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FEATURE: behind the scenes of ‘Effigies of Wickedness’
In 1933, the Nazi party swept to power in Germany and promptly banned music by Jews, black people and the so-called ‘degenerates’ who had fuelled the Weimar Republic’s legendary cabaret scene. Later, in 1938, some of the songs were disapprovingly presented under the title ‘Effigies of Wickedness’ as part of Hans Ziegler’s ‘Entartete Musik’ exhibition. And 80 years after that, here’s a night with the same name, featuring English versions of the banned songs, a collaboration between the Gate Theatre and English National Opera that forms the ambitious climax of director Ellen McDougall’s bracing first year in charge of the Notting Hill Theatre.
Though the songs – with new lyrics by Seiriol Davies – are the headline event, they’re nothing without singers. Much of the pleasure of ‘Effigies’ comes from the veritable performers: subversive cabaret veterans Le Gateau Chocolat and Lucy McCormick, and serious opera singers Peter Brathwaite (who came up with the idea for the show) and Katie Bray.
They’re prodigious talents, and when the four attack a song together they fill the space thrillingly with mordant, subversive verse that burrows into you from all angles, Le Gateau Chocolat’s voice rumbling somewhere under the earth, Bray vaulting through the heavens above. It is particularly thrilling to hear the two opera singers up close, and also to see the pair let their hair down a bit and hold their own against the gargantuan personalities they’ve been paired with.
Proceeding chronologically, there’s a narrative of sorts baked into the show. The earliest songs, from 1920, reflect a relatively optimistic moment in post-war German history; as it proceeds, the odd moment of fiery political rhetoric creeps in (‘Petroleum Song’ by Felix Gasbarra and Kurt Weill, ‘Paragraph 218’ by Hanns Eisler and Bertolt Brecht), until a final section pitches into dread – a handful of bleak tunes made by songwriters preparing to flee the country, and a final, haunting number by Brecht and Eisler from 1939 about the banning of interracial marriage.
‘Effigies’ is a vivid, funny, occasionally sad, often brilliant endeavour that struggles a little bit for context. For starters, a 7.30pm start (it’s still light at the end) in a theatre without a bar is clearly very far from the optimal setting. And what exactly is it trying to achieve as a piece of theatre? Is it a celebration of the songs? A recreation of the Weimar clubs? A transposition of them into a contemporary English context? A parable warning against racism creeping into our own society? McDougall’s production never quite nails any of these things, though it takes a swing at most of them.
If anything, the real USP of this show seems to be to serve as a vehicle for its four terrific performers – and they really are superb. And it is possible to overthink it all – as somebody wise once sang, it’s only a cabaret, old chum.