Love, lies and csárdás

The performance of Countess Maritza is about to come to its end and the excited crowd at the Budapest Operetta Theater is getting ready for its part of the show. When bowing begins, everyone in the theater starts clapping at exactly the same moment – first slowly and quietly, and then as the cast reappears onstage again and again, faster and stronger, and it is done in perfect unison. It is obvious to me that the Hungarians are not only musically educated, but that they really love and understand their operettas. I am here to see the theater's production of Kálmán's Countess Maritza, before its upcoming debut in the Israel Opera in June. The performance is as colorful and exuberant as an operetta can be, with an uninterrupted succession of lovely melodies followed by romantic scenes, catchy tunes, hilariously funny scenes and energetic dances, all executed perfectly by a group of highly talented performers, to the audience's delight. A tale of love, pride and social prejudice, adorned with a lot of glitter and csárdás dancing, Countess Maritza became a worldwide hit following its premiere in Vienna in 1924 and it is still a lot of fun today. The Jewish Hungarian composer Imre (Emmerich) Kálmán (1882-1953) studied composition at the Budapest Academy of Music, where he became friends with two of Hungary's best-known composers, Béla Bartók and Zoltán Kodály, who also studied there at the same time. Unlike his friends, Kálmán became a successful composer of operettas – at the time a very popular genre in Vienna and Budapest. Although the Jewish composer fled Hungary before World War II, he is celebrated as a national icon in his homeland to this day, and his bronze sculpture, sitting on a bench located in front of the theater's entrance, is a popular place for both locals and tourists to snap selfies. The Budapesti Operettszínház (Budapest Operetta Theater) building, located in the heart of this bustling, elegant city, was reconstructed in 1966. Most of its interior was renovated, but the prewar glory was preserved; the same gigantic chandelier casts its light on the theater's patrons today, as it did 100 years ago. In Maritza, the barriers of wealth and class, as well as the barriers between the sexes, are compounded by suspicions on each side as to the real intentions of the other. Maritza, a wealthy and beautiful countess, is tired of the endless stream of suitors, convinced they are only after her money. She decides to retire to her country estate, and upon her arrival announces her engagement to the fictitious Baron Koloman Zsupán (a name of a character in one of Johann Strauss's operettas). Waiting at the estate is the gallant Count Taszilo, who works there as the farm manager under an assumed name. Taszilo has undertaken the job in order to settle his father's debts and support his beloved little sister Lisa. To Maritza's surprise, Baron Koloman Zsupán appears in the estate, claiming his fiancée. He is, we learn, no other than Taszilo's childhood friend, Baron Istvan Liebenberg. To complicate things further, the countess invites to the estate a young friend who turns out to be Lisa. Adding to this already impossible situation are two colorful characters: the elderly Prince Dragomir – a retired army officer who has been in love with Maritza for many years and provides many comic moments – and a gypsy fortune-teller who predicts, to Maritza's dismay, that she will find new love. The expected ensues: Lisa falls in love with Liebenberg, who, together with the prince, pursues Maritza. Maritza and Taszilo fall in love with each other despite themselves, and it all works out in the end thanks to Taszilo's elderly rich aunt who comes for a visit. Maritza showcases the Hungarian composer's mastery of the operetta form. The overture is orchestrated in a style that was popular in the years of early film musicals, and some of the melodies have a gypsy lilt. To the delight of the Hungarian crowds, several tunes are in Csárdás form, but there is also an opportunity to dance a Charleston. Director Miklós Gábor Kerényi is the manager of the theater, which presents a rich program of operettas every evening year round. “We are all family here,” he declares at a press conference following the show. We soon learn that he means this not only as a figure of speech but literally. His son, the versatile, funny and accomplished actor-singer-dancer Miklos Mate Kerenyi, is wonderful in the role of Istvan Liebenberg and his wife, Tünde Frankó, an accomplished opera singer in her own right, plays the role of Manja, the Gypsy fortune teller. She manages to steal the show whenever she is on the stage. But it doesn't end there. His daughter-in-law was in the production but is now on maternity leave. Her replacement, a young singer called Aisha Kardffy, is captivating with fresh energy and a lovely personality. She divulges that she had barely finished her studies in the operetta's school, when she was asked to step into the part of Lisa, and she attests that indeed the company is run like a family. “Everyone supported me and made me feel at home when I joined the production.” She continues, declaring that as a member of “the younger generation,” she feels that operetta is as relevant to her friends as it is to the older generations both in Hungary and abroad. Miklós Gábor Kerényi finds operetta to be often misunderstood, where some dismiss it as an outdated art form, a closer look may reveal the genre's complexity, where music and operatic talent are combined with dance, acrobatics and pantomime. “The operetta speaks to the hearts and should be accessible to everyone. It is part of our Hungarian identity and culture, but our performances are also received very well by audiences around the world,” boasts the director. “I try to incorporate a lot of movement and many surprises, in order to keep the audiences interested, especially the young ones,” he explains when he is asked how he manages to keep his theater full every single night. Kálmán's music merges the Hungarian operetta tradition with styles from French music halls, Berlin prewar nightclubs and American jazz, along with his influences from Hungarian and Gypsy folk music, giving his compositions an international flair. There's a “play within a play” in Maritza, when the countess's guests stage a variety-cabaret show at a party held in the estate. Following the music, Gabor Kerényi uses this opportunity to present a fast-paced extravaganza of burlesque, cancan and jazz dances, as well as Hungarian folk dance, all done with amazing expertise to the wonderfully entertaining music. I doubt that the audience in Tel Aviv will be as educated in the art of operetta- applause as their Hungarian counterparts, but I am sure that they will enjoy the show nonetheless. The Budapest Operetta Theater will present Countess Maritza at the Israel Opera, at the Tel Aviv Performing Arts Center, June 15 to 17.

Love, lies and csárdás

The Budapest Operetta Theater returns to the Israeli Opera with a fantastic production of ‘Countess Maritza,’ one of Emmerich Kálmán’s most beloved works

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