Introduction to Brundibár

Joe and Ana’s mother is sick. A doctor evaluates the mother and tells Joe and Ana milk will be the cure. In town, a milkman, a baker, and an ice cream man hock their wares. Joe and Ana can’t get milk from the milkman because they have no money. They notice an organ-grinder, Brundibár, on the street making money. They decide to make music to make money, but Brundibár and a policeman run them off. As it gets dark, a sparrow, cat, and dog see how sad Jo and Anna are at their defeat and vow to help them fight Brundibár. The sparrow, cat, and dog get the help of the 300 children that live in the town. When day comes, everyone is awakened and goes about their busy days before the animals remind the children they promised to help defeat Brundibár. Brundibár reappears, and when the children are released from school, they rush to find him. The animals make a great racket and then attack Brundibár, pulling his pants. The choir of 302 children sing, and since the organ-grinder is distracted, they are able to make money.  The money is in Joe’s cap, and Brundibár sneaks up and steals it; the children panic and chase him, catching the villain and returning the money to Joe. The children march and sing in triumph!

Hans Krása, Czech-German-Jewish composer, was born in Prague on November 30, 1899. He reached adolescence during World War I and studied under Alexander von Zemlinsky at the Deutsche Akademie für Musik und darstellende Kunst. Krása was critically acclaimed early on, earning the title of rising star from E. Rychnowsky. After the premier of his Symphony for Small Orchestra and “The String Quartet” in Paris, he studied under Albert Roussell. Though his stay in Paris was short-lived, French music and literature—especially that of Fyodor Dostoyevsky—remained close to his heart. His first opera Verlobung im Tarum (Betrothal in a Dream), was composed with Dostoyevsky’s short novel Uncle’s Dream in mind. Krása received the Czechoslovak State Award for it.

Krása was in touch with artistic circles including conductor Rafael Schächter, pianist Gideon Klein, poet Erik A. Saudek, and stage designer František Schächter; who raised above nationalist passions. He worked with Brundibár librettist Adolf Hoffmeister once before the famed opera, in which he composed incidental music for Hoffmeister’s play Mládí ve hře (Youth at Play).

In Terezin, Krása composed string trios to A. Rimbaud’s poetry and Ouverture for Small Orchestra, which were brilliantly performed by ghetto inmates. On October 16, 1944, a transport train carried half-dead passengers to Auschwitz, and Krása perished on the same day he arrived—October 18, 1944.

Adolf Hoffmeister was a Czechoslovak illustrator, caricaturist, painter, writer, poet, journalist, politician, and diplomat born August 15, 1902 in Prague to a lawyer. Introduced to music at an early age, his uncle was composer Karel Hoffmeister. He studied at the Real Gymnasium school where he joined avant-garde group Devětsil as its youngest member. He attended Faculty of Law of Charles University where he obtained a doctorate, during which he studied Egyptology at the University of Cambridge. Hoffmeister started writing poems at 15 years old and published them under pseudonyms, after which he devoted himself to drawing and linocut. After publishing his first book of poems and prose in 1922, he eventually left Devětsil and joined the “New Group.” He then devoted himself to caricatures, which he sent to Lidové noviny (The People’s Newspaper).

A frequent traveler, Hoffmeister rubbed elbows with artists such as Man Ray, Ossip Zadkin, Jaroslav Ježek, Tristan Tzara, James Joyce, Ervin Piscator, and George Bernard Shaw. He joined many anti-fascist organizations and worked against the Nazis, having been in Germany in the 1930s. Two days after the occupation of Czechoslovakia by German troops, Hoffmeister received an invitation to France. He fled to Paris and worked with communist resistance forces there before being arrested and charged on the basis of anonymous allegations. In January 1941, he crossed Havana to New York. He stayed in America until 1945. After returning to Czechoslovakia, he became a diplomat and was awarded the Order of the Republic. However, in 1970, he was expelled from the Communist Party. He died of a heart attack on July 24, 1973 in his cottage at Říčky. 

The children’s opera Brundibár is often heralded as a tale of Jewish resistance, and while I do believe it was a resistance, it was not one of organized violence. Instead, I believe it was a spiritual resistance. Within that, it seems to have primarily been a form of escapism for those involved. I wanted to tap into that with this production, and I am grateful for my creative team’s assistance and the children’s enthusiastic attitudes as we explored a piece that, while exciting and gloriously fun, holds a special place in the history of the Shoah.

Terezín is known for housing a large number of artists and intellectuals, and I am continuously amazed by their creativity under extreme boundaries and duress. These were the most stressful times of their lives, and they often had to create in secret with very few smuggled supplies. And yet. They created. This is the vision we carried into this production—how creative can we be under extreme boundaries? I found this thread imbedded into the opera as every character in Brundibár follows the Dramatic Action Statement to create a way out. Joe and Aninka create music to escape their penniless circumstances and get milk for their sick mother, and Brundibár created a way out of his own poverty by making music and guards that avenue for himself fiercely. These characters are in desperate times. The stakes are high, and in response—they create.

As we leaned into the creativity under extreme boundaries, we expanded our imaginations and found ourselves inspired by ingenuity. The story is simple, and (if allowed to be separated briefly from its harrowing background for a closer inspection of the text and music alone) a luscious playground. I was inspired by Rudolph Franěk’s words, “The children liked the opera from the very first. Both the music and the text. Both are childlike.” I wanted to hold onto this as we forged forward with this wonderful team of adult and child creatives. We participated in several exercises crafted by myself and dramaturg Sloan Elle Garner that forced us to rely on our imaginations rather than props or set pieces or costumes or even sounds. We encouraged playfulness and allowed ourselves to see the opera through children’s eyes before placing it back within its historically significant context.

Through our entire process, we wanted to honor the past without diminishing the joy. I believe we have done that, and I sincerely hope you allow yourself to escape with us and imagine a world in which milk is all we need to cure loved ones’ illnesses, friendly talking animals come to our aid to overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles, and music underscores it all.