On the walk from the Staatsoper Unter den Linden to the U-Bahn, one passes a series of clean, slightly bland buildings, mostly offices, with a few higher-end hotels and restaurants for business travellers and rich tourists. If you go underground and ride the train just a few stops south into Kreuzberg, you find yourself in a very different city; just off one of the larger streets, you’ll find a pub, located in the courtyard of a crumbling brick building that used to house a textile manufacturer, where a group of punks, young and old, gather to smoke cigarettes and drink two-euro pints of Kindl into the early hours. It is in this pub – or one of the half-dozen in the neighbourhood exactly like it – where Mario Martone’s extraordinary, highly recommendable new production of Falstaff begins.
Mr Martone’s staging – which appeared as the…
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