How much space does a person need to rest?
Most would be satisfied with one chair, some would argue for a second to put their feet on, but the village judge Adam in the Deutsches Theater Berlin allows himself three in Heinrich von Kleist's comedy “The Broken Jug”: To possessive his long ones to be able to stretch out sinewy arms on their armrests as if he owned the whole court waiting room, in which they, fourteen in number, are lined up next to each other, or the whole court that he presides over, or the whole world in which men like him do Give command.
It doesn't bother his egocentricity in the least that he is hanging around here in his undershirt and sweatpants and thick wool socks, has bloody wounds on his head and grins slightly mutilated as if he had just been on an adventure and got a bang on the head in the process amused him royally. Even this last provincial cadre in his Dutch town feels like "Master of the Universe", as Tom Wolfe once called the guys who adorned themselves with brutally conquered privileges in their toxic masculinity. Even when he later put on the red judge's robe, Ulrich Matthes shows this Adam without dignity, only full of arrogance, without honor, only full of presumption: devious, savvy, overbearing. A guy with whom, despite his ostentatious affability, it is better not to clash.
Esprit and emotionality
But then, surprisingly, the strict judge Walter arrives to check the local administration of justice, and Adam somehow has to swindle his way through the controls. In Anne Lenk's production, this auditor has become a pregnant judge, which, however, has no consequences for the plot. Mrs. Walter is watching the village judge on the finger during a trial that involves Marthe Rull's precious jug, which broke into pieces the previous night when a visitor who was caught fled the bedroom of her unmarried daughter Eve. The mother accuses her fiancé Ruprecht, who protests vigorously, because it was the village judge himself who blackmailed the young woman in order to get her to bed, which of course nobody is allowed to know. And so he has to judge himself and twist and turn,to get his head out of the loop, which is getting more and more foolish, bizarre, extravagant.
The set designer Judith Oswald has the back wall of the shabby office with a wall-high, pompous still life by Jan Davidsz. de Heem from around 1655, on which an overflowing table with fruits, ham and oysters can be seen, in the middle a parrot is enthroned. This reference to the colonial past of the Netherlands is also used for the origin of the jug, which is now considered a “testimony to African craftsmanship”, “originally from the Herero people” and stolen from one of their ancestors “during the conquest of Namibia” (where the Dutch people, however, never had colonies). With the exception of this update, the director Anne Lenk and her perfectly harmonizing, beautifully coordinated ensemble, with patient concentration, trust Kleist's text for ninety minutes,in which they listen to a lot of comedy and pun, esprit and emotionality.
Classy drum parts
The costumes designed by Sibylle Wallum are colored in orange tones and stylistically in the seventies, with matching wigs and make-up. Everything appears dignified to pleasant, without becoming shallow. The lively staging is not particularly profound, but it is pleasantly oriented towards the piece. It is more entertaining than contemplative, although it dares to follow the characters and their problems without ironically painting them over or breaking them open performatively. The ensemble challenged in this way seems to have a lot of fun, whether Lisa Hrdina as the gruff wallflower from an Eve, who knows from experience what political violence and sexual abuse mean, or whether Franziska Machens as her adorable bitchy mother who resolutely insists on her rights .Jeremy Mockridge gives light to the ambitious and capable scribe who has long since seen through Adam's intrigues, as Lorena Handschin soon does as a judge. Tamer Tahan rumbles around jealously as Eve's fiancé Ruprecht, while Julia Windischbauer, as the witness Brigitte, uncovered the trail of the true jug destroyer like a clever power girlie.
Classy drums by Lenny Mockridge separate the scenes, while it gets completely dark.
This hard editing technique gives the performance an additional dramatic dynamic and tears up the story with its erotically charged dialectic of power and powerlessness again and again.
It all costs the corrupt village judge a disparaging smile, which of course becomes increasingly tense - until the circumstances finally let him run away quickly, not without quickly sending a hoarse “Excuse me” around.
Why?
For what?
Out of remorse?
Calculation?
Decency?
Anne Lenk's production doesn't reveal it, maybe doesn't know it itself, but Berlin loves Ulrich Matthes, which is why a lot of cheers and applause, also from ex-Chancellor Angela Merkel in the stalls, good mood everywhere.