'The Producers' is not a musical about Nazism but about the boundaries of taste
The Berlin transplant of Mel Brooks's ridiculously popular 2001 Broadway musical, "The Producers," based on his 1968 film about two Jewish con men who cook up a scheme to produce the world's worst musical and defraud the investors, was anxiously awaited in the German capital.
In the weeks leading up to opening night, newspapers here were full of headlines like "Can Berlin Laugh at Hitler," in reference to the show-stopping musical number "Springtime for Hitler."
This certainly isn't the first time that Germans have had the opportunity to laugh at Hitler -- films ranging from Charlie Chaplin's "The Great Dictator" (1940) to Swiss director Dani Levy's 2007 comedy "Mein Führer" are not unknown to German audiences. The movie version of "The Producers" was banned in Germany for nearly a decade but finally shown in 1976 at a Jewish film festival (with the title "Frühling für Hitler"), where it gained a cult status that it retains to this day.
Still, the sight of real Germans goose-stepping in Nazi uniforms and dancing in swastika formation (that symbol is unconstitutional in Germany, though a dispensation is made for works of art) promised to be a different animal, especially for an audience snacking on Blutwurst with Sauerkraut at intermission. (In fact, most of the principle cast is Austrian -- like the Führer himself -- as this production comes to Berlin by way of Vienna, where it recently ended a year-long run two months early due to poor ticket sales.)
In an interview with the AP, Mr. Brooks said that he expects most of the Berlin audience -- at least those born after the war -- to understand the show. "I don't think there's a problem at all. . . . They're hip, they're bright and Berlin has always been a great theater town." At the same time, he's been insistent that "The Producers" is not a musical about Hitler or Nazism, but about the boundaries of taste.
It is a message that seems to have been lost on most people here.
At Sunday's gala premiere, everyone seemed pumped to ridicule the Führer. Politicians, actors and rock stars crowded the courtyard of the Admiralspalast, which was a sea of red and black as Nazi flags with pretzels and sausages in lieu of swastikas fluttered about. Ushers in traditional Bavarian dress handed out flags and armbands and scattered audience members sported World War II helmets and other regalia. Showtime was announced by an air-raid siren, which added to the giddy carnival atmosphere.
But inside, the theater held a palpable charge of nervous energy. Germans have been doing so much apologizing for the past 60 years that they need to justify how they could laugh at Hitler. This has been evident not only from the buzz surrounding the show, but also in a marketing campaign that alternately struck tones of irreverence and sobriety. No surprise then that the playbills carried a quote from Mr. Brooks about the importance of laughing at Hitler. "If you denounce such people with humor, they simply have no chance." Having been granted permission to laugh, the audience eagerly awaited their moment of catharsis...
Read entire article at WSJ
In the weeks leading up to opening night, newspapers here were full of headlines like "Can Berlin Laugh at Hitler," in reference to the show-stopping musical number "Springtime for Hitler."
This certainly isn't the first time that Germans have had the opportunity to laugh at Hitler -- films ranging from Charlie Chaplin's "The Great Dictator" (1940) to Swiss director Dani Levy's 2007 comedy "Mein Führer" are not unknown to German audiences. The movie version of "The Producers" was banned in Germany for nearly a decade but finally shown in 1976 at a Jewish film festival (with the title "Frühling für Hitler"), where it gained a cult status that it retains to this day.
Still, the sight of real Germans goose-stepping in Nazi uniforms and dancing in swastika formation (that symbol is unconstitutional in Germany, though a dispensation is made for works of art) promised to be a different animal, especially for an audience snacking on Blutwurst with Sauerkraut at intermission. (In fact, most of the principle cast is Austrian -- like the Führer himself -- as this production comes to Berlin by way of Vienna, where it recently ended a year-long run two months early due to poor ticket sales.)
In an interview with the AP, Mr. Brooks said that he expects most of the Berlin audience -- at least those born after the war -- to understand the show. "I don't think there's a problem at all. . . . They're hip, they're bright and Berlin has always been a great theater town." At the same time, he's been insistent that "The Producers" is not a musical about Hitler or Nazism, but about the boundaries of taste.
It is a message that seems to have been lost on most people here.
At Sunday's gala premiere, everyone seemed pumped to ridicule the Führer. Politicians, actors and rock stars crowded the courtyard of the Admiralspalast, which was a sea of red and black as Nazi flags with pretzels and sausages in lieu of swastikas fluttered about. Ushers in traditional Bavarian dress handed out flags and armbands and scattered audience members sported World War II helmets and other regalia. Showtime was announced by an air-raid siren, which added to the giddy carnival atmosphere.
But inside, the theater held a palpable charge of nervous energy. Germans have been doing so much apologizing for the past 60 years that they need to justify how they could laugh at Hitler. This has been evident not only from the buzz surrounding the show, but also in a marketing campaign that alternately struck tones of irreverence and sobriety. No surprise then that the playbills carried a quote from Mr. Brooks about the importance of laughing at Hitler. "If you denounce such people with humor, they simply have no chance." Having been granted permission to laugh, the audience eagerly awaited their moment of catharsis...