I was planning to do this for a while but it was only yesterday when I decided to go visit the Berliner Ensemble. Now that I feel like a native in Berlin after having stayed here for a few weeks and after having visited different neighbourhoods close to the place where I am put up in Kreuzberg, the task of straying away from my immediate environs was no more a daunting task.
A couple of different rides on the tramway and I alighted at the stop near Hotel Emilie Berlin, south on Abrechtstrobe. From there it was a short walk to ReinhardtsraBe and from here I could clearly see a circular sign spinning high over the Spree, north of the Friedrichstraße S-Bahn — it spelled out BERLINER ENSEMBLE in metallic letters.
The way the sign was rotating, in a circular ring, reminded me of my prized possession during my teenage years. Strange, but my close to heart acquisition used to be a bought for a pittance keychain with a medallion in its ring which would rotate to spell “I LOVE YOU”. I used to go close to the girl I had a crush on and without speaking a word, demonstrate the rotation mechanism to get the message across that, make no mistake, I love you. Of course, after having done this I would flee the scene of crime. In retrospect, not only has this been an embarrassing episode from my past, but in addition, think about it, a wanton waste of time which I could have otherwise put to better use had I followed my Dad’s advice to “STUDY!STUDY ! STUDYING NEVER GOES TO WASTE!” Whether my heart was broken first or the flimsy key chain fell apart earlier than that is something I don’t remember. But for sure both things happened in short order.
I don’t know why, as I approached the Berliner Ensemble, I was suddenly hoping that my effort to come here all the way, was not going to end up as a futile exercise and waste of time, similar to some experiences from my sullied past.
As I approached the building, I had decided It would be a disappointing experience and a waste of time for sure, as the BerlinerEnsemble appeared just like any other building, housing a small theater and nothing special.
I had seen the building from outside and was going to retreat, but for some reason I climbed the steps to the entrance, even though I knew all along that the theater was closed. As the sign near the entrance door clearly indicated– any idiot would have not missed it–that shows were scheduled for 7.30 pm, and that, too, during the appropriate season starting from May of this year. And here I was at the doorstep of this building in April at 2 in the afternoon. As if it were incumbent on me to visit this place as if it was some holy site I would dare not ignore visiting, when in Berlin.
I pulled on the handle at the entrance door, perhaps because of my intrepid disposition or perhaps more as a reflex action. Voila the door opened. I entered the theater, a brave move considering this place obviously was not open to public and certainly not for a person whose German was as good as his Swahili. What if someone rudely asked me to get out? The only advantage I would have then is that if the person resorted to foul language it would not annoy me whatsoever.
No one was there in the theatre and I quickly seized the opportunity to observe the inside arrangement and layout of this place. A cosy looking place but nothing extraordinary, with the typical regular seats, not unlike those found in other theaters, positioned in semi-circles. The only thing unusual I noticed though was the stage, which could effectively convey a deliberate message of a psychological barrier between the audience and the actors, during the performance of the play. Perhaps it was intended this way or perhaps it was the result of an impulsive gesture on the part of the architect who designed this theater in 1949. How would I know?
I scrambled for the exit almost as quickly as I had come in.
For one thing, I have developed something akin to a theater phobia, after having seen the Phantom of the Opera. (Have to be ever so careful to make sure you don’t cross these phantoms who take their shows and theaters very seriously.) Besides, this is Germany, the fabled land of the skinheads hunting for errant tourists with the wrong color in the wrong place. So why invite an unnecessary bout of fisticuffs, I reasoned. So the best strategy was to ‘make out as a tree’ as my friend used to say in the 1950’s.
After ingesting a deep breath of the buoyant and radiant spring air, I was ready to march on to catch the next tram back to my tried and tested surroundings. After descending the stairs and having taken perhaps ten steps, I heard a noise at my back. I turned around and looked. A well-dressed gentleman in a corduroy jacket was trying to address me. He had locked the door of the theater and was now saying something in German. My response was the staple: Ich spreche kein Deutsch, making sure I did not pronounce ich as ish like the Turkish people do in Germany. Of course, I was being truthful in saying I don’t speak German.
This willowy character with a distinctive artistic look etched on his face, quickly joined me and I was pleasantly surprised to hear him speak fluent English. He was very friendly, personable and helpful. While he informed me about the theater timings and season of operation which I already knew, he started giving me other information I found very interesting.
He said the theater was the brainchild of Bertolt Brecht and his wife they founded in 1949. Then he pointed at the statue of a seated figure near the theater and said: “There is the old fellow.” Then he asked me if I would like to join him for coffee. I leapt at this opportunity.
The place we went to was just a little stroll away and was called ‘BRECHTS RESTAURANT’ on Schiffbauerdamm, with the name BRECHTS displayed on top of the entranceway in bold letters and pink colors. It exuded a romantic aura of a rustic cottage style roadside café with ivy clinging on to all the exterior walls but neatly trimmed, exposing its petite windows and door which looked as if they were there for ever. We seated ourselves in the front of the café where a bistro table with two chairs was available.
Franz Horst turned out to be a great reservoir of knowledge and any tourist would have considered it to be a privilege to have shared time and coffee with this gentleman. I felt the same way and considered myself lucky.
Franz pointed out to me that this place offered good food and especially their wiener schnitzel was excellent. We opted for coffee as originally planned and I let him do most of the speaking. Turns out, Franz is the chief Stage Technician at the theater and an old hand, having worked here for the past ten years.
Franz gave me a lowdown on the background of the theater and said the ticket prices for shows were 10 euros and upwards and a bit more pricey for special events.
When I narrated my impression of the stage as perhaps deliberately designed to be indifferent in its association with the audience, it triggered an enthusiastic response in him.
Franz very eagerly explained: In the 1920’s Brecht was very much impressed by Karl Korsch an avowed Marxist. Brecthian plays very purposefully avoided the technique of traditional Aristotelian plays which were designed to let the audience experience together the onstage emotions of the protagonist as if these were some eternal and universal ones, applicable to any time period in history. For instance, the emotions you find displayed by the main characters in Greek drama or Shakespeare’s plays, he said, could easily jibe with the emotions of the audience–emotions they can identify with in their own reactions. With Brecht it was different as he wanted the audience to, rather than identify with the characters in his play, view the play as a depiction of a different time or epoch where the workings of the characters is influenced by the mode of production of the epoch they are from. The idea was to present dialectical materialism as a historical fact where material conditions determined the character and emotional manifestations of individuals. Brecht wanted people to appreciate drama in a true Marxian way, as if it were a narration of epics from the past, and he used various techniques to distance the audience from the characters in his plays. He wanted them to leave his plays acknowledging that drama is not a depiction of the world we live in but an illusion of reality, ever-changing and dynamic flowing with the change in thinking brought about by the different epochs representing Marx’s materialism.
But now the theater does not simply present Brecthian drama. In fact, if I am not mistaken the next session starts with the staging of Shakespeare’s sonnets.
Incidentally, I insisted and made sure I paid the restaurant bill.