Move over, sugar plum fairies and dancing mice, and make room for a new star on Christmas stages: Tuttifäntchen, a puppet who comes alive with a lack of scruples and a taste for adventure. With music by Paul Hindemith, the story of his holiday high jinks makes a charming addition to the Yuletide festivities in Prague this year.

Jekatěrina Krovatěva (Trudel) and Vit Šantora (Tuttifäntchen) © Serghei Gherciu
Jekatěrina Krovatěva (Trudel) and Vit Šantora (Tuttifäntchen)
© Serghei Gherciu

Tuttifäntchen first came to life in an eponymous 1922 music theater piece written by Hedwig Michel and Franziska Becker and scored by Hindemith. It was reworked considerably for this Prague National Theatre production, with the libretto trimmed and translated into Czech, some musical frills added and a large cast reduced to seven human characters and six puppets (played by mimes). Tuttifäntchen was also given a new name: LouTkáček. He is created by the woodcarver Tuttifant for Punoni, a puppet theater impresario who needs a new ensemble for a Christmas show. Unlike his better-known counterpart Pinocchio, LouTkáček turns out to be a recalcitrant rascal. He abuses Punoni and the other puppets, and literally steals the heart of Tuttifant’s daughter Trudel as he drags her out into the wicked world. It takes a rescue effort by Tuttifant and Trudel’s friend Peter to restore her heart, put LouTáček where he belongs and deliver a happy ending under the Christmas tree.

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Vit Šantora (Tuttifäntchen) and Jekatěrina Krovatěva (Trudel)
© Serghei Gherciu

Onstage, simplicity is the key to keeping all this light-hearted and fast-paced. Eva Jiřikovská’s set of stylized wooden cut-outs offers just enough of a wintry backdrop, with the color reserved for glittery puppet costumes. The choreography never moves much beyond stiff puppet movements, even for the dances. The acting is deliberately broad and overly enthusiastic, easy for young audiences to follow. Director Radim Vizváry makes the piece even more accessible by breaking the fourth wall, having characters directly address the audience and venture out among the seats occasionally. Making his way across the front row at one point, LouTáček stops to briefly borrow the conductor’s baton.

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Tuttifäntchen
© Serghei Gherciu

For adults, that’s where the main interest lies – in an elevated pit, where a chamber-sized orchestra anchored by a large percussion section is visible. Structurally, the score is akin to Baroque-era opera, with short bursts of music interspersed by segments of spoken dialogue. There are 16 songs, more pop tunes than classic arias, and three purely musical “overtures” to introduce each of the acts. Hindemith had command of a wide range of styles and genres, and he seems to have used them all in Tuttifäntchen, ranging from Romantic to neoclassical to contemporary, with generous helpings of folk, jazz and dances like the fox trot. He also appropriates familiar holiday music, opening with the traditional Czech Christmas carol Nesem Vám noviny (We bring you news) and closing with Adeste Fideles. For the informed listener, part of the appeal of the piece is never knowing what’s coming next.

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Vit Šantora (Tuttifäntchen)
© Serghei Gherciu

An ardent Hindemith fan, conductor David Švec renders the score in bright, airy colors, capturing all the quirks and contrasts in the music in fine detail. He has added sound effects that would be intrusive in another setting, but work very well here. A bass drum, cymbals and other percussion instruments lend a touch of slapstick to pratfalls and puppets working the kinks out of wooden limbs. Švec also does an impressive job of capturing the momentum in the music, particularly the marching rhythms that drive many of the songs. In the premiere performance, National Theater veterans Zdeněk Plech (as Tuttifant) and Jiří Sulženko (as Punoni) added heft to the production with commanding voices and expressive acting, and Jekatěrina Krovatěva (as Trudel) and Jana Sýkorová (as Berthe, Peter’s mother) turned in lovely arias.

Tuttifäntchen caps the National Theater’s remarkable “Musica non grata” series, which over the past two seasons has revived operas and other work by interwar composers who were banned, persecuted and in some cases murdered by the Nazis. The series has been a revelation, showcasing innovations that were taking music theater in intriguing new directions until it was all cut short by racism, oppression and war. Not surprisingly, most of the operas dealt with grim, dark subject matter. Ending the series on this happy grace note offers hope, renewal and for lucky theater-goers in Prague, a sweet new Christmas confection.

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