The Schwetzinger SWR Festival Tackles Ingeborg Bachmann's Malina, One of Postwar Literature's Most Enigmatic Works
Schwetzinger Festival Opens with Haunting Malina Opera Adaptation
From the novel's fragmented stream of consciousness, the composing duo crafts an operatic adaptation dense with atmosphere.
English Summary:
The Schwetzinger SWR Festival opens with an operatic take on Ingeborg Bachmann's Malina, transforming its fragmented, autobiographical prose into a haunting, enigmatic score. Powerful vocals contrast with uneven orchestral balance as the work explores themes of identity and violence.
"It was murder." The final words of Ingeborg Bachmann's only completed, semi-autobiographical novel, Malina (1971), rank among literature's most famous closing lines. The unnamed narrator vanishes into a crack in the wall.
Was she killed? Did she succumb to the weight of patriarchy? Or did she simply lose her voice, transferring it to Malina, her male alter ego? It is precisely this openness, this richness of association—and the inherent musicality of Bachmann's language—that inspired librettist Tina Hartmann and composers Karola Obermüller and Peter Gilbert to create an opera, now premiering at the 74th Schwetzinger SWR Festival: atmospheric, melodic, and steeped in mystery.
Every word sung or spoken is Bachmann's own. "My relationship is hopeless," the protagonist declares at the outset; "I lived in Ivan. I die in Malina," she concludes. There is no linear plot, only a disjointed collage of everyday scenes, introspection, fairy-tale fragments, and nightmares. Like the narrator's consciousness, the music never breaks—soundscapes weave the images together, while muted percussive rhythms pulse through transitions, mirroring the protagonist's inner life.
A Musical Act
In this commission for Theater Aachen, Obermüller and Gilbert's score occasionally leans into illustration, as when a suggested sexual act in Fabio Stoll's video projections is underscored by insistent orchestral repetitions. The composers frequently employ octave intervals that shift into sharp dissonances before resolving back into consonance—a sonic metaphor for the tense, multilayered relationship between the protagonist and Malina, which culminates in their final union.
Larisa Akbari lends the central figure a nuanced soprano, spanning bright moments of hope to utter despair and powerlessness. Valer Sabadus, with his androgynous countertenor, is an ideal Malina—his cool, detached smile animating the melodies while remaining elusive.
Director Franziska Angerer reinforces this intangibility by positioning Sabadus at various points throughout the Schwetzinger Schloss Theater's auditorium. The cast is rounded out by Micah Schroeder's detached, cynical baritone as Ivan; Jelena Rakić's secure coloratura as the Princess in black; and Ángel Macías as the Prince, whose tenor at times feels slightly forced. The children's roles—Melissa Zingsem (Béla) and Bela Scheuritzel (András)—complete the soloist ensemble. Unfortunately, the premiere's spoken passages fall short of the vocal performances, often sounding memorized rather than lived-in, with uneven accents and little presence.
Room for Improvement
The Aachen Symphony Orchestra, making its Schwetzinger debut in the pit (next year will see the return of the SWR Symphony Orchestra), also has room to grow under conductor Chanmin Chung. At times, it overpowers the soloists, and some percussive details lack refinement and tonal depth.
The orchestra shines brighter in moments when melodies unfold in the woodwinds or solo cello. Coordination with the vocal lines and the pre-recorded chorus of Theater Aachen (broadcast through speakers) is excellent. The second chapter, The Third Man, is particularly striking, as nightmares of gas chambers, violence ("the red executioner's robe with black boots"), and abuse ("He comes into the room. Old blood. How hungry is my father today?") dissolve into glissandi that pull the ground from beneath the audience's feet. The father looms as a towering shadow against a red wall.
Blood also plays a major visual role in the staging (set and costumes: Pia Dederichs). A mirror symbolizing self-reflection, a headless, towering horse sculpture suspended from the ceiling as a nod to the embedded fairy tale The Secrets of the Princess of Kagran, flowers with eyes—the expressive imagery aligns perfectly with Ingeborg Bachmann's richly poetic language. She would have celebrated her 100th birthday on June 25, 2026.
What's Coming Next Year
In the second year under artistic director Cornelia Bend, the Schwetzingen SWR Festival—this time under the theme "Attitude"—will present not only a new staged production of Claudio Monteverdi's Orfeo, a co-production with Mannheim's National Theatre (musical direction: resident artist Jörg Halubek, directed by Markus Bothe, premiere May 2), but also a second theatrical work. Georges Bizet's CarMEN (featuring countertenor Maayan Licht and the drag collective The Queens of Mannheim, May 14) and Johann Strauss's operetta Die Fledermaus (starring actor Boris Aljinović and the clair-obscur saxophone quartet, May 15) reimagine music theater in bold new forms.
Bend is particularly committed to breaking with conventional classical formats and attracting fresh audiences. At the Rock Lounge, the Signum Quartet blends Led Zeppelin with Ludwig van Beethoven, while an extensive outreach program targets schools.
Returning to Malina: After the electronically played words "It was murder" echo through the space, the princess continues to hum. Delicate water droplets and gongs weave a serene atmosphere. Following all the darkness, light gradually seeps into the fading silence. A deep calm lingers—until the first applause shatters the tension.
