Frank Castorf is staging a Molière collage in Cologne
Ea whining baby lies on the stage. He screams and sucks his thumb. Actually everything is normal. But this child, stuck in the body of an adult, in fur and a wig, “is no ordinary newborn”, but a genius: Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, known as Molière, whose 400th birthday is being celebrated this year (FAZ from January 14 ). In the Cologne drama, Frank Castorf complements his biography and reception with “Molière – I am a demon, become flesh and disguised as a human being”. In five and a half hours, he tells the story of that epoch-making “Maître of French theater”. It starts with the birth scene in 1622: “You have a child here that will be immortal,” a contemporary theater historian, played by Marek Harloff, shouts in the face of the unbelieving mother (Katharine Sehnert). But immediately afterwards Castorf’s notorious chain of associations of fragments and digressions begins.
Bruno Cathomas plays Molière with curls and a blue baroque coat and hints at the only certainty that seems to apply that evening: his life is an excess, from birth to death. And so Castorf’s staging exhausts itself in apostrophizing the intoxication and subsequent despair of a society on the brink of death in ever new attempts.
A grotesque demon on stage
His Molière is a hulking man with a speech impediment, a street creature, unkempt, rough, violent and sexist. He spits when he speaks. The make-up runs down his face. Castorf brings a grotesque demon to the stage, a businesslike con man, an intellectual rascal, a passionate lover.
The first hour in particular stands out. Molière’s theater company “Illustre Théâtre” is accompanied during rehearsals. The baroque costumes, the wigs and the strumming guitar sounds in the background ensure that the collective sometimes looks like a freak show, sometimes like an agitprop group and sometimes like a classy ensemble from the Comédie-Française. The discussions between Molière, his wife Armande, played by Lola Klamroth, and his lover Madeleine are amusing. Cathomas plays him as a vain theatrical anarchist, in which parallels to the director of the play become obvious – “I’ve been President here for 25 years”. In the expected style, he shouts at his actors: “Learn texts, learn texts, learn texts.”
From Soviet gulags to the atomic bomb
Then the bright yellow vehicle of the ensemble, a Citroën truck, drives across the stage and the troupe races across the country in high spirits. There is screaming, cursing, insulting the audience. The ensemble yells at the crowd that they want to “enlighten them,” but eccentric laughter outshines the virtuous announcement.
The stage design by Aleksandar Denić creates an opulent setting. Salons and bathrooms are hidden behind secret doors. In the background are cardboard cutouts that are supposed to symbolize the audience with tails and top hats. Castorf’s partner Jeanne Balibar supported the five and a half long hours. In tulle robes, she trains vowels or portrays a lady-in-waiting who argumentatively corners an author who has just walked in. It’s lengthy in some passages, but the aura of Balibar, who plays with a stronger voice, a slight French accent and a lot of physical effort, makes some things bearable.