Nachtkritik, Julia Nehmiz, 14.1.22

Brutal addition

In the face of our reality, Shakespeare's comedy becomes a declaration of combat: dark and yet light as a feather. Sabine Auf der Heyde infuses her “Midsummer Night's Dream” with radicalism and love.

The forest is no longer an idyll of longing. No longer a peaceful, romantic place with enchanting elves in flower dew. This forest is a battlefield. It is a war zone. Camouflage nets hint at forest green. Lysander and Hermia hoist a flag of resistance with a painted tree symbol: a clenched fist as a treetop. Hambach Forest instead of Shakespearean romance.

Director Sabine Auf der Heyde shows Shakespeare's “A Midsummer Night's Dream” at Bühnen Bern as that which remains when you scrape off the kitschy-sweet elfin sugar: a nightmare in which there are only losers. This interpretation is not new, but with Auf der Heyde it is all the more radical. Because love is brutal. The patriarchally deformed world is brutal. And the people who wander around in it looking for love are also brutal.

Auf der Heyde's reading is reinforced by the textual expansion by Kim de l'Horizon, Bern's in-house author. Not a rewrite, but rather an extension that is woven between parts of the original text. Where Shakespeare's language ends, Kim de l'Horizon finds new words. Hippolyta, whose fate in the original is only hinted at, crashes her own forced wedding ceremony with a militant feminist statement. Helena also gets a different depth, yelling out her hatred of herself and the system. Oberon and Titania fight over the child with vehemence, world views clash. And the child is given a voice (four voices) and becomes a kind of mouthpiece for the younger generation - spoken in catchphrases by the four lovers: They want to grow up in a world that is not a dream.

As if that wasn't enough, Sabine Auf der Heyde packs in all the rest, overflowing with content and bursting with playfulness. Her Midsummer Night's Dream becomes a declaration of love for the theater, a manifesto for feminism, a statement for love beyond gender boundaries. And a bitter swan song to the patriarchy. When Bottom is turned into a donkey by Puck, there is no need for donkey ears, just super-male attributes, toxic pseudo-masculinity. This donkey screams “Respect my dick”, in a bare torso and sunglasses, while pounding his drums.

Despite this wealth of themes, this Midsummer Night's Dream becomes a sparkling game of theater within theater. A dark, feather-light evening. On the one hand, there are the four lovers who do not conform to heteronormative attributions: Lysander is played by a woman, Helena by a man. This creates a greater sense of urgency. When Demetrius (Linus Schütz) runs away from Helena, he is also running away from his fear of admitting his love. Helena (Kilian Land) is like a fallen drag queen: miserable and touching in her forlornness, bitter in her self-hatred, awkward in her search for love. The way Lysander (Mariananda Schempp) and Hermia (Genet Zegay) smoothly stalk each other as they flee in the forest, dance around each other animalistically and attack each other in a fight - a powerful image of power, submission and devotion.

Then there are those in power - Theseus, Hippolyta and Egeus in Athens; Oberon, Titania and Puck in the forest. Here, too, gender roles become blurred: Egeus and Oberon are played by a woman (powerfully: Isabelle Menke). Egeus is Theseus' compliant enforcer, Oberon is a kind of eco-fascist. Claudius Körber turns Theseus into a slimy, nasty dictator who holds guns, power and Hippolyta firmly in his hands. His Puck is a petty criminal with magical powers.

And then there's the troupe of craftsmen. In Sabine Auf der Heyde's version they are actors. Only two are still left, Bottom (David Berger) and Squenz (Jan Maak). The others have been swallowed by the crisis. And the way the two of them play that they play, that they have to play, is a theatrical feast and a kingdom of heaven. Zettel: the overambitious young actor. Squenz: the extinguished older colleague, who is on fire once again for the performance of “Pyramus and Thisbe”. But the court society doesn't want to see it. Nobody is there anymore. Only the theater audience. So Zettel and Squenz play the “agonizingly short play of Pyramus and Thisbe” for the audience. With great deficits, with holy seriousness - a declaration of love to the theater. The only ones who love; the only ones who feel; the only ones who love and suffer because of love and not because of themselves or the system, are Pyramus and Thisbe, are Zettel and Squenz.

True love only exists in the theater.

seniorweb, Peter Schibli, 19.1.2022

Director Sabine Auf der Heyde has updated, sharpened and politicized Shakespeare's work. The characters wander around, desperately searching for love. Men stand for power, domination and violence, women for nature, love and gentleness. Kim de l`Horizon has created “Dreams in the Moonlight”, with text extensions and additions. Helvetic sounds remind us that wild conditions prevail not only in Athens' forests, but also in Bern. “Enough water has flowed down the Aare,” says one protagonist. The mole wants to “dig a tunnel through the Alps”, and the Swiss psalm rings out.

A gender swap takes place to highlight the patriarchal structures. Women slip into male roles and vice versa. Lysander is played by a woman, Helena by a man. This emphasizes the centuries-old exploitation of women. Kim de l`Horizon also wants this to be understood as the exploitation of nature. Lysander and Hermia hoist a flag of resistance with a painted tree symbol, a clenched fist as the crown of a tree. Shakespeare's Athenian forest becomes the Bremgarten forest, the Swiss forest. Oberon and Titania fight over their child, too often a brutal everyday occurrence in Swiss divorces.

Despite all the confusion and hectic, the production is pleasurable, sensual, poetic and musical. The players themselves take up the keys and strings and give it their all. Hard rock with “Fuck you” sweeps across the stage. Different values and world views collide, love scenes merge seamlessly into wild fights scenes, the idyllic world of elves collapses. As an audience member, you are torn between an ancient tragedy and a late-night comedy.

Against power and dominance

It says “An awakening to love can only take place if we renounce the ideas of power and dominance,” in the program. This is precisely the theme of the eccentric production in Bern.  Shakespeare`s comedy is a manifesto for feminism beyond gender boundaries, a rejection of patriarchal structures, the exercise of power, oppression and violence, both physical and verbal. Only those who are completely free in their choice of partner can experience true love.

The second message is an ecological one: nature is a natural resource that is still being exploited today to ensure economic growth and consumerism in the rich industrialized nations. According to in-house author Kim de l'Horizon, nature and women are currently being degraded to objects, dominated and controlled by men. This must finally be stopped.

The Bern production is special. Anyone expecting a classic Shakespeare comedy will be disappointed and will find reasons why they find the performance overdone. Max Reinhardt in honor: The theater and the world have moved on since the famous drama teacher's two legendary productions. “Where Shakespeare ends, Kim de L'Horizon begins to speak, illuminating a utopia of a world that is not based on the principles of exploitation and power, but on an ethic of love.”