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Friedrich DürrenmattA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Switzerland’s neutrality during wartime is well-known and can be symbolized by the Swiss army knife, comprised famously of corkscrews and nail files—survival tools over effective weapons. The history of Swiss neutrality begins with their defeat by France and Venice in 1515. Switzerland was held protected legally, kept independent from the Holy Roman Empire. Switzerland’s history of maintaining neutrality, or refusing to take part in any foreign wars, was officially codified as early as 1815 in the Treaty of Paris. The first world war threatened this policy, as Switzerland shared significant borders both with Germany and Austria-Hungary (two Central Powers) as well as with France and Italy (two Allied Powers). In 1920, the League of Nations formed as the first international, intergovernmental coalition, founded by US president Woodrow Wilson and headquartered in Geneva, Switzerland, a tribute to Swiss neutrality. But within the League of Nations, Switzerland was exempt from any military obligations. When World War II started, Switzerland was surrounded by Axis countries and territories and Germany was poised to invade, and Switzerland prepared to fight back. But Switzerland maintained neutrality.
During the period between the two world wars, Swiss neutrality was generally respected in terms of exempting Switzerland from military violence. However, Switzerland was compelled to adapt their policy to include “differential neutrality,” or participate in sanctions even while maintaining neutrality from a military perspective. By 1938, the Swiss government opted for absolute neutrality. Meanwhile, Switzerland was ensconced, surrounded by Axis powers. Occasionally, they received bombs aimed for Germany. The Allies began to view Switzerland as a country of Nazi sympathizers. Complicating things, Swiss neutrality didn’t preclude them from hiding caches of stolen valuables, particularly those that had been ripped from Jewish citizens. Even decades after the end of World War II, the Swiss retain their stolen bounty rather than returning it to its rightful owners. Switzerland also sold weapons to the Nazi regime and turned away Jewish refugees. Switzerland may have remained neutral on a military level, but their actions and financial benefits from the Holocaust speak otherwise. Friedrich Dürrenmatt questions the motivations and temptations, such as greed or power, that might disrupt neutrality. In The Visit, Guellen, for instance, is proud to call itself a Humanist town. But their commitment to Humanism cracks quickly when they are tempted by wealth. In the play, Dürrenmatt subtly points to the way Germany owned Switzerland by giving Guellen’s landmarks German names. It’s a reminder of both the fallibility of human nature and the way otherwise normal people can become complicit in atrocity for the sake of greed.
As is often the case with postmodern avant-garde playwrights, Dürrenmatt claimed that he was not part of the avant-garde. He allowed:
I admit I have my Theory of Art as well, it’s a thing one doesn’t always enjoy having, and inasmuch as it’s my own private opinion I withhold it (otherwise I’d be obliged to practice it) and prefer being regarded as a somewhat lunatic child of nature lacking a proper sense of form and structure (106).
Unlike the modern era before World War II, when artistic movements were consciously built around structure and manifestos, the unspeakable horrors of World War II and the Holocaust made modernistic movements seem limited and insufficient. Art in the postmodern world was built on the fragments of modernistic movements. Dürrenmatt criticized the notion of artistic movements in theatre, as well as the literary scholars who catalogued them, rejecting labels as limiting. His work has elements of surrealism, expressionism, and absurdism, but he is most often associated with epic theatre. Epic theatre was developed by German playwright, dramaturg, and theorist Bertolt Brecht. Brecht began experimenting with epic theatre in the 1920s. The primary tenet of epic theatre was verfremdungseffect, which is commonly translated as “the alienation effect,” but is perhaps more accurately interpreted as “the defamiliarization effect.” With the rising popularity of Konstantin Stanislavsky’s realistic acting techniques, Brecht wanted the opposite. He believed that in theatre that creates the illusion of reality, audiences become more emotionally invested in the characters than in the social issues presented. In epic theatre, audiences are constantly reminded that they are watching a play, and in their detachment, they can think critically about the social problems presented onstage.
Brecht’s methodology of epic theatre staging has become iconic and recognizable, influenced by German theatremaker Irwin Piscator, who incorporated technological elements to undermine realism. Brecht was also a Marxist, which was integral to his work. In Brecht’s epic theatre, scenic and other visual elements are non-realistic, showing the mechanisms and wires behind any effects and projecting captions to summarize the action. Actors played the characters but didn’t become them, often stepping out to break the fourth wall and speak to the audience. Brecht juxtaposed comedy and often jarring and dissonant music with production elements that were designed not to fit together. He staged contemporary issues in historicized settings, often in distant countries. Storylines were typically fragmented and episodic instead of linear. Perhaps the most recognizable visual element of Brechtian plays is the wire strung visibly across the stage to roll in curtains or backdrops. He believed that preventing audiences from identifying with the characters and becoming absorbed in the story would deny them a cathartic experience and push them to take real-life action. He left Germany in 1933 to escape Nazi persecution, living in exile and returning in 1949. Brecht’s plays and other writings made him one of the most influential figures in 20th-century theatre. Disrupting the illusion of theatre, either through Brecht’s recognizable tactics or with new ones, became a common practice in postmodern drama. Postmodernism is about disillusionment and the disruption of truth and meaning. Although Brecht himself was decidedly modern, he provided tools for postmodern playwrights to dismantle and rupture structures of power and reason.
In The Visit, Dürrenmatt creates Brechtian defamiliarization through humor and absurdity. The play is a comic tragedy, and the tragic storyline is absurdist. Absurdism is a philosophical response to the horrors of World War II by Albert Camus, which essentially stated that life is meaningless, but if humans accept that, it can be freeing. Theatre critic Martin Esslin noticed that these themes were showing up in theatre of the 1950s and 1960s, and he called these trends the Theatre of the Absurd. By definition, in a tragedy, a hero falls from a high place in society to a low place or dies due to a tragic flaw or fate. Alfred Ill is the opposite of a tragic hero. Tragic heroes are kings and gods, and he is a small-town man who runs a general store. His tragic flaw was cowardice and greed 45 years prior to the play’s events, when he committed perjury and abandoned Claire for a woman with family money. He did not become a hero in the meantime. He just avoided accountability. Claire isn’t Medea or one of the Fates, as the Schoolmaster believes. She is, as Dürrenmatt states, “the richest woman in the world and, thanks to her finances, in a position to act as the Greek tragic heroines acted” (106). Ill’s heroic action is to save the town by accepting his death. But although Claire gives him a heroic burial, the town sings her praises without mentioning his sacrifice. His “death is both meaningful and meaningless. It would only have been entirely meaningful in the mythological kingdom of some ancient polis” (107). None of the characters are sympathetic, discouraging audience identification, and the illusion of reality is disrupted by musical interludes, dancing trees, and non-realistic scenery. The audience is left with the conundrum of Ill’s crimes weighed against his life, and whether Claire is justified in offering money to a desperate town in exchange for Ill’s life.
Friedrich Dürrenmatt was perhaps the most significant German-language playwright of his era after Bertolt Brecht, but he was also a man of many talents. He was born in the small town of Konolfingen, Switzerland, in 1921, the son of a Protestant pastor. As a child, Fritz was precocious and intellectually curious. In 1933, he started secondary school and also began studying painting and drawing with a local artist. Despite his intelligence and curiosity, Fritz was a lackluster student and often skipped class. In 1941, Dürrenmatt struggled to decide whether to become a painter or a writer. He wrote to his father, “It’s not a matter of deciding whether or not I shall become an artist, for that cannot be decided—you become one out of necessity.” He chose writing, but he never stopped painting and drawing, leaving behind an enormous body of work when he died, most of which hadn’t been publicly viewed. His university career was as bumpy as his secondary education, with his dropping out of the University of Zurich after a semester. He transferred to the University of Bern and studied philosophy for a semester until his education was interrupted again when Dürrenmatt was drafted for military duty. Although Switzerland maintained their stance of neutrality, they also kept their military fortified in anticipation of potential invasion by Germany. Exempted for poor eyesight, he returned to school in 1942 along with the beginnings of his antimilitary, pacifist sentiments. Later, when his own son was jailed for refusing military conscription, Dürrenmatt would support him. Dürrenmatt was planning a doctoral dissertation on Kierkegaard and tragedy, but abruptly dropped out of academia in 1943. Decades later, while accepting one of the five honorary doctorates he would receive, he explained that he “realized that it is not only possible to think with the philosophy, but also with the theater stage.”
In 1946, Dürrenmatt married Swiss actress Lotti Geissler, and in 1947, his first child and his first play would both premiere. His son, Peter, would eventually have two sisters. His play, It Is Written, was intensely controversial, opening in Zurich to audiences who booed, protested, and broke into fights. But despite the strong audience reaction to the play’s broaching of religion and history, critics recognized Dürrenmatt’s potential, and he received a monetary award from the Welti Foundation. His second play, The Blind Man (1947), was a failure, placing him in dire financial straits. He was commissioned to write a play called The Building of the Tower of Babel, but although the play was cast and he had already penned four acts, Dürrenmatt scrapped it and instead wrote the play that would be his first hit. Romulus the Great (1949), subtitled an “unhistorical historical comedy,” is about the end of the Roman Empire and the emperor who lets it fall because he’d rather stay home and tend to his chickens. The play was a hit, but money was still tight, so Dürrenmatt wrote radio plays and began writing very successful detective thriller novels. Millions of copies were sold, and several of his novels spawned international film adaptations, including the star-studded 2001 film The Pledge with Jack Nicholson. His next two plays received mixed reactions, and he swore that he’d never write drama again. But in 1956, The Visit premiered in the same theatre that had seen the riots caused by his first play, and the work launched Dürrenmatt’s international reputation. It became a Broadway hit, was translated into 25 languages, was released as a major motion picture, and brought a slew of awards. Six years later, he had another hit with The Physicists (1962), a satirical tragicomedy about a scientist who hides in a mental institution to protect his brilliant discoveries from being taken and used for destruction.
In the years since he wrote his first play at the age of 26, Dürrenmatt had come to the conclusion that tragedy and drama are impossible in a postmodern, post-Holocaust, nuclear world. He wrote in his 1955 essay, “Problems of the Theatre,” that drama, like tragedy, “presupposes a world that the eye can take in.” The powerful antagonists of the world, like the atom bomb, are manmade. Therefore, a manmade artistic representation of manmade power will fail, as, “Two mirrors which reflect one another remain empty.” Tragedy also presumes a sense of conscience and responsibility, and in the absurd violence of the 20th century, “there are no more guilty and also, no more responsible men.” But comedy supposes a topsy-turvy world, and the absurdity of the grotesque. Comedy also encourages emotional distance, unlike tragedy, which provokes the cathartic purgation of pity and fear. Dürrenmatt’s tragicomedy is both humorous and uncomfortable. He sets the characters up for heartwarming redemption, and then not only denies it, but also shows that the characters were never capable of such warmth. In The Visit, there is the momentary suggestion of a romantic (or at least friendly) reunion between Claire and Ill, but over time, it becomes apparent that neither character has genuine affection for the other. Would-be heroes, such as the Schoolmaster, take a run at greatness and then fall short. The ipso facto hero of The Visit, Alfred Ill, is unwilling, and when he finally submits to becoming the town martyr, his sacrifice is immediately rewritten as a heart attack due to joy rather than the reluctant death of a man who didn’t want to be a hero. His life is traded for financial gain. Through Dürrenmatt’s ironic comedy, tragedy is exposed.