Markt Schwaben: the stories behind the pond games – Ebersberg

Anyone who marries into Markt Schwaben as a foreigner will sooner or later encounter bizarre stories about the “pond” at coffee parties and family celebrations. The initial amazement gradually turns into curiosity as to why everyone at the table is always a different person when the talk turns to “Esperanza”, ecstatic reports of the “Japanese Tea House” or the stories of the “Frogs” even bring tears of emotion to those present to drive.

The most recent Monday chat in the local history museum offered a good opportunity to get to the bottom of this strange world: Josef Schmid, founder, director, director and author of the “Weiherspiele” for 33 years, spread out a bag full of memories. He was supported by Anna Seiler and Elke Deuringer, who belonged to the ensemble of what later became the theater association from the start and who shaped what happened on stage with their acting and their voices. The audience included a colorful mixture of companions, contemporaries and relatives. With their visible affection and palpable enthusiasm for Schmid’s memories, they made it clear what a deeper meaning the word “theater family” has with which he opened his two-hour lecture.

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Much too short a time, as it later turned out, to review how a crazy idea became a formative event for local life. Crazy idea? “In 1966, I thought I had to make a film,” says Schmid. And imagination becomes moving pictures: Together with friends from the town like Siggi Schmitt, who later built the stage sets, or Günter Hein, who delivered gags and acted at the same time, “Chiquita oder Flitterwochen im Jenseits” is created about the bloody dispute of some gunslingers over one Fatherhood. The scenery: Markt Schwaben and the surrounding area, including Moosacher See. Hermann Bogenrieder wrote the first song – and the final sentence of the survivors later turns out to be downright prophetic when looking at Bavarian history: “Our son should one day become pope.”

Absurd plot, concise characters, balancing act between fun and borderline experience, the cocktail of mysticism, exoticism and slyness, from home and the big wide world, your own musical touch and the fun of joy: “That was the foundation for what followed “, Schmid remarks almost laconically. And yet at this moment you can feel that not just a small house, but a monumental building was built here. Although it remains with the only film by the “boss”: His work on stage, his scripts called “scripts”, his thinking in large scenes prove, as the Austrians say, to be “lei(n)wand”.

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The longer the evening progresses, the clearer the dream of “big cinema” becomes visible, which has accompanied Josef Schmid throughout his stage life. On the journey through the history of the performance, it is always the spectacular scenarios, the moving and moving images, that he reports on – and which are actually burned into the memory of those present, as can be seen from the small additions and corrections from the audience. Apparently, Schmid found the ideal set for his dream in the church pond, and his comments on the light reflections on the water have something lyrical about them.

In retrospect, Schmid even shifts the emphasis as far as the unique selling point of the pond games is concerned. Despite the popularity of the countless catchy tunes, it wasn’t the music that proved to be a crowd puller, but the atmosphere: “If we’ve had a good day, then our G’sangl have been well received. But the light, the reflections, the have always enchanted.” He regrets that the start of the game at half past nine in the evening could not be maintained, “when everything was nice and dark and only the pond was lit up”. Too late for some audiences, too loud for some neighbors: Lengthy negotiations with the municipality ultimately brought about a compromise between starting at half past eight and ending at half past ten – so strictly controlled that once without intervention from the “boss”, King Ludwig almost didn’t have it more can drown in the lake.

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Something else crystallizes during the two hours: In contrast to professional stages, whose memoirs are full of perfect highlights, at the Weiher it is stories of failure that have been burned deep into the collective memory. The drifting boat that Hermann Bogenrieder missed when descending from the rigging, the big dog that jumped into the lake just as “Sirene” Deuringer wanted to sing a mad man to himself, or the herald’s pole that she called for as hers gondola had come to a standstill in the approach path over the pond. Or “Harry, the horse”, which set builder Anton Angermair harnessed so powerfully that the knight didn’t dare roll down the steep slope to the pond and preferred to walk. Imperfection as an art form – only amateur theaters can celebrate it extensively; The fact that the Swabians remember it with a smile and are very relaxed speaks for them. The team spirit, which singer Deuringer previously identified as unique, gets faces.

The hub of the history of the Weiherspiele, and that also came out well on this evening, are the “Frogs”: cheered on by the audience, a great moment for the ensemble, visionary in the criticism of people’s dissolute treatment of nature, carried by rousing characters, costumes and melodies, they became a classic, the only opus to have two seasons. But they also became the benchmark. If a piece didn’t turn out perfectly in the years that followed, it was measured against the “frogs”. A circumstance that Schmid struggles with to this day, despite the joy at the continued appreciation, but about which the spontaneous singing along of the audience consoles him. Just like the warm and grateful applause in the fully occupied house, which then starts with the rattling.