Hanoi

The play Der durch das Tal geht, which will premiere at the Hanoi Opera House on 14 January, will be the crowning finale of the Year of Germany in Vietnam and thus the celebration of the resumption of diplomatic relations by the two nations 35 years ago.

The Goethe-Institut organized over 100 events with a total budget of 1.2 million euro – much of which was put into the ambitious theatre project. It is an exchange of German and Vietnamese culture at many levels: the international production team works with over 100 Vietnamese artists; the play is sung in German and spoken in Vietnamese and combines dance, music and theatre; it is a great challenge for all those involved.

The contrast could hardly be greater: red velvet seats, ornate balconies and a stage framed in gold inside the magnificent opera of Hanoi recall the French colonial style, but the gleaming red, plain and modern fan heater before which editor Christoph Maier-Gehring is seated just does not fit into the scenario. Nor do the scarves, caps and gloves that the artists on stage wear over their magnificent costumes – robes of exquisitely shimmering fabrics that outfitter Andreas Lungenschmid had specially tailored by La Hang. Like everyone in Hanoi, the crew of Der durch das Tal geht is freezing. It is bitterly cold inside the opera house at nine degrees and high humidity and the buildings are not heated as they are in Germany. Six radiant heaters have been set up behind the stage. “It’s like a modern-day wigwam; everyone’s squatting cross-legged in front of them,” relates choreographer Henning Paar. In Germany a theatrical team would very likely refuse to work under these conditions – the cold is harmful for the singers’ voices and the dancers may injure themselves. But, here everyone involved accepts it pragmatically. “This is the first opera I’ve directed in a hood,” says director Beverly Blankenship with a laugh.

She is observing what’s happening on stage. While from outside, horns are clearly audible from the everyday traffic chaos on Hanoi’s streets, inside an ageless battle is being fought. It is the story of Percival, originally a hero from medieval European mythology known best in Europe as a knight of Arthur’s round table and his search for the Holy Grail (according to Christian tradition, a cup that held the blood of Christ). However in Der durch das Tal geht, the eminent German playwright Tankred Dorst focuses on Percival’s youth and his detachment from his mother, who tried to hide him away from the world. For Dorst and his wife and co-writer Ursula Ehler, it is about “someone from the backwoods becoming a human. Everything that happens, happens for him for the first time. He first has to learn to sit on a chair and not on the table, to not shout but speak quietly – and also what social rules apply. I found this very important theatrically: Percival knows nothing about life and death; he is a cruel loner.” The question of whether Percival is a perpetrator or a victim is at the core of the play.

Tankred Dorst is happy that the play is being premiered in Vietnam, but this did not influence him while writing the libretto. “I’ve never written for a specific audience. If a writer wants to be good, he has to produce his own world. Of course, I am also a child of my times; the present is part of my history. For me, Percival is a present-day story of a person in the present who asks that ancient human question: Who am I?”

On stage, the character of Percival is portrayed by both dancer Pham Tri Thanh and Bui Nhu Lai, a well-known television actor. Bui Nhu Lai undergoes Percival’s battle intensely, his facial expression distorted, his gait heavy under an inner burden, while Pham Tri Thanh uses his body to lend the hero’s mental state a graspable image.

The artists have come this far after a long rehearsal period that began in November 2010 and was a great challenge for everyone involved. “You can’t compare it with Europe,” says choreographer Henning Paar of the working conditions. While the arts are supported in Germany with a good deal of state funding, the high costs of productions in Hanoi can only be covered with the participation of major sponsors. The opera house is just a building with no permanent staff; unlike in Germany, not only the creative team, but also the equipment and technicians have to be acquired for each production. The orchestra pit is too small for the over 50 musicians, who are now playing behind an opaque curtain at the rear of the stage. This means that musical director and composer Pierre Oser can only see the performers via monitor and vice versa.

“It’s an experience that demands a great deal of flexibility from everyone,” says Dr. Almuth Meyer-Zollitsch, director of the Goethe-Institut Vietnam. The first barrier is, of course, the language. The singers had the huge task of memorizing their lyrics in German and communication within the team also had to be translated constantly. Above all, though, the theatre and music traditions and artistic training are also fundamentally different. Unlike in Europe, Vietnamese orchestral musicians focus on their individual playing, so Pierre Oser first had to work with them on the decisive blend for such a performance. And while it is customary on the European stage to combine singing and movement, this was a new requirement for the chorus and soloists. “What the singers have to achieve here is formidable,” says Pierre Oser, impressed. There was lots of work for vocal coach Silvia Mödden who originally was hired to train the artists in difficult German pronunciation, but also rehearsed holding notes and cues with them.

The explanation for the different quality is obvious. Unlike in Europe where a singer is usually able to focus entirely on training their voice and learning the repertoire, orchestral musicians in Vietnam with a basic monthly salary of just under 170 dollars have to take on many side jobs, leaving them less time for their art. The fact that the Goethe-Institut’s project ensures lasting qualifications convinced Almuth Meyer-Zollitsch to hazard the high costs. “What we are doing is good because I know that something will remain with the artists that will be helpful to them.”

Conversely, the work taught the international production team a “little humility” according to director Beverly Blankenship. “We ask ourselves whether things always need to be so perfect,” explains scenario editor Christoph Maier-Gehring. The musical director Pierre Oser admires the improvisational talent of the Vietnamese as well as the impartiality with which they approached his composition, which makes use of very different musical styles and forms of expression. The dancers’ quality and discipline also impressed choreographer Henning Paar, who would hire some of them at the drop of a hat. Beverly Blankenship, who found a “second home” in Vietnam, has become very fond of the artists. “They are very bold with their work and always try to manage it somehow. They change us and we change them.”

Now, shortly before the premiere, all of them are looking forward to the results and the reactions. “We are curious and would be delighted if it also works in another culture,” says co-writer Ursula Ehler. Beverly Blankenship, who, considering the very different culture, at the beginning was sceptical whether the story of the young Percival would really fit in Vietnam, is now convinced that it does. “Now that we’ve even mastered the traffic here, I think it is definitely the case. Our greatest asset is our collaboration.”