away from anyone around me. It's different on stage. I want to trigger feelings and emotions in other people. If I can reach the audience in this way and trigger some form of empathy - yes, even towards the failed Nekrotzar - then I will have achieved a lot. It's all about sneaking up on the audience, telling them something about themselves through and about a Necrotzar. We should certainly allow ourselves to ask how much Nekrotzar there is in each of us! And that's why it's important that the audience doesn't just watch the Nigl mimic a strange figure, but is broken open emotionally - towards themselves and others.

At first, the tessitura is very uncomfortable. The part has both very high and very low passages. Then there are many transitions from speaking to shouting, from chanting to singing or pathetic singing and vice versa - the interpreter cannot spare himself for a moment. Some passages, on the other hand, have an enormous, rapid tempo, in which a lot of text has to be accommodated in the shortest possible time: there is no time to think, everything has to come automatically - and the audience should understand the text, which is, after all, one of the primary tasks of singing.

In the second scene, for example, there is a trio that I call a machine-gun trio because it rattles along so quickly. I spent two weeks studying these three minutes alone! It has to be right for the performance, because anyone who drops out at this point will never find their way back in. The singer also has to be bombproof in some rhythmically tricky sequences, which have to appear natural and easy on the outside. Take Nekrotzar's first appearance, for example: Ligeti wanted it to sound as if he were speaking freely. As a result, practically nothing is in an accented time signature; almost everything is syncopated. This can only be mastered if the performer has built up a steady inner pulse to which he can orientate himself. The same applies to the scene in which Nekrotzar is made drunk. I also want the whole thing to sound beautiful, not just like vocal material - performed with the artistry of operatic singing.

I come from the Urtext world, so to speak, so I take the music and the text very seriously. This applies to Mozart, Haydn, Schubert, Wagner, Monteverdi as well as Rihm, Neuwirth, Dusapin, Cerha - and also to Ligeti. Nonetheless, I am convinced that the interpreter also has a creative and formative power and has something personal to contribute. Since we listen to a work with today's ears and not with those of the time it was composed, the interpreter is virtually obliged to adapt some things accordingly. In addition, the composer's instructions can be interpreted in different ways: when Ligeti writes at one point: "Scream around you", this screaming can be of very different qualities. Should it sound like the roar of the military? The screaming of a child? The screaming of an opera singer? That's where the singer's freedom lies. For example, I will do the drunken scene at the end in a completely new, unique way. At this point, the music reminds me of completely distorted Heurigen music, so I'm taking my cue a little from Hans Moser or Paul Hörbiger.

Of course, I am very happy to accept suggestions, but I also like to surprise directors with my own ideas. In fact, I really enjoy enriching a prepared concept or even making a few changes. (laughs) In the case of Nekrotzar, however, there is actually one not unimportant detail that only became clear to me while working on this production: Nekrotzar's willingness to take a close look at everything around him. He is very interested in what is going on around him. I had rather envisioned an ego-driven madman. But this direction made me realize how much Nekrotzar reacts to everything that happens around him. And that's a lot - I already mentioned the hidden object character of the play, which also applies to the production with its choreographed dancers. Basically, Nekrotzar is even in the same position as the audience.