The first thing that catches your eye when you arrive at the picturesque town of Oberammergau, in the middle of Bavaria, is not the majestic mountains that surround it, nor its fairy-tale houses decorated with the lüftlmalerei —frescoes typical of this German region—, but rather the number of men with lush beards and long hair who roam its streets. Taxi drivers, hotel receptionists, waiters and even policemen wear a look more like a band indian rock that of the inhabitants of a quiet town at the foot of the Alps.
The explanation for such a capillary despiporre lies in the Passion Play Theater, the immense auditorium where the Passion of Christ is represented, a true theatrical extravaganza in which, in one way or another, practically its 5,000 neighbors participate. The play has the curious singularity of being performed every ten years. What emerged in 1633 as an offering to God for having freed the people from the plague, is, today, the oldest continuous poster work in the world. In its almost four centuries of existence, only the Franco-Prussian War and the two world wars managed to stop its representation. In 1920 the Spanish flu forced it to be postponed for two years, something that, in a curious dramatic coincidence, happened again exactly a century later, in 2020, when another pandemic, that of the coronavirus, postponed it for two years until 2022.
From its premiere in May and until next October 2, the Oberammergau lives by and for its passion play. Literally, because the 103 performances of five and a half hours, four days a week (Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday), hardly leave time for anything else. “None of us mind not having a vacation this year,” says Frederik Mayet, the actor who plays the role of Jesus Christ. “For us, the passion play It is the event of the decade and we feel lucky to be a part of it.” The slow pace of this postcard town, more accustomed to receiving tourists who come here attracted by the typical architecture of Bavarian houses, with wooden balconies and facades decorated with frescoes from children’s stories (Little Red Riding Hood either Hansel and Gretel, among others), and the incessant trickle of mountaineers and hikers in search of the epic landscapes of nearby Garmisch-Partenkirche (and its no less epic and famous ski jump), becomes frantic with the cascade of visitors, in mostly from the United States, who come to see the passion play. Under normal circumstances, the bells of the baroque church of St. Peter und Paul, audible throughout the town, mark the cadence of the town, but now it is the public address announcement that the work is about to start that activates the pulse of the place
define the passion play just as a theatrical performance is an understatement. The scenic demand makes many of the actors ask for leave of absence from their jobs or, in the worst case, leave them. Rehearsals begin a year before the premiere, and the immersion in the story is such that the cast takes a trip to the Holy Land to soak up the historical context of the life of Jesus.
The casting of the actors and actresses is in charge of the theater director, but it is the municipal council of the town that approves the choice of the interpreters. Since a year before, men have been prohibited from shaving and cutting their hair, because in the pursuit of authenticity, wigs and false beards are prohibited. Among the collateral damage is the town barber, forced to take a forced sabbatical. The work, totally democratic, is open to all, without distinction of age, sex, race or religion. “The only requirement to be able to be part of the representation is to have been born in Oberammergau or, if you are from outside, to have lived here for at least 20 years,” says director Christian Stückl, a veteran in directing, with three passion play behind their backs. The choir, the musicians of the orchestra, the technicians who build the sets and the tailors who sew the more than 2,000 costumes that appear on stage in a small workshop are also Oberammergauwhich, without a doubt, makes this place the town with the most scenic talent per square meter on the planet.
“It’s a great social event in which we all get involved,” says Mayor Andreas Rödl (he himself is part of the choir). “During the six months that the performances last, we are a huge family enjoying and sharing together,” he adds. For many neighbors, this representation is the common thread on which their own memories are articulated. “My first time on stage was two years old and I came out in the arms of my father, a Roman soldier. When I was 12 years old I was one of the children of the temple, as an adult I first played Judas and, a decade later, Caiaphas, and this year, at 53, I am Pontius Pilate”, says Anton Preisenger. “The oldest person on stage is 90 years old and there are several actors over 80. Every night they come out on stage with tears in their eyes because they know that for them this will probably be their last. passion play”.
The 5,000-seat open-air auditorium is packed to the brim. The chords of the 64-voice choir onstage accompanied by the music of the philharmonic orchestra, hidden in the pit, travel effortlessly to the last row in this acoustically immaculate theater. Tenors and sopranos navigate through passages from the Old Testament bringing the performance closer to the field of opera. In some of the choral scenes, up to 600 actors appear at once. Old men, women, children, Roman soldiers on horseback, sheep, and even a dromedary, parade on the platform. Behind the scenes, the constant changes of scenery and the whirlwind of hundreds of performers dressing at the same time for the next scene compete in intensity with the heated discussions between the high priests and the disciples of Christ on stage. Lies, accusations, betrayals and a lot of drama, in a performance of five and a half hours, divided by a generous interval of three hours that the public takes advantage of to go out to dinner some sausages washed down with Bavarian beer in the bars and restaurants of the town. It is common for the ticket to be purchased as part of a package that also includes dinner, although here the offer of establishments is abundant. Few places more typical than the restaurant of the Hotel Alte-Postfull of diners and with a festive spirit worthy of the best Broadway premiere.
On the way back, with a full stomach, he waits for the culminating moment (spoiler alert) with the crucifixion of Christ. Fortunately, instead of nails, Frederic’s hands are attached to the cross using ropes. Even so, hanging up there, half-naked and with the mist from the mountains that at this hour begins to descend on the open-air stage, the scene is an important physical challenge. “After each performance I am devastated,” he says. “But after a hot shower, we actors don’t go out and have a few beers and discuss what we can do better and end up talking about football and music.” In the theater canteen, 20-year-olds share laughter and conversation with bearded 80-year-old grandparents. Generations apart united by a common goal, once a decade.
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