by Heinrich Sutermeister

February 2004
The Abrons Arts Center

Read press reviews of this production.

credits

CAST
Christine Beth Clayton
The Priest Kevin Burdette
The Devil Matthew Chellis
The Mother Deborah van Renterghem

ENSEMBLE
Patricia Andress | Angela Baade | Audrey Babcock | Peter Couchman | Richard Cox | Inna Dukach | Daniel Gross | Jessie Hinkle | Jennifer Holloway | Andrew Nolen | Vale Rideout | Erich Simo

Costume Design Martin Pakledinaz
Lighting Design Jane Cox
Make-up & Hair Design Hagen Linss
Production Stage Manager Beth Burgess

conductor's notes
"Why Die schwarze Spinne (The Black Widow)?" This question, delivered with an expression of puzzlement, was inevitably asked of me whenever I talked about Gotham's future plans. Just as inevitably, upon playing a selection from the opera, I received this follow-up: "Why haven't I heard this incredible piece before?"

It was as a student in London that I first encountered the music of Sutermeister, when a singer introduced me to his Vier Lieder. I found the songs unbelievably compelling. The music captured the moods of the text as beautifully as any of the great masters of the German Lied, yet the composer's name was totally unknown to me. When I moved to New York and programmed the songs here, audiences found them as remarkable as I did. Then, about five years ago, I read a review of a new (now out-of-print) recording of Die schwarze Spinne (The Black Widow) in Opera magazine, and I immediately procured a copy of it. The work possessed me upon first hearing, and continues to possess me now. When I founded this company, I considered it a top priority to present Die schwarze Spinne (The Black Widow) as soon as possible. The time has finally come.

Written in 1935, the plot (based on a Swiss folk tale) is perfectly suited to opera. The townsfolk celebrate because the plague has bypassed their village, not knowing they have been spared because a young woman named Christine has kissed the Devil. When Christine confesses this to the Priest, he exposes her act to the populace, who drive her away. Thus the terrible chain of events begins.

The broad theatricality of the plot disguises the moral ambiguity lurking at every turn. Is Christine's fate merely an example of "no good deed goes unpunished"? Certainly not: Christine's first act may be totally selfless but is followed by an act of equal ghastliness. And why does no one stand up for her against the pack? Do the townspeople not deserve the plague as punishment for exiling Christine instead of rewarding her? Yet they, like the Priest, are stuck. Once they are aware of Christine's pact with the Devil, how can they allow her to continue to live among them? If they do, have they not implicitly made a pact with the Devil, too? Sutermeister has thrust us into the real world - a world in which terrible things are done in the name of morality - where people are neither entirely good nor entirely evil, but complex, contradictory beings.

The searing power of the music perfectly mirrors the power of the story. There is not one extraneous note, and its perverse orchestration (with its preponderance of brass and percussion) underlines and heightens the emotional impact at every turn. It is my honor and delight to introduce you to Die schwarze Spinne (The Black Widow) tonight. - Neal Goren

director's notes
Morally ambiguous deeds somehow become less ambiguous when they are found out - or at least that's what happens to Christine in Die schwarze Spinne. Her first mistake is not that she commits the inexcusable act of kissing the devil but that she confesses doing so, admitting to the Priest that she was drawn by an uncontrollable yearning to the strange man who asked only for a kiss. In this "don't ask, don't tell" world, it is not her sin but her passion, honesty, and naiveté that set her apart - and ensure her downfall: when she reminds the Priest that it was only through her pact with the devil that the plague ended and their town was spared, she sets her own trap. The Priest cannot now grant her absolution, for in doing so he would be admitting the failure of God to save His people. Therefore he condemns her and casts her out. The town vilifies her. Their hypocrisy leaves us with the question: Is this the price you pay for telling the truth?

Christine must now come to terms with the fact that she is a marked woman. Playing by the rules is obviously not what works in this society. She turns to the devil, who offers her a way out: in return for her soul, she must steal the as-yet-unbaptized infant boy whose birth marked the end of the plague. Desperate, she accepts his deal. Ironically, the mother of the newborn - the woman she must rob to save herself and return to society - appears to be unaware of Christine's status as outcast. Tired from the labor of childbirth, she innocently entrusts Christine with the care of her child, and thus the two women are pitted against one another. The mother fights for the life of her child as Christine battles for her own soul. And if the outcome plays out as an allegory of Christian struggle and faith, it is a peculiarly modern allegory in which two people who are both wronged are both right. - Robin Guarino