ACT 1
Somewhere, probably in the region that was once Germany (since folks are still speaking auf Deutch), post-apocalypse. The small population who miraculously survived earth’s latest big bang, begin to cautiously emerge from hiding. To the dismay of the women and to no notice at all by the men, this new civilization is just as hierarchical and male-centric as the one that just got demolished. The women take one look and decide to retreat back into hiding. I mean, what’s the point.
The men, standing boldly and proudly, holding power and respect they never had to earn, sing to each other about problems that others have created in their lives. Problems that, rather than being interrogated with thoughts and questions and hypotheses, are best solved by combat. This is the judicial process. Women are only involved as silent observers or the accused. It sucks, but this isn’t uncommon – for a shell-shocked population to have only very simple cognitive capacities – we don’t see nuance when our lives are in danger. This explains why the world is so divided into binaries: right/wrong, light/darkness, good/evil. No room for curiosity here. Curiosity is the devil, along with innovative thinking, and imagining new futures.
Specifically, though, in this act, herald (big proud guy whose voice carries across the land) announces King Heinrich (bald guy on throne), who asks Count Telramund (evil-looking guy in red) to explain why the Duchy of Brabant (all us civilians in identical cloaks) is torn by strife and disorder (hint: it’s because everyone is too traumatized by the recent apocalypse to be able to tap into our cognitive powers enough to see that the power system is stupid, that we are all mindless sheep corralled by fear to follow whoever looks like they might be a good leader, and as a result, our leaders have zero wisdom worth following).
Telramund accuses his young ward (yes, you got that right, he accuses the woman who had been entrusted in his care… oh, BTW, he also asked her to marry him and she said no… bitter much?), Elsa (traumatized woman in white, presently in the “freeze” stage of the four F’s), of having murdered her brother, Gottfried, heir to Brabant’s Christian dynasty. Note: there is zero evidence that she killed him or even that he is dead.
Gottfried was actually enchanted by the evil Ortrud (evil looking woman in red), whom Telramund has wed. He actually sings “I married Ortrud, a woman who pleases me well”. Gross.
When Elsa is called to defend herself, because she has zero agency or means of escape, she hallucinates her way out. She relates a dream of a knight in shining armor who will come to save her.
The herald calls for the defender, but only when Elsa prays does the knight appear, arriving in a boat magically drawn by a swan. This raises zero questions on behalf of the people, who gaze up at the generic-cis-white man in his casually untucked white collared shirt and trousers. He has all the markers of a leader and savior – trusted and respected by default, he exudes confidence and ease of being. “Greetings, God-sent man!” chant the mindless, ignorant masses. “We thank you, Lord our God, for protecting this weak woman!” exclaim the otherwise wordless women.
The unnamed dude bids farewell to his beloved swan and strolls towards Elsa, who is now entering her “faun” stage of the four F’s. If you have no choice of hero and husband, you better love the one you’ve been assigned.
The nameless dude/knight (hint: this is Lohengrin) pledges to fight for her honor and marry her to her on condition that she never ask his name or origin. Boundaries in a relationship are good, but this is ridiculous. However, faced with no other choice, Elsa accepts his offer. They profess their love to each other minutes later in a duet where he takes great pleasure in singing her name loud and proud four times.
Defeating Telramund in combat, the newcomer establishes the innocence of his bride. Isn’t that extraordinary! Good thing we have all these men around to keep things straight.
SUGGESTED GAME #1: Every time Lohengrin says Elsa’s name, take a shot. Every time Elsa says his name, take a sip of water. This game is called “drink yourself into patriarchy realness”.
SUGGESTED GAME #2: Try to guess the zodiac signs of each of the silent women who form Elsa’s entourage, and like her, can do little else but kneel and gaze and imagine a better future while observing the bitter present.
FUN FACTS:
1) We are 37 minutes into the opera before any of the chorus women utter their first word, and guess what? They are praying for help.