Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau

There he sits in Caspar Neher’s old English tavern, both decrepit and lovable, curls around his bald head, merry rogue’s eyes above his snub nose, with dimples and a mouth that shifts swiftly from a contented smile to a warrior’s fury. His robust frame, ‘this magnificent edifice,’ rises powerfully, with a colossal belly on slender giant’s legs. A Jupiter figure stands before us, and he begins to sing.

The tones flow from an inexhaustible range of registers, from parodic and bel canto colours, from deep basses to the astonishing falsetto that mimics the imaginary female voice. Questions rumble at the restless Pistol… a pianissimo is glorified in the aftertaste of a sardine, and the light A-major parlando of the page’s song springs to life. Everything is impeccably accurate, born from a perfect and emotionally driven art of singing, a masterpiece sui generis. But what would it be without the mimetic and gestural complement?

Fischer-Dieskau’s hands, as he dismisses the word ‘honour’ as empty sound into the air, as he touches Alice’s neckline with lecherous yet chivalrous intent… Every movement is precise, observed, artistically controlled. This Falstaff is one of the most delightful Shakespearean characters seen on Berlin’s stages since 1945.