Review: My Marlene

I know so little of Marlene Dietrich that a mere trace of information would register as a new classification in my knowledge base. So, to come away with a rounded sense of Dietrich’s life during the war years in the space of an hour is a massive tribute to the talents of writer Tjaša Ferme.

My Marlene begins with the audience entering into a cabaret style setting: circular tables flanked by asymmetrical seating facing the stage, hosting a pianist. From someplace else, Ferme bursts into the room and you almost hear the sound of craning necks eager to drink in their first glimpse of Dietrich (Tjaša Ferme). As Dietrich makes her way to the stage, Ferme so expansively evokes the Weimar era you’d swear there was swirling smoke now enveloping you. It is a world long gone with the potency to speak to the world of the troubled 21st century. Two worlds and in between.

Directed by Ana Margineanu, My Marlene interleaves anecdotes with humour and a searing charm which is thrillingly enticing. Accompanied in her re-telling by pianist (Nathaniel Shaffer), Ferme is captivating in the role. We come to understand Dietrich as one of these rare people who contradicts expectation: the more you know the more it enhances her enigma. Whenever asked to be something other, Dietrich remains defiant. The embodiment of gender fluidity, Ferme’s Dietrich spans the spectrum with sheer élan. There are corsets and suits; heals and brogues. Sequentially, she projects masculinity and femininity, eschewing definition. Simultaneously, she embodies the professional actor and the hausfrau, defying compartmentalisation. Alternating, she flips from rival to confidante, brooking no prisoners. A determination which turns out to be an issue for Nazi-Germany since Dietrich joins war bond tours and sells bonds to the US government. It is a bravura performance with seductive choreography. My Marlene is infused with some beautiful moments of dramaturgy which, unbelievably, makes you yearn for this war-riven bygone era, when adults were adults. Dietrich’s life force and the precariousness of her position balance one another out. It is a tension which runs through the performance as Ferme toys with the audience: what will you bid for her apple (real money only)? Will you strip for her? Will you find her as she defiantly sings through the inevitable blackout of a bomb raid? The answer is yes, yes and…yes! There are numbered telegrams strategically placed on tables. When your number is called, an update from war-torn Germany is read by an audience member. Each message helps paint the pan-Atlantic tapestry of Dietrich’s peripatetic life. This immersive technique elicits the best audience participation I have witnessed. It encourages without intimidating, acting as a figurative hand from Dietrich to breathe the same smoky air as her.

My Marlene stands as a testament to the recreation of the human spirit. It is glamorous and otherworldly. It is celebratory and real. It is funny and downright wonderful. It is neck-turning.

My Marlene finishes its run at Checkpoint at Assembly, Edinburgh, on 17th August.