Sébastian Rivas - Aliados
Festival Musica, Théâtre de Hautepierre de Strasbourg, 2013
Léo Warynski, Antoine Gindt, Nora Petročenko, Lionel Peintre, Mélanie Boisvert, Thill Mantero, Richard Dubelski
ARTE Live Web Internet Streaming, 4th October 2013
Presented at the 2013 Festival Musica in Strasbourg (and streamed live via ARTE Live Web on 4th October), Aliados is a somewhat experimental opera work from Sébastian Rivas that mixes avant-garde Ircam electronics with acoustic instruments and voices. There's also a modern approach taken to the staging of the work with the use of live cameras projecting, highlighting and enhancing the dramatic action. Perhaps most interesting aspect of Aliados however is the subject matter of the work which sets out in real-time a 75-minute meeting on 26th March 1999 between the Chilean President in exile Augusto Pinochet and the former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, who had only recently been forced to step down from her position.
More than just a two-person dialogue, there are actually more people involved, and the work does successfully extend outside the room to the outside world where the actions of these two people once had a much wider impact. This aspect is indeed so vital that it the opera even opens with an Argentinian soldier, shell-shocked and tormented by the Falklands war, writhing on the stage, who reappears at a later stage to emphasise in barked delivery that he was "conscripted into the theatre of operations ...for nothing", by "generals, assassins and pirates".
There's definitely a sense of confusion as to what it was all for, but a determined sense of self-justification as the work progresses on the part of Pinochet and Thatcher. Pinochet is clearly ill, slumped in a wheelchair, his memory failing, making confused and fragmentary comments about a "beautiful ship", "The Phoenix", "Pearl Harbour" and the Second World War. An aide, who is preparing his medication and keeping a register of the Senator's "achievements" (lists of deaths, arrests and the disappeared) tells him that he's thinking of the Belgrano, sunk by British forces during the Falklands War. Pinochet, longing for the "blood-covered streets of Santiago", has no regrets for the deaths caused by his regime, raving that it necessary for "national unity" and that it was Allende and the Communists who are really to blame for the problems in Chile.
Baroness Thatcher arrives with her personal secretary and the two former world leaders exchange gifts of their own biographies, in mutual admiration for themselves and each other. Grateful for his aid during the Falklands conflict, Thatcher offers Pinochet political asylum and talks about needing to "keep her head" for a statue that is being cast to stand in Westminster, but her speech is marked by gaps and it seems clear that her mind is also failing. Eventually, both slump into their chairs in defeat, only to be revived by troubling memories resurfacing, Pinochet preoccupied over descriptions of himself as a dictator, the Iron Lady recalling the miners and the Belgrano, slipping into refrain of "it was a danger to our ships... that is fact" on an electronic loop that forms a mournful chorus of self-justification.
Both the music and the staging are vital in establishing this very particular mood and make some effort to get beneath the surface of these larger-than-life characters towards some semblance of personality if not exactly humanity. Stage director Antoine Gindt manages to give a sense of the encounter taking place in real-time by using multiple cameras that project details and close-ups. He also captures something of the closed room mentality of the protagonists within the limits that mark out the square room, but also gives a wider sense of who they are and how their actions have had a wider impact beyond the walls of the room by having the floor made up of a collage of photographs and newspaper articles related to the Falklands War, with additional images and footage projected on the screen behind.
Rivas' score works in a similar fashion, the music - played out mainly on solo violin with trombone, piano and saxophone - has percussive elements that are insistent in a militaristic way when referring to the wars and deaths. Through some computer manipulation and electronic effects - applied to the voices as much as the instruments - the score also manages to reflect the wavering, distorted mentalities of Pinochet and Thatcher, the sound haunting and twisted, backed by drones and random noises.
In some respects the subject matter of Aliados is similar to John Adams' Nixon in China in as much as it touches on the god-like delusions of the powerful and the reality of the frailty of the human mind and personality. Aliados however is much more chamber-like and intimate in its observations, the libretto free from the poetical observations and abstractions of Nixon in China, avoiding making any specific political or social observations that the meeting between Thatcher and Pinochet might signify. It's much more a sonic exploration of two personalities of common accord in their common discord.
It seems appropriate that the two even dance a tango of a somewhat disturbing if tender nature, a dance over the dead by two former "Defenders of the the Atlantic", two allies ("aliados") confined now to the smallness of a room and the terrors of their own disintegrating minds. A sad account of the endgame of leaders who abuse power and wage war - particularly on their own people - Aliados is unquestionably a work of extraordinary intensity that has relevance to many other contemporary world situations.
Aliados is currently still available for viewing on-line via the ARTE Live Web site. The opera is sung in English and Spanish, with only French subtitles provided.
Russell Hepplewhite - Laika the Spacedog
English Touring Opera - 2013
Russell Hepplewhite, Tim Yealland, Sarah Laulan, Nicolas Rigas, Abigail Kelly, Edward Lee, Maciek O’Shea
Armel Opera Festival, Szeged - ARTE Live Web - 14th October 2013
An opera aimed at 7-11 year olds isn't the traditional kind of work that you would think best suited for judging singers in a competition like the Armel Opera Festival, but the English Touring Opera's production of Russell Hepplewhite's Laika the Spacedog proves to be one of the richest offerings in the programme. As well as providing its competition singers with some interesting challenges, it deservedly took away two awards for the production.
As an opera, Laika the Spacedog is deceptive in the apparent simplification of its appealing doggie-does-good story when in reality it works well on a number of levels. The story of the Russian space-programme's race to follow its successful Sputnik I launch by putting the first living creature out into space in 1957 introduces a younger audience to modern history, politics and science, but also emotionally engages them to these concepts through an appreciation of opera, theatre and music that makes effective use of comedy and an inventive staging. And yes, it has a loveable dog.
Musically, it's also a wonderfully composed work that is likewise deceptively simple in its chamber construction but in reality vibrant, playful and complex in its interweaving of instruments and themes. There's a deep rhythmic pulse provided by cello and bassoon, with a clarinet weaving in and out of it and clever use of vibraphone and in even electronic instruments like a Theremin to give a playful lightness and suggest space and science concepts with a little bit of a "period" feel to them.
Most importantly, it involves young people by making them part of the on-stage chorus and audience. Here at Szeged, you can see how successfully the work inspires the imagination of the children and holds them rapt by how thoroughly the young members of the Laika Choir of the Tisza-parti Elementary School become engaged in every aspect of the performance. A young audience would be no less delighted by the work and the performance and the cast likewise try to engage the audience in the exploration of the science concepts behind the work.
That's where the challenge comes in for the performers. For the competition singers, Sarah Laulan, Nicolas Rigas - both French - there's challenge enough in making the English diction clear and the singing melodic when exposed with only a chamber arrangement. The performances however have to be vital, spirited, intense and playful, requiring some degree of charm and comic timing to interact with the other singers and reach out through audience participation. Bass-baritone Nicolas Rigas perhaps fared better in terms of finding the right tone and character for the work, bringing a more musical and melodic touch to the performance, coping well with the English diction. Mezzo-soprano Sarah Laulan on the other hand might not have found this type of work best suited to her talents, but sang well and within the spirit of the piece.
Both fitted in well in this respect with the rest of the production as a whole, which is just an important a consideration. Jude Munden's sets were inventive and dynamic, making use of projections and animation to cover everything from travelling on the Moscow metro, recreating a laboratory, showing the solar system and displaying a rocket launch. Maciek O’Shea's handling of the puppet Laika was of course vital in making this all work so successfully. Supported by the fine playing of the orchestra conducted by Russell Hepplewhite himself and with the experienced supporting cast of Abigail Kelly and Edward Lee (although all the roles bear equal weight here), this was at least a worthy winner of two production awards.
The Armel Opera Festival performance of Laika the Spacedog can be viewed for free for six months after the performance on the ARTE Live Web streaming service. The opera is sung in English with French subtitles only.
Giuseppe Verdi - Simon Boccanegra
Szeged National Theatre, Hungary - 2013
Tamás Pál, Zsuzsa Molnár, Vasile Chisiu, Stefano Olcese, Adrienn Miksch, Attila Réti, András Kiss, Bálint Börcsök, Szilvia Dobrotka, József Varga
Armel Opera Festival, Szeged - ARTE Live Web - 10th October 2013
Simon Boccanegra is by no means a typical work by Verdi. The composer had by this stage moved beyond the bluster of the works of his "galley years" - beautifully melodic, dramatically driven and often musically inspired though many of them are - towards a maturity of style in his middle-period that didn't rely quite so much on the standard number format of the classic Italian opera tradition. The melodrama is still there in mid-period Verdi, and the composer had yet to have the full involvement of a librettist like Arrigo Boito who would provide him with material truly worthy of his talents (though Boito did later add the Act II Council Chamber scene for the revised version of Simon Boccanegra), but there is nonetheless a greater subtlety and attention to characterisation in the fascinating works from this period.
Not that you would notice this from the 2013 Szeged National Theatre production of Simon Boccanegra presented at the Armel Opera Festival. It's not a bad production by any means, and it's always intriguing to see a work based on the original staging as described in documents from the time, but it's inevitably going to look rather old-fashioned with singers mostly standing facing the audience rather than interacting with one another and belting out the numbers in the classic 'park-and-bark' or 'stand-and-deliver' manner. For a lot of Verdi, if you've got good singers - and the Szeged are strong-voiced and more than capable of meeting the demands - you can get away with this. For early Verdi anyway. For a work like Simon Boccanegra, which relies on moments of tender expression and charged emotions more than dramatic developments to get its full impact across, you need a little more sensitivity than you get here.
Although the production doesn't really help them then, the two competition singers Vasile Chisiu and Stefano Olcese cope well nonetheless with the challenges that are to be found in the roles of Jacopo and Boccanegra. Much like Verdi's La Forza del Destino, there's a Prologue that sits widely apart from the main events of the opera, and it's important that there is a noticeable change in the personalities of the two characters who find themselves in opposition to one another, partly through maturity but also through them having to carry the weight of the tragic and tumultuous events that have divided them. I think that is clearly drawn in the production, at least in as far as it is important for the two main characters, and both performers do well in their attempts to show the necessary gravitas and rich characterisation that would have defined them in the in-between years.
Neither however are entirely strong enough singers with the kind of experience necessary to really bring roles like this to life. A Boccanegra really needs a mature Verdian baritone of experience, a Leo Nucci, a Thomas Hampson or - at a stretch - Placido Domingo, who has proved that he can inhabit the baritone role fairly successfully. It's a considerable challenge however for Vasile Chisiu, and if he doesn't have the ideal power, range or experience to step convincingly into a role like this with the kind of personality it requires, it's a good performance nonetheless and sung well. The unimaginative stage directions probably don't help, and certainly don't do Stefano Olcese any favours as Jacopo Firese, but he often seems disengaged from the drama, singing out to the audience rather than in response to what is happening on stage. Again, there's a nice bass-baritone voice there but it lacks the depth of characterisation required to make the melodrama in the story work convincingly.
Conductor and director Tamás Pál and the Szeged Symphony Orchestra gives a good account of the work, but the subtleties and melancholic undercurrents of the score seem to founder on the failure of the staging to match the necessary tension and drama to the work. The original set designs are well realised by the production team and it's certainly of interest to see the work close to how it might originally have been staged, but for a Verdi work like Simon Boccanegra to fully come alive to a modern audience it would require better direction and singers of considerably greater stature and ability than we have here.
The Armel Opera Festival performance of Simon Boccanegra can be viewed for free for six months after the performance on the ARTE Live Web streaming service. Subtitles are French only.
Zoran Juranić - The Last Flower of Summer
Serbian National Theatre, Novi Sad, Serbia - 2013
Zoran Juranić, Christophe Poncet, Jelena Končar, Miodrag Petrović, Miljenko Đuran, Violeta Srećković, Goran Krneta, Vasa Stajkić, Igor Ksionžik, Ivan Dajić, Darija Olajoš Čizmič
Armel Opera Festival - Szeged - ARTE Live Web - 7th October 2013
The question of musical precedents and references must undoubtedly come up in any modern opera that draws from the historical operatic tradition. The principal influences on the musical language of any modern work that operates in a form that is largely tonal and is not of the minimalist school can often be found in the impressionistic touches of Debussy, with something of the freer form and dissonance of Alban Berg. You might find some musical influence of those composers in Croatian composer Zoran Juranić's The Last Flower of Summer, but the influence and their significance perhaps extends beyond the musical to the actual drama itself.
Pelléas et Mélisande inevitably comes to mind for example at the start of The Last Flower of the Summer when a man, Mr Bert, on his way home one night discovers a mystery woman lying on the street, with no name and uncertain where she has come from. It seems clear however that she has been abducted and has escaped from the clutches of two shadowy figures seen in the background. It's not the only thing shadowy about the story, the characters or the world they live in. From the watchful policeman, to the inquisitive lady walking the street and the interfering landlady of his apartment block, Mr Bert has some difficulty in bring the mystery woman back to his room in order to offer her some help.
Or is there a deeper attraction and motive at work here, perhaps without Mr Bert even realising it? Certainly he doesn't resist when Miss No-Name strips down and seduces him using her obvious charms, but Bert is also undoubtedly attracted by the romantic allure of the exotic and mysterious background she relates to him, particularly the line of poetry that she claims to have improvised at the moment - "If I fall at your feet, pick me up like the last flower of Summer". It soon transpires however that the poem was not improvised and that there are further lines, just as there are many other mysterious figures and men in the troubled journey that has taken her to Mr Bert.
With a crazed and distraught armed Russian soldier called Vladimir on the streets looking for a missing woman, and a story that has taken NN from Monte Carlo to Venice and beyond, first with a wealthy industrialist Carlo and then with Lorenzo, a knife thrower, it seems that we could be dealing with a Lulu here rather than a Mélisande. There are even discussions between Mr Bert and the woman about opera and the elaborate love stories that they construct, suggesting further that there is some self-referentiality about all this. When it is revealed that NN's story is itself largely fictional and that even the poem is derived from a woman's magazine, this does suggest that the opera works on a meta-level that acknowledges outside influences. On the other hand, the opera can be seen as dealing with the nature of love itself, of meeting a stranger, getting to know them and falling in love, then finding out that you can never know the whole person or the whole story as it falls apart and one's certainties start to unravel.
The Last Flower of Summer was premiered in March 2013 at the Serbian National Theatre of Novi Sad, and the production - directed and conducted by the composer Zoran Juranić himself - is presented here at the 2013 Armel Opera Festival. The staging is necessarily basic, needing to be all-purpose and simplified to not require any major scene changes for the purposes of the opera festival. The entire work is presented in the form of a related story that takes place behind a mesh screen, narrated by an older Mr Bert (in a non-singing role) sitting reflecting on the events in the past at a table with a typewriter. Other than a bed and some portable open-doors, there's not much in the way of set decoration, but Juranić's set employs a see-saw platform at the back of the stage that fulfils most additional dramatic requirements.
The main purpose of the staging here at the Armel Opera Festival is to provide an opportunity to judge the performances of two of the competition singers. Having previously performed in Latin in Stravinsky's Oedipus Rex, the French tenor Christophe Poncet demonstrates his versatility here by singing in Croatian, and he seems to manage it exceptionally well. Serbian soprano Jelena Končar's role as NN is however rather more challenging vocally, dramatically and for the fact that she's singing constantly for a large part of the 90 minutes of the opera. If there was a prize for most daring performance Končar would walk away with it, stripping down and singing before a passionate love scene, baking a lasagne, and even working as an assistant for a knife-thrower (it looked like it was done for real), but her singing ability is impressive on its own and she really took command of the role. Her performance deservedly won her the Best Female Performer at the Festival.
The Armel Opera Festival performance of The Last Flower of Summer can be viewed for free for six months after the performance on the ARTE Live Web streaming service. Subtitles are French only.
Igor Stravinsky - Oedipus Rex
Poznan Opera House, Poland - 2013
Jacek Przybylowicz, Grzegorz Weirus, Christophe Poncet, Joëlle Charlier, Jerzy Mechlinski, Andrzej Ogorkiewicz, Piotr Friebe, Jaromir Trafankowski, Aleksander Machlaica
Armel Opera Festival, Szeged - ARTE Live Web - 5th October 2013
Stravinsky's Oedipus Rex, "an opera-oratorio after Sophocles", is one of the most fascinating works of the composer's neoclassical period. One of the more interesting elements of the Stravinsky's approach here, for example, is the use of older traditional styles that isn't so much a homage as an exploration of different musical archetypes, aligning them appropriately (or inappropriately for effect according to some commentators) to specific characters. Stravinsky's measure of the subject, the dramatic content and its mythological subject is moreover just about perfect. In its formal construction and declarative nature - with a libretto written by Jean Cocteau - it's hard to imagine the work being anything but an oratorio, but there are inevitably grand and tragic elements that are drawn out, and this Poznan Opera House production captures them well.
In as far as the opera-oratorio's relating of the events of Sophocles' Greek tragedy go, the work is divided into two parts. The sequence of events is related by a narrator (in the original language of the audience, which for the purposes of this production is Polish), while the drama is conducted in Latin. Act I concerns the fate of Thebes, which the narrator tells us has already been rescued from the terror of the Sphinx and now faces devastation from the Plague. The chorus beg Oedipus to once again come to their rescue, but the oracle at Delphi has told Creon that the curse can only be lifted when it is discovered who is the murderer of King Laius. Act II presents the unravelling of Oedipus as he comes to the realisation that he is the son of Laius and Jocasta, and that the old man he once killed at a crossroads was therefore his own father and the woman he is married to is his mother.
Staged for the 2013 Armel Opera Festival, the oratorio nature of the work does pose some challenges with staging, but director and choreographer Jacek Przybylowicz finds a way of retaining and supporting the relative simplicity of the related events by having dancers perform the expanded role of the chorus. There's nothing too experimental attempted, the dancers meaningfully integrating with the content of the work while keeping the stage active and the giving the audience something to focus on. The stage itself is otherwise rather minimally decorated, with a gallery at the back for the chorus and the use of blocky thrones to indicate the regal positions of Oedipus and Jocasta. There is some opening out of the story, with a child used during the relating of how Oedipus is discovered by a shepherd, while the dramatic conclusion of Jocasta's death and Oedipus's blinding is effectively staged with the wrapping of Oedipus in a scarf.
Presented for the Armel Opera Festival, this rare production of Oedipus Rex is staged as an opportunity to judge the performances of two competition singers in the main roles. Tenor Christophe Poncet, possessing a lively high timbre that would suit a bel canto or a Verdi role, sang Oedpius with exactly the right kind of Italian character that Stravinsky created for the role. He is a little shaky in places, but gets a good balance between the declarative projecting of the role and making it dramatically meaningful, which is by no means easy to achieve. Joëlle Charlier's Jocasta commands attention and sings the role well, but doesn't have the strong lower end that the dramatic side of the mezzo-soprano role requires. The supporting roles are well sung and the production also benefits from a powerful musical account of the work with Grzegorz Weirus conducting the Szeged Symphony Orchestra.
The Armel Opera Festival performance of Oedipus Rex can be viewed for free for six months after the performance on the ARTE Live Web streaming service. Subtitles are French only.
André-Modest Grétry - Guillaume Tell
Opéra Royal de Wallonie, Liège, 2013
Claudio Scimone, Stefano Mazzonis di Pralafera, Marc Laho, Anne-Catherine Gillet, Lionel Lhote, Liesbeth Devos, Patrick Delcour, Stefan Cifolelli
ARTE Live Web, Internet Steaming, June 2013
I've been very impressed with the work that Stefano Mazzonis di Pralafera has achieved over the last couple of years as director in charge of the Opéra Royal de Wallonie in Liège. There's been a good mix of standard repertoire done with some originality and flair, and there's also been some more adventurous programming of lesser-known but wholly accessible works deserving of rather more exposure (Haydn, Galuppi, early Rossini). This year has been no exception, but to celebrate the opera company's return to their restored home at the Théâtre Royal the 2012-13 season significantly opened and closed with rarely performed works by two composers born in Liège - César Franck (whose early work Stradella opened the new season) and André-Modeste Grétry.
Grétry is another of those composers who were wildly popular in their time but whose work is now considered somewhat unfashionable and unlikely to click with a modern audience. It's true that the spoken dialogue, comic diversions and pleasant melodies of the French opéra-comique operetta form is far removed from the serious Italian or German opera styles prevalent in the standard opera repertoire, and that the humour and musicianship is far from the sophistication of Grétry's contemporary Mozart. Written in 1791 (the year Mozart died) for Paris audiences by a composer who came through the French Revolution, the timing of his version of the William Tell story at least gives it some historical interest. It gives much more than that however in this terrific production from Liège, which goes to great lengths to reproduce the authentic nature and the spirit of the work, and manages to do so to great effect.
Running to only 85 minutes in length, Grétry's version of Guillaume Tell is considerably more concise in its treatment of the historical drama than Rossini's final masterpiece, but by and large the main points are the same. The composer even finds plenty of opportunity within this short running time to introduce all those little colourful interludes and songs that seem to have little relevance to the actual drama but are so much a part of the opéra-comique style. Here, at the opening of Act I it's all to do with the wedding of Melktal, the son of the chief of the canton, to Marie, the daughter of William Tell. Despite his father being away on business, discussing the question of the high taxes that are being demanded by the Austrian governor Gessler, the wedding is going ahead, and there is inevitably much singing and dancing.
The celebrations are however abruptly halted by the news of the elder Melktal's unfortunate run-in with Gessler. A dispute has arisen over the correct form to show respect to a representative of the Emperor and as a lesson, Gessler has demanded that his hat be displayed prominently in the town square, and that respects should be paid to it by everyone who passes. Melktal's father - it is reported rather than actually acted out - indignantly responds that he would never see such a thing, and promptly has his eyes burned out by the cruel governor. William Tell nevertheless also defies the ruling - and similarly we are told this rather than shown it - and is arrested, but is given the chance to save himself from execution if he can demonstrate his ability as the greatest archer in Switzerland by shooting an apple set on the head of his son. That bit we most definitely don't miss out on.
Despite the unusual approach to the development of the drama, with many diversions of local colour and humour, Grétry's Guillaume Tell is nonetheless wonderfully constructed, hitting all the necessary dramatic points with plenty of entertainment and colour. It's also performed that way in this charming production of the work by the Opéra Royal de Wallonie. Quite why there's so much comic exaggeration in the long drawn out phrases and curious intonations of the spoken dialogue, I'm not sure. Is this an historically accurate way of performing an opéra-comique, or is it just making fun of the Swiss Alpine accent in this particular work? It takes a little getting used to, but it does add something to what might otherwise sound silly - even if that is just more silliness. Most disconcertingly, it's even used during the grave account of the elder Melktal's blinding, which makes it curiously funny and disturbing at the same time.
Elsewhere there's a similar approach to the staging, which on the one hand looks cheesy with its old-fashioned Swiss country village setting and painted backdrops (including a wheeled on cow that leaves behind a bit of a mess), but it also captures the contradictory nature of this Guillaume Tell (and perhaps Grétry's ambivalent response to the Revolution which did him little favour as a composer and citizen of Paris) and gets across the spirit of the work in a way that feels authentic, or at least appropriate. Still allowing time for diversions as the drama escalates with William Tell's actions, this tone and its effectiveness is best exemplified in the battle scene which is played out with cardboard cut-out soldiers operated by puppet strings. A little more modern technical wizardry is called for in the critical apple shooting archery scene - a neon-lit arrow flying with slow-motion sureness on the darkened stage towards its goal - but again it all fits marvellously with the tone adopted.
The acting and singing performances are all also very much on the same page. The performances never pretend to be anything other than fully theatrical, but they are taken seriously within this context and never resort to tongue-in-cheek making fun of the work or its stylisations. This has been typical of Opéra Royal de Wallonie productions under Stefano Mazzonis di Pralafera, and once again it proves to be the best possible way of presenting this kind of material.
Also typical of the Liège company is the use of a strong regular cast of Belgian singers (with occasional imported Italians and other nationalities in works that require a more authentic touch). Accordingly, we have the usual solid performances from Marc Laho as Tell, although his character is somewhat surprisingly not tested with any arias in this work, Anne-Catherine Gillet as his wife (taking most of the main arias and singing them wonderfully), with Lionel Lhote as Gessler and Liesbeth Devos as the Tell's daughter Marie. With this kind of presentation, Grétry's Guillaume Tell becomes more than just a fascinating historical curiosity and comes fully to life once again as a marvellous entertainment.
The Opéra Royal de Wallonie's production of Grétry's Guillaume Tell is available for viewing for free via Internet Streaming on the ARTE Live Web site. There are no subtitles for the broadcast.
Giuseppe Verdi - I Due Foscari
Teatro Regio di Parma, 2009
Donato Renzetti, Joseph Franconi Lee, Leo Nucci, Roberto De Biasio, Tatiana Serjan, Roberto Tagliavini, Gregory Bonfatti, Marcella Polidori, Mauro Buffoli, Alessandro Bianchini
Tutto Verdi, ARTE Live Web
Composed in 1844 during the composer's 'galley years', Verdi's I Due Foscari is very much an Italian number opera, but it's a number opera par excellence. All the expected emotions and sentiments are there - stirring expressions of patriotism, pleas to God, arias of despair and calls for vengeance - but the development of the plot is far from the usual template, perhaps too far for the work to ever be a solid part of the composer's popular repertoire. There are however other compensations in this lesser-known Verdi that make it well worth seeing, particularly in this fine 2009 production from the Teatro Regio di Parma.
Visually, it's not an exciting production, but it is staged with a sense of understated grandeur that reflects its 15th century Venetian setting as well as suiting Verdi's intentions for the work and its sombre musical tone. Based on a work by Lord Byron, 'The Two Foscari', there's very little dramatic development in a story that is little more than a murder trial where we get to see neither the murder nor the trial. The accused is Jacopo Foscari, son of the Doge of Venice, who is charged with the murder of one of the Donato family and is to be judged by the Council of Ten. One of the Ten, Loredano, is a bitter rival who resists the pleas of mercy from Jacopo's wife Lucrezia, while the Doge himself knows that he can expect no special favours for his son because of his position.
Act I and Act II then consist mainly of Jacopo and his wife Lucrezia separately and together appealing to God, to the Diecie, to Justice and to the hope of the better nature of Man being revealed, but they are resigned to the expectation of cruelty, hatred, villainy and injustice. Even Verdi recognised in his letters to his librettist, Francesco Maria Piave, that Byron's work required more dramatic developments to engage the audience, particularly in Act I, but in reality nothing much happens. The only real dramatic conflict seems to be over who is the most affected by the situation, and in the end, that's probably the Doge, Francesco Foscari, torn between being a father and serving his duty (not an uncommon situation in a Verdi opera) finding that even as the ruler of Venice, his power is limited.
Dramatic developments might be few then, but with Verdi this is nonetheless enough to create a compelling drama. It helps if you have great singers to play these roles and, fortunately, the casting for this production in Parma is of the highest order. The names might be unfamiliar, but Roberto De Biasio and Tatiana Serjan as Jacopo and Lucrezia make the first two acts rivetting. De Biasio sings with clarity and purpose, even if the sentiments expressed in prison are fairly standard, as he awaits "a fate worse than death" in exile from his country and his family. Tatiana Serjan however is even more impressive and wins hands down over who is most affected by the charges against Jacopo, taking the largest role in the first two acts.
Act III however belongs to the Doge, and this role is in the experienced hands of Leo Nucci. He doesn't disappoint, his grave intonations perfect for expressing the weight of his character's personal conflict, so great this time that it drives him to his death. If Verdi's musical writing is still quite conventional in places, it's in such moments that his musical invention and experiments with instrumentation bring out the qualities of the work and the splendour of his approach to its construction. A numbers opera it might be, filled with numbers repetitively expressing conventional sentiments, but Verdi allows the intensity to build through the first two acts of I Due Foscari before hitting you with a powerful Act II finale and then following it with a showpiece for the baritone Doge.
The staging by Joseph Franconi Lee is in itself not terribly exciting. The sets are minimal representations of the wooden panels of the Ducal Palace and the prison, but shrouded in darkness they create an appropriately oppressive atmosphere. It's very straightforward and traditional in this respect, the director not even finding any means of representing the traditional scene of gothic horror in the prison cell. The visions here all remain in Jacopo's head. The colour schemes however are effective, the Ten in red, other official figures in black, with the Doge and his throne marked out in vivid gold against the warm brown tones of the Ducal Palace chambers. Nothing too exciting then, but the staging serves the historical context, the dramatic function and the musical tone very well.
Well staged, superbly sung, this then is as good an account of this rare Verdi work as you could possibly expect. I Due Foscari is not great Verdi, it's dramatically restricted by the conventions and the constructions of the number opera, but somehow Verdi manages to overcome its limitations. In some ways the opera is a work that is untypical of the composer, but at the same time it is characteristic of his attention to detail and his unerring ability to find exactly the right tone that best meets the dramatic requirements of the work. It might take you right to the end of Act III however to realise just how masterfully that is achieved.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - Die Zauberflöte
Bregenz Festival 2013
Partick Summers, David Pountney, Ana Durlovski, Gisela Stille, Daniel Schmutzhard, Alfred Reiter, Rainer Trost, Dénise Beck
ARTE Live Web, Internet Steaming, 25 July 2013
If it were anywhere else and any other work, you might think that the production here was just a little bit over the top, but this is the floating lake stage in Bregenz and it's Mozart's The Magic Flute, so really, anything goes. Bregenz productions are always truly spectacular and one would think that the previous installation of a giant 'Death of Marat' in Lake Constance for Andrea Chénier would be a hard act to follow, but this year's The Magic Flute tops it. Mozart's playful and magical work clearly inspires the imagination of director David Pountney and his production team - as it should - and, even with considerable competition, this is by far the most impressive production I think I've ever seen of Die Zauberflöte.
Set right in the waters of Lake Constance at Bregenz, the opera is performed on the domed back of a giant turtle that is surrounded by three huge dragons, but the stage itself is evidently only half the spectacle. As a piece of stagecraft, Johan Engels' design is also a state of the art production, vividly imagined and impressively choreographed. The overture, for example, shows the capture of Pamina, the Queen of the Night looking on horrified as Sarastro, Monostatos and his slaves transport her away on a boat that takes a circuit of the stage. The stage then erupts into life in the battle that ensues, fireworks flying, a serpent winding down the stage to inflate to enormous proportions as the dragon that attacks Prince Tamino. The green, stepped stage revolves, one half sprouting giant inflatable blades of grass or spikes that create a forest and change colour depending on the scene, the other half used mainly to create a podium or dais for the grandstanding of The Queen of the Night and for Sarastro.
Another significant feature of the Bregenz production is Marie-Jeanne Lecca's larger-than-life puppets for the three ladies (each operated by three puppeteers, reflecting the significance of this number in the work) and for the three boys, while the actual roles are sung off-stage (and by female singers moreover). There are probably logistical reasons for this, although the stage is accommodating enough for all sorts of activity and numbers of extras and acrobats. If it allows the singers to concentrate on the singing however, well then that's also a benefit, but primarily it's clearly for the sake of magic, spectacle and sheer scale. The dancing animals, for example, charmed by Tamino's flute, are recreated here through giant glowing eyes in the forest and it works wonderfully. Everything comes together exceptionally well in this way, the principal singers interacting with all the marvellous creations, the whole thing meticulously timed and choreographed.
As has always been the case with any production I've seen at Bregenz, just because there is huge importance placed on spectacle and entertainment doesn't mean that the musical performance or the singing is in any way neglected or relegated to secondary importance. Conducted by Patrick Summers, the small ensemble of the Vienna Symphonic orchestra give a lovely, sensitive reading of Die Zauberflöte, capturing the translucent beauty of the score and the brightness of its melodies with a lively performance. The use of electronic sound effects on occasion is to be deplored of course, but if it's taken as part of the theatrical effects and it adds some atmosphere to the dry dialogue, well, it doesn't really matter that much, all things considered.
There are times also when you think that a high level of fitness, intrepidness, acrobatic agility and a head for heights are more important considerations than singing ability when it comes to casting for Bregenz. For this production, where several performers have reportedly ended up in the lake on one or two occasions, you might even add swimming as an important requirement this time, but while the cast may indeed possess these additional qualities, the singing is marvellous too. For this particular work - a Singspiel - vocal agility is perhaps not quite as important as the possession of a lightness of tone, clarity and good diction to carry the content. There are, of course, one or two exceptions to this rule.
Lightness, clarity of tone and precision is certainly true of Gisela Stille's Pamina and Rainer Trost's Tamino - both warmly engaging as well as finely sung - and true also of Daniel Schmutzhard's Papageno and Dénise Beck's Papagena. The exceptions to the rule, or at least having requirements quite literally far above and deep below the normal range, are of course the roles of Königen der Nacht and Sarastro, and they are very capably handled by Ana Durlovski and Alfred Reiter. Also good is Martin Koch as Monostatos (wearing a very nearly obscene codpiece).
There were quite a few trims applied to the score in this production and not just to the spoken dialogues (no March of the Priests at the start of Act II, Sarastro's 'In diesen heil'gen Hallen' reduced to second verse only, Sarastro, Pamina and Tamino's trio skipped), seemingly with the intention of allowing the work to be played straight through without an interval. This is perhaps for practical reasons, but still there was nothing here that seemed to compromise the integrity of the work. Much of the Masonic rituals and imagery were also played down in favour of the more exotic Egyptian references in the worship of Isis and Osiris. The production design however on the side of Sarastro and his followers seemed closer to Aztec or Inca pagan rites and sacrifices, with even a dark fantasy look and feel to their costumes, particularly in the Armoured Men scene.
As productions of Die Zauberflöte go however, the Bregenz production then not only looked great and sounded great, it was played perfectly in the spirit of the work. It's rare that you get all those elements coming together in a way that captures the pure vitality, the meaning and the entertainment of the work as well as this, although unquestionably the emphasis here leans more on the entertainment side of the work than the esoteric. The ability to scale the work up for the Bregenz stage works in its favour in this regard, but that also undoubtedly brings other considerable challenges. It's quite an achievement by Summers and Pountney then that this comes across quite as brilliantly as it does.
Richard Strauss - Elektra
Festival d'Aix-en-Provence, 2013
Esa-Pekka Salonen, Patrice Chéreau, Evelyn Herlitzius, Waltraud Meier, Adrianne Pieczonka, Mikhail Petrenko, Tom Randle, Franz Mazura, Florian Hoffmann, Sir Donald McIntyre, Renate Behle, Bonita Hyman, Andrea Hill, Silvia Hablowetz, Marie-Eve Munger, Roberta Alexander
ARTE Live Web Internet Streaming - 19 July 2013
In terms of theatrical expression, Strauss's Elektra has minimal but nonetheless very specific requirements. What everyone remembers about any production of this extraordinary work is how it handles the final scene of violent release from all of the tension, bitterness and threats of dire vengeance that has led up to it. The build-up to that finale meanwhile is best expressed through the performance of the singer in the role of Electra. In the case of the 2013 Aix-en-Provence production the appropriate tone is achieved by Patrice Chéreau in one of his all-too-infrequent returns to opera directing, and through a stunning performance of Evelyn Herlitzius.
The set design at Aix is fairly straightforward and classical in design, reminding one of Chéreau's staging of Janacek's From The House of the Dead at Aix in 2007. There's some correlation in these two very different works, since Mycenae is effectively a prison for Electra and for the servants who work alongside her at the palace of her mother Clytemnestra and her step-father Aegisthus. The impression given here is very much that of a women's prison and it's a particularly bleak one. It's grey, bare, dark and ominous with surrounding high walls at the back that create an oppressive ambience, the only outstanding feature a small ditch in the ground where Electra dwells and expresses her grief in tirades of hatred against the murderers of her father Agamemnon and her despair that her brother Orestes isn't there to exact revenge.
In a single act opera, with very little dramatic action or scene changes, the stage is often used to reflect the inner mind of Electra's soul in torment. If that's the case here - and Elektra is very much a psychological drama - then it's a typically bleak and unrelenting depiction of psychopathy. There are no soft edges here in Richard Peduzzi's sets, and other than the surround to the door leading to Clytemnestra's chambers, there are no curves either. It's all blocky with harsh angles - not even expressionist, but composed entirely of sharp right-angles that suggest not so much a fractured mindstate as one of solid determination of purpose. There is as little variation in this appearance as there is little variation in the overall tone of the work, the only set movement occurring when a platform is extended at the climax to reveal the murdered Clytemnestra to Aegisthus.
Chéreau's strengths as a director however extend much further than merely establishing a suitable mood or moving the performers across the stage. In the case of Elektra, where the work is so perfectly written and meticulously composed (is there any work that is so musically expressive of the slightest variations of mood, action, drama and internalised sentiments than this one?), it's more of a challenge not to interfere too much and Chéreau clearly recognises this. The director's duty in Elektra, more so than perhaps in any other work, is to serve the music and the libretto and find a way to transfer the incredibly strong emotions credibly and meaningfully into actions. Esa-Pekka Salonen's conducting is accordingly attentive to detail, weaving, sweeping and driving without ever being overly forceful. For his part, Chéreau recognises the archetypal female psychologies expressed in Electra, Clytemnestra and Chrysothemis, as well as parallels that exist between Electra and Hamlet and all these references feed into the character development even if they don't need to be made explicit in the production itself.
The greater part of the force of Elektra however is expressed through the singing of the highly challenging role of Electra herself, and Evelyn Herlitzius proves to be well up to the task. Having seen Herlitzius recently as Kundry in Parsifal, the German soprano is increasingly proving to be a singer of real dramatic power and substance in the most challenging Wagnerian and Strauss roles. All the force that is required is here in a committed performance that is as unwavering and unyielding as Electra's personality and madness is concentrated into her singleminded desire for revenge. Evidently, there's a lot of writhing around in torment and a dance of death to deal with as well (which doesn't actually end in Electra's death here), but Herlitzius deals with the physical demands of the role tremendously well and is fully deserving of the huge acclaim that greets her at her curtain call.
Elektra is largely a one-person opera, but the singing and the characterisation elsewhere needs to be up to the mark and most of the other main performances are strong here. Canadian soprano Adrianne Pieczonka comes across most impressively with an outstanding performance as Chrysothemis that provides the necessary contrast and counterbalance to the darkness of Electra's position. Waltraud Meier on the other hand seems to be holding back a little here, but she comes alive powerfully in her scenes with Evelyn Herlitzius. Mikhail Petrenko is a fine Orestes, but even though it's a small role Tom Randle doesn't have the right kind of voice or the necessary force to sing Aegisthus.
Elektra at the Aix-en-Provence Festival is available for viewing on-line (with French subtitles) from the ARTE Live Web site. There appear however to be region restrictions preventing viewing outside of France and Germany.
Giuseppe Verdi - Rigoletto
Festival d'Aix-en-Provence, 2013
Gianandrea Noseda, Robert Carsen, George Gagnidze, Irina Lungu, Arturo Chacón-Cruz, Gábor Bretz, Josè Maria Lo Monaco, Michèle Lagrange, Arutjun Kotchinian, Julien Dran, Jean-Luc Ballestra, Maurizio Lo Piccolo, Paggio Valeria Tornatore
ARTE Live Web Internet Streaming - 12 July 2013
If Verdi's Rigoletto has proved to be one of the composer's works most apt to being reworked into new and modern situations, it's a measure not only of its popularity or its musical accomplishments as in how the dramatic strengths of Victor Hugo's original work are brought vividly to life by Verdi. Its treatment on the subject of power and moral corruption and the human cost associated with it has made it suitable to a Mafia updating (in Jonathan Miller's production) and even as a Rat Pack version in 1960s Las Vegas seen recently at the Met. The richness of the work however allows other interesting themes to be drawn from it.
For a director like Robert Carsen, one of his themes of interest, taken to varying levels of success in his productions, is the post-modern theme of performance itself. All the world is indeed a stage, and at the heart of Rigoletto there remains a fascinating flawed figure who plays the role of the fool and ends up becoming one. He allows himself to be flattered to be part of Duke of Mantua's corrupt inner circle and become complicit in its crimes, hoping to keep his true nature as a loving father separate from the role he plays at court. Those two worlds collide through what he fears to be the curse of a nobleman, Monterone, but in reality he's largely responsible for his own downfall.
There's comedy and tragedy and even a certain amount of farce in the way that Rigoletto becomes the author of his own daughter's death, so it's not too much of a stretch to see him characterised as he is here in Carsen's production as a traditional clown. And, since there has to be some recognition that opera is also about performance and the playing to visual expectations, there's a knowing hint of Pagliacci thrown in here as well. And, yes, Carsen's version is set entirely within the big top of a circus - performance writ large. It's not the most original of interpretations, but for the most part, the production works without having to distort the intentions of the opera's themes too much.
The opening scene that starts with what is traditionally an orgy at the Duke's palace is transformed here into a big performance of acrobats and dancers in a circus arena. The Duke of Monterone's young daughter is not so much seduced and defiled here then as a willing participant, a dancer who strips down topless with other dancers who are not wearing much else either. She's as much a performer seeking the attention and favour of the Duke as Rigoletto. All the other participants seem likewise to be compelled to play their parts. Gilda cannot give up her devotion to the Duke, the assassin Sparafucile must honour his bargain in one fashion or another, and despite his fear of the curse of Monterone, Rigoletto must continue to play his part as a clown. The show must go on.
If the circus location isn't the most naturalistic setting and doesn't provide an entirely suitable platform for Rigoletto's scenes, it does nonetheless sustain some elements reasonably well. Act One sees Rigoletto and Gilda in a small caravan with collapsible sides, Gilda sings her paean of love to Gualtier Maldè ('Caro nome') from a raised acrobat's swing (a brave performance from Irina Lungu that nonetheless doesn't quite hit the same heights here), and Gilda is then abducted while Rigoletto is distracted holding a ladder for acrobats to ascend. It all adds up and works with the musical score, even if it doesn't quite conform to the letter of the libretto. Act II and III remain within the circus tent and there are fewer ideas, but Act II doesn't require much more than the iconographic image of Rigoletto in sad clown make-up face to draw the full extent and nature of his humiliation. Act III's rope cage for an inn is a curious set-up, but the drop of the curtain is well-employed as it the impact of the falling acrobat that closes the performance here.
If you're prepared to go along with Carsen's take on the circus setting and find that it works to some extent, the reason is more than likely to be because you are caught up in the vividness of Verdi's most compact and dramatically expressive score, and because Gianandrea Noseda propels it along superbly. The conductor notes in the Aix Festival programme that ('Caro nome' aside) Rigoletto is like "a volcanic eruption. Once the music starts, it doesn't let up for a moment". He recognises that this, and Verdi's marriage of the most wonderful music to a dramatically compact series of confrontations mostly in duet form, is what makes Rigoletto a truly remarkable work. Carsen's production allows the dramatic expression to match the musical flow and the intent of the drama, if not quite in the conventional way, while having some personal commentary to make about it as well.
The other essential element that is needed to fully support the work is of course the singing, and it's strong exactly where it needs to be. I haven't heard George Gagnidze before, but he strikes me as a near perfect Rigoletto, and Verdi baritones of this quality are thin on the ground at the moment. His glorious timbre is warm and expressive, not just clearly enunciating the words, but fully bringing them to life. It's probably even more difficult to find good Verdi sopranos and tenors of quality at the moment, but Irina Lungu and Arturo Chacón-Cruz cope well. Lungu struggles to hold some of the challenging high notes early on, but comes through strongly later in the challenging musical drama. Chacón-Cruz might not always have the forceful delivery required either, they brings the right kind of light charm, glamour and dramatic intensity to make an impact at those points where it is most needed.
Rigoletto at the Aix-en-Provence Festival is available for viewing on-line (with French subtitles) from the ARTE Live Web site.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - Così Fan Tutte
Teatro Real, Madrid, 2013
Sylvain Cambrelling, Michael Haneke, Anett Fritsch, Paola Gardina, Juan Francisco Gatell, Andreas Wolf, Kerstin Avemo, William Shimell
ARTE Live Web Internet Streaming - June 2013
After attending a performance of Michael Haneke's only previous opera production, a terrific account of Mozart's Don Giovanni for the Paris Opera for composer's 250th anniversary in 2006, I observed that it would be hard to imagine the director finding any other Mozart work with a subject suitable for his particular worldview. It was a matter of interest then to see what Haneke had in mind for what is perhaps the least substantial of Mozart's mature operas, or at least the lesser of the composer's collaborations with librettist Lorenzo Da Ponte. A light amusement at the School for Lovers? Surely not with Michael Haneke?
It doesn't take too long however to recognise a familiar Haneke spin on events in his direction of Così Fan Tutte (viewed via ARTE Live Web Streaming from its Madrid production, but also available for viewing for a limited period via the La Monnaie streaming service) in how the director recognises or places a distinctive twist on the discord between the two couples in the work. Two couples? There would appear to be three couples in Haneke's version, the other one being made up of Don Alfonso and Despina. This unconventional couple don't so much dispense a lesson in love here as exhibit a cruel streak that pits the comfortable middle-class attitudes of complacency towards gender politics in both of the couples against one another. Some 'Funny Games' here perhaps?
Or perhaps 'Les Liaisons Dangereuses'? Haneke sets the production in what looks at first glance like a soirée at a French chateau, where some of the guests wear modern-day formal dinner-party dresses while others wear 18th century costumes. Is it a fancy dress party where costumes are optional, or is the director attempting to make a distinction between modern and rather older-fashioned attitudes towards love and affairs? Whatever the reason for the disparity, the dress, the corrupting behaviour and the attitudes expressed by this Don Alfonso in his assessment that women are not capable of being faithful is far from playful. There's a suggestion rather that he has more sinister motives for setting the couples of Dorabella and Ferrando and Flordiligi and Gugliemo against each other. His partner in crime Despina likewise seems to have a point to prove through her complicity in the events that ensue.
The allusions to a work that is close to contemporary with Mozart might be coincidental (or just in my own mind), but they are certainly in the spirit of the method that Haneke employs here. We might believe that our attitudes are more modern, sophisticated and enlightened than those expressed in the period of Mozart, Da Ponte and Choderlos de Laclos, but are we really all that different? Haneke seems to be suggesting that beneath the surface we are really no different and we just hide better those deeper, darker, less acceptable sentiments and desires that we'd rather not openly acknowledge ('Hidden'). It's significant that Haneke makes no real effort to put Ferrando and Gugliemo into convincing disguises that would fool their partners. Their real feelings and baser impulses in the nature of their seduction of each other's partner is undisguised, and perhaps even the women know it and are complicit on some level too. It's a rather mean-spirited view of the characters in Così Fan Tutte and of humanity in general, but what else would you expect from Michael Haneke?
If there's a characteristic cruelty in Haneke's reading of the work, there is however no violence expressed at all in the musical performance. Sylvain Cambrelling's conducting of the Madrid orchestra is soft, delicate and as beautiful as the score is capable of being. Rather than work against Haneke's intentions, the director uses the gentility of the performance here to complement or enhance the cool cynicism of his Don Alfonso. The delicate musical arrangement and lightheartedness of the libretto create an unsettling and somewhat sinister contrast then with the Master's actual expressions, his gestures and the viciousness of his behaviour. There's a similar dichotomy present in all of the characters and it's in the expression of this - as opposed to a concept that is somewhat questionable - that Haneke makes his own particular outlook on Così Fan Tutte work to some extent.
William Shimell, a baritone who has worked as an actor for Haneke (in the Oscar winning 'Amour') and for Abbas Kiarostami in 'Certified Copy' (and as it happens also played Don Alfonso in a Così for Aix-en-Provence directed by Kiarostami) is really the key player here. He sings well and his acting is strong enough to make this kind of twist in his persona credible. All of the cast however have clearly been well-directed and give strong performances. Haneke however is careful that any 'modifications' should not be at the expense of Mozart's writing and is very respectful of the vocal line. The singers are allowed to sing the roles then with full expression and let the direction carry the concept. The performances are all exceptionally good, with Anett Fritsch in particular standing out in the role of Flordiligi.
In a very interesting interview on the La Monnaie site, Haneke says that he is unlikely to extend his Mozart stagings to the third Mozart/Da Ponte collaboration, The Marriage of Figaro, since he finds its perfection intimidating and couldn't think of a way to adapt it to his worldview without destroying the delicate fabric of its construction. After viewing his imperfect Così Fan Tutte for the Teatro Real in Madrid and La Monnaie in Brussels, I would agree with that and think that my initial assessment on his ability to work with any other Mozart opera was also correct. Le Nozze di Figaro however could very well sustain a bit of a reworking and I'd actually be very interested to see what Haneke could make of it, should he ever put his mind to it. On the other hand, in the same interview he also expresses great admiration for Monteverdi's delightfully salacious L' Incoronazione di Poppea, and that now would be something worth seeing!
