The universally admired Count Danilo Danilovitch, acting on a commission of the shady money-launderers of Pontevedro, is secretly in search of loose assets. He has to ensure that the young widow Hanna Glawari's millions are kept in his country. An operetta set in the environment of counts and barons, diplomats and the high-ranking military. Of course it is about love, and even more, about money. About millions, to be precise, which naturally go to the right person in a happy ending.
Léhar's operetta personage Count Danilo really did exist. He was the successor to the throne of the Balkan principality Montenegro - the authors of the operetta quickly changed this into Pontevedro - and a notorious skirt-chaser. After the successful premiere of Die lustige Witwe on 30 December 1905 at the Theater an der Wien the ambassador of Montenegro to Vienna protested most emphatically, at which the crown prince himself let it be known during an interview in Paris, that he was flattered and amused, that he was not intending to protest against his so-called stage double. According to him, it was "not so very far from the truth!" As to how Die lustige Witwe got its title, there is a story, as follows. Because the original rather dry title, Der Attaché, could not be kept, the writers began looking for a better title. This was found very quickly when one day Léhar heard the theatre director Emil Steiniger saying to the lady in charge of the box office: "No more free tickets for the Referendary's widow! The next time she comes back, throw her out, this annoying widow (lastige Witwe)!" Léhar, who had misheard, called out delightedly: "Lustige Witwe (merry widow)? That's our title: The Merry Widow".
After the 1998 premiere, the press wrote of Die lustige Witwe: The zany jokes Richter has thought up work over and over. As regards that, a highlight was the famous "Women" septet, in which the men carry on in a hilarious demonstration like revue girls. The rest of the production is full of subtle and well-played wildness. Praise therefore to everyone involved. This whirling, stirring production deserves to have sold-out signs in front of every theatre.
(Peter van de Lint, Trouw, 16 November 1998)
Back to top listen to an authentic period recording of The Merry Widow
Getting a Prima Donna into a perambulator is really the simplest thing in the world. During technical rehearsals it seemed at first difficult, and recourse was had to all sorts of trickery, such as mirrors, hidden loudspeakers, black light, false bottoms, and holograms. Regrettably none of these worked, so in the end a solution was found in a method widely used during Shakespeare's time: a makeshift trampoline, two pieces of rope, and seven burly assistant stage managers with crowbars.
Perhaps not the most comfortable way of working, but certainly effective when you look at the photograph!
