A final look back or: How thirty years fit into a single summer
As always, this is my very personal opinion – only this time I am not looking forward, but back. The curtain has fallen, the starry tent is being taken down, and all the animals are glad that peace and order are returning and that everyone can finally go back to their pastures – which until now were parking lots or housed tents. And I sit here with a cup of tea and a stack of memories, wondering how all of this fit into a single summer. Meanwhile, the opera director and conductor are already eagerly planning what they can delight us with next year… not a moment of rest!
Do you remember how I promised to prepare you a bit for this anniversary year in the spring? Thirty years of Immling – I admit, I had no idea what I was getting into. Because this program was something else, and today, with the last applause still ringing in my ears, I know: It was no ordinary summer. It was the summer when this hill turned thirty – and yet seemed younger than ever.
Four operas, four truths
Let's start with the operas, because there were four of them – each telling its own story of love, power, and what people do to each other. "Tosca" took us right into a police state, its relevance taking your breath away; Puccini's orchestra became the storyteller, and Ludwig Baumann once again proved that he is full of surprises. "Lucia di Lammermoor" turned a "mad woman" into an indictment – Ella Marchment's production gave voice and face to those fifty percent of humanity who are too often looked at rather than heard (and yes, the glass harmonica actually made an appearance!). "The Magic Flute," with which everything began thirty years ago, was messy, contradictory, and magnificent as ever. And "Un ballo in maschera" – Verena von Kerssenbrock's play of dream and reality, in which at the end, death itself brings the bedding – showed me that although I had never seen the masked ball before, I would never forget it as it was here. By the way, Verena von Kerssenbrock is the third person celebrating an anniversary this year: twenty-five years ago, she staged her first opera in Immling, together with Cornelia, it was "The Merry Wives of Windsor" – prophetic, right?? (Just replace Windsor with I...)
The concerts – from jubilation to silence
And then the concerts. The anniversary concert – Beethoven's Ninth, Strauss' "Also sprach Zarathustra" and "Don Juan" – was exactly the birthday gift a festival can give itself: "All men will be brothers," sung by a choir that does not just recite these lines but lives them.
It became quieter, much quieter, during the Verdi Requiem. This year took three people from us, without whom this hill would not be the same: Angelika Weiß-Greither, Toni Meggle, and Hubertus von Kerssenbrock, Cornelia's and Verena's father. Sometimes words are not enough, and you need music. Cornelia von Kerssenbrock carried this work, which is about farewell and letting go, amidst her own grief – and those who were there know that more than just notes resonated that evening.
A cake, a promise, a speech
But I also promised you something sweet – and I mean that literally. Because after the spectacular anniversary concert, there was a surprise in the tent: an anniversary cake that Christine Unterseer and I had promised Ludwig Baumann last year for his birthday. And when, please, does one fulfill such a promise if not after Beethoven and Strauss?
I was allowed to say a few words – as a supporter, but above all as a friend of two people who were the focus of this evening. Because a double anniversary was celebrated here: thirty years of Ludwig Baumann as director, twenty-five years of Cornelia von Kerssenbrock at the podium. Do you actually know that this whole opera house is thanks to a rain shower? Thirty years ago, Ludwig wanted to perform "The Magic Flute" at a gravel pit – until the Bavarian sky decided otherwise. Out of necessity, the Immling riding hall became the opera house, with straw bales for seating. That’s how something is born when someone doesn’t let the weather ruin the show. And from an artistic collaboration that began in 2002, much more has developed – a team, a "dream couple of the Bavarian festival scene" that makes dreams come true every summer. I raised my glass to the two of them. And then it was finally time to cut the cake, and really everyone in the tent got a small piece!
The secret heart
But a festival summer is not just what is on the big posters. "Cats" brought the young talents of the Akademie Immling into the spotlight – feline glamour on a garbage dump, carried by a youth who gave their all because they knew what opportunity awaited them. And this "Cats" became the piece of that performance which, year after year, is the true heart of the summer for me: the inclusion performance. When the ambulances wind their way up the hill and people who are often excluded from such cultural offerings eagerly make their way to the festival hall, I have to swallow hard. This year, there was a little surprise for all visitors: everyone received a pair of cat ears to wear – and as a keepsake to take home. What fun, everyone with cat ears! And then an audience comes into the hall that is fully engaged – humming along, marveling, calling out in the hall, and often giving applause in between – then even backstage, one has to swallow hard. Thanks to people like Hans Loy, who still issues tickets by hand, and the Jacob and Marie Rothenfußer Memorial Foundation, which has made this event possible for many years, this afternoon is made possible every year. It is living proof that inclusion in Immling is not just a program point, but an attitude – from the very beginning, whether in the stable or in the festival hall.
Finale Grande – a farewell and a promise
The closing concert, which is always the first to sell out (become a supporter, and you have a good chance of snagging a ticket and inviting your best friends) is, for me, a phenomenon year after year. Musicians, artists, but especially the conductor give their all for the performances since June 13 – Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays, and the rest of the week they rehearse the concerts. And finally, it goes once more with great verve into the preparations for the Finale Grande! Then everyone shines one last time, the outstanding singers, the fantastic choir, and the indescribable orchestra! Those who usually work in the background also get their turn, those who "practice" and rehearse with the choir after the conductor has set the course, and we experience music outside of what is generally considered "classical," whether musical melodies or film music, there is something for everyone, and everyone beams once more when they get to push their skills to the limit. With the traditional "finale" from "La Traviata," the "Libiamo ne’ lieti calici" (Let us sip from joyful glasses), the 30-year festival comes to an end – or does it? Of course, the farewell party in the tent is yet another highlight after the highlight, a few tears are shed when participants part ways after more than three months of collaboration (some we hope to welcome back next year), and after midnight, I drive home elated and intoxicated (no, of course, not a drop of alcohol!) What will I do until next year? How good that there is a winter festival!
Until then, all I can do is say thank you: to the artists, the foundations, and supporters – and a special thanks goes to all our invisible helpers without whom nothing would be conceivable. And they are indeed visible: in every mask, in every costume, in every detail of the stage design, in the sound design – in ticketing, at the entrance, and everywhere that makes it as effortless as possible for you to enjoy a complete experience without worries.
And with that, I thank you, of course, especially you, who make the artists shine through your visit and thus make a festival possible at all. And I thank you for accompanying me through my "preparations" in this anniversary year. Thirty years is not just a number. They are a story. And the best thing about a story is, as is well known, that it goes on.
See you on the hill.
Warm regards
Yours, Christiane Berker
