Mozart - Così fan tutte (Dublin, 2023)

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - Così fan tutte

Irish National Opera, 2023

Peter Whelan, Polly Graham, Anna Devin, Sharon Carty, Benjamin Russell, Dean Power, Majella Cullagh, John Molloy 

The Gaiety Theatre, Dublin - 27th May 2023

For a long time sceptical about whether Lorenzo Da Ponte's libretto of farce and misogyny had withstood the test of time and changing attitudes, I've certainly been won around to the true qualities of the work in modern productions that have actually revealed Così fan tutte to be far more layered and meaningful than you would think. I still don't envy any director having to choose how best to bring those qualities out, whether to play it as a straight comedy or whether to mine the deeper attitudes expressed for contemporary relevance. The Irish National Opera production, a touring production directed by Polly Graham, tries to pitch it somewhere in between and doesn't really succeed in doing full justice to either side of the work.

Where it does bring a distinctive touch is in the Irish historical setting. Opera should be tailored to and relatable to its audience, not presented as some stuffy period costume drama museum piece, but that doesn't necessarily mean that it has to be updated and made contemporary. Opera can still speak of contemporary issues if it can be related to a significant period, and such a period in Ireland (and elsewhere in the world) can be found in the early twentieth century. The nature and status of women is a theme worth exploring in Così fan tutte and Ireland has been slow to deal with women's rights which were the subject of interest with the rise of the suffragettes around this time, and that is certainly highlighted here.

War and revolution too since it's revealed that the year is 1914, but that's a little more problematic to add into the farce of this opera, with Guglielmo and Ferrando pretending to head off to fight in the trenches as part of an Irish battalion. It fits well enough though for the purposes of the production, and when the two return disguised as filmmakers with berets and moustaches, making a silent movie about Fionn mac Cumhaill and the Fianna, it's a little more meaningful and acceptable than making fun of oriental costumes, customs and appearances. That's fine as far as it goes, but in terms of direction it feels a little forced, flat, haphazard and inconsistent in its approach, gaining neither sufficient laughs nor significance in exploring the nature of women and men or indeed providing a lesson in the vagaries of love.

The resultant production design then was also something of a mixed bag. Sure, it has necessarily has to be basic in terms of set designs and effects, designer Jamie Vartan using projections to open it out a little and establish the period with newspaper articles and a sketched big house on the hill. I never quit grasped what the stately manor was about, other than perhaps how chorus of Irish women were treated as servants and second class citizens by the landed gentry. It wasn't a particularly impressive or eye-catching set, a huge hard plastic looking green blob representing a hill with a tiny 'big house' on top that was picked up and carried around by the cast for no discernable reason. Nor could I figure out the nature of Don Alfonso in this setting, walking around in a long house coat in a somewhat professorial manner with Ferrando and Guglielmo his students. None of it quite hit the mark.

To be fair, as ambitious as the Irish National Opera can be, even with reinterpretations of the standards of the opera repertoire, playing to the darker side of Così fan tutte is perhaps not really what they want to do with an opera buffa, particularly for a touring production. Leave that to the likes of Michael Haneke (Madrid, 2013) and Christophe Honoré (Aix-en-Provence, 2016). What they really want to get across is the wonder and beauty of Mozart, and there is no denying what we have here is a light and enjoyable production that certainly entertained the audience at the Gaiety in Dublin. Even though the Votes for Women scenes felt a bit forced in places, like a well meaning corrective for any misinterpretation of misogyny in the comedy. I have to admit, I enjoyed it more after the interval when I accepted the simple pleasure of seeing an amazing Mozart opera performed well, and was able to put aside any expectations of it having something significant to say.

There was certainly plenty to enjoy in the delivery of the singing performances. Anna Devin and Sharon Carty were everything you could hope for as Fiordiligi and Dorabella, their delivery bright and sparkling, filled with emotional sentiments, even if their predicament wasn't fully brought out in the direction of the acting. The same can be said for Dean Power's Ferrando and Benjamin Russell's Guglielmo. Neither were convincing in their disguises, but the emotional impact of the revelations they have about their girlfriends were wholly felt in their singing, which was powerful and true. The ever reliable John Molloy similarly made a great impression, even if his role as a manipulator was undervalued in the direction. On the other hand, Majella Cullagh delivered a fine comic performance in Despina's various guises and was the prime motivator in bringing the two sisters into the new sisterhood, but was slightly underpowered in her singing. It just shows how difficult all the singing roles are in Mozart - there are no secondary or minor roles here.

All credit to the principal roles then (and great idea of the INO to display the cast names in the surtitles as they took their bows at the curtain call), but you can't have any weaknesses at all in a meticulously constructed opera like this. The chorus played their part and the orchestra delivered the musical delights under the direction of Peter Whelan. The niggling inconsistencies in the setting and purpose were easily put aside then, as was any attempt to seek something deeper in Polly Graham's direction of the INO's Così fan tutte. The 'they're all the same' message here was simply that we all deserve to be loved and treated equally, and that was as truthful a reflection of the opera's intent as any.

Links: Irish National Opera

Mozart - The Magic Flute (Wexford, 2019)

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - Die Zauberflöte

Irish National Opera, 2019

Peter Whelan, Caroline Staunton, Anna Devin, Nick Pritchard, Gavan Ring, Kim Sheenan, Lukas Jakobski, Rachel Croash, Sarah Richmond, Raphaela Mangan, Andrew Gavin, Amy Ní Fhearraigh, Padraic Rowan, Nicholas O'Neill, Seán Hughes, Oran Murphy, Fearghal Curtis, Robert McAllister, Matthew Mannion, Peter O' Reilly

National Opera House, Wexford - 17th May 2019 

You're taking a big risk if you attempt to remove the magic fairy-tale elements from The Magic Flute and downplay its Masonic underpinnings, but then Irish National Opera have been bold in their interpretation of other popular works this season (Aida, Madama Butterfly), often with impressive results. I'm not sure that their Die Zauberflöte works entirely without all the usual crowd-pleasing set pieces, and I'm not sure you can set out to make the opera work with any basis in the real world, but on the whole it's a worthwhile effort, certainly from the standpoint of the musical and singing performances.

It's certainly worth giving it a go though since, as director Caroline Staunton observes in her programme notes, Mozart's work is almost miraculous in how its compositional ideas and execution far surpasses its origins as "a dramaturgically chaotic narrative intended for a bawdy beer-hall in late 18th century Vienna". The Magic Flute has a lot more to offer than just a romp through its comedy routines and an often pompous approach to its ceremonial elements.

Inevitably, trying to tie that "dramaturgically chaotic narrative" into something real-world, meaningful and coherent is problematic, but even if it doesn't always hold together in the case of INO production, it does throw up a few good ideas and insights. Bringing an Irish element into the work in a late 19th century context means that Caroline Staunton (who has worked with Dmitri Tcherniakov and Claus Guth at the Berlin State Opera) can replace some of the fairy-tale elements with Irish folklore, but it's not simply a matter of introducing another type of fantasy, and is a little more ambitious than that.

The division is not so much the traditional one of obscurantism versus enlightenment, as much as the ordinary Irish people in opposition to the colonisation of their land by English landlords. In that context, the Queen of the Night can certainly be very much seen in terms of a banshee, her Three Ladies spreading tales of her power and danger. What is obvious to the viewer however is that these are not mythological creatures, but common people in disguise, forging stories and legend to strike fear into ordinary labourers like Papageno as to what will happen to them should they step out of line.

But it's not just to control the likes of Papageno, or indeed create a fantasy in order to get Tamino to serve their purposes. It's also to create a force of resistance against Sarastro, who likewise is not entirely what he seems to be, and certainly not the great font of wisdom that he pretends. Surrounding himself with followers and books, setting up a system that works for his own purposes, in reality all he is doing is imposing another form of outside order on the people of the land, his abduction of Pamina akin to the seizing of their inheritance.

So where do Tamino and Pamina fit into this arrangement? Well, Sarastro sees the trials as a way of conditioning both Tamino and Pamina to his way of thinking. His desire for their marriage is a way of imposing a patriarchal authority through a formal arrangement, through marriage, the wife respecting and honouring the man's position at the head of it. Pamina, in this production, isn't having any of that.

If you're used to seeing the Magic Flute in its traditional way of playing out, this revision obviously confuses how you might think you ought to feel about the work. Mozart and Schikaneder's late 18th century viewpoint was of its time and perhaps some of its views and attitudes can feel a little dated today. Perhaps Die Zauberflöte isn't meant to be taken that seriously and trying to impose a modern-day perspective on it risks distorting the true meaning of the work, but there is indeed a message of enlightenment in the work and it deserves to be given serious attention.

Rather than distort the work's thoughts on enlightened thinking overcoming myths and superstition, on male and female finding accommodation and acceptance of the roles each has to play, it's worth taking a more critical look at the values as they have been perpetuated down through the years. If this was true of the late 18th century, or the late 19th century in this production, we ought to be much further down the path to peace, love and enlightenment than we are as a society, and it's worth considering why we haven't progressed much further to achieve that balance that Mozart clearly believed in and wanted to see established.

What makes such an idea work in the INO production, despite the contradictions that it might sometimes run into, is the central performances and again the perspective on that is not the traditional one. Tamino and Pamina can appear to be rather bland figures in other productions, lacking the colour and wonder of Königin der Nacht and Sarastro (and indeed even Papageno and Papagena), but not here. It's Tamino and Pamina who have the strength to call the shots, to change direction, to find a path that doesn't peddle myths. They are rightly the true heart of the work in this production.

And if that works it's on account of two terrific performances in the Wexford opening night of this production from Nick Pritchard and Anna Devin as Tamino and Pamina. Lyrical and authoritative, they breathe personality into these characters, showing them as they ought to truly be; beacons for a new way, rejecting the ways of the past, steadfast in love above everything else. No guru, no method, no teacher, as another famous Irishman once put it, which fits with the Irish theme of the production and the references that Staunton draws with J.M. Synge and Brian Friel.

So what traditional delights do we miss by going down this route? Well, there's no giant serpent at the start, there are no birds caught by Papageno, Königin's entrance is underwhelming, there's no aged-crone version of Papagena. That means that we miss out on a lot of the glamour and comedy which is unfortunate, but how much does that really add to the work anyway? We lose the Queen of the Night's aura of mystery and majesty, we lose Sarastro's grave presence and the solemnity of the rituals of initiation, but again, it removes distraction and obscurity and allows for a more useful and meaningful employment of Mozart's music and ideas.

What we aren't short of is an impressive set design that matches the tone of the music to a more down-to-earth depiction of beauty and wisdom. There's also a warm and rich account of the marvellous score by the Irish Chamber Orchestra under Peter Whelan, and it's there more than anywhere that the brilliance and wonder of The Magic Flute really comes alive. We also have a great cast of singers - INO always impressive in their casting choices - with Gavan Ring particularly good as Papageno and Kim Sheehan impressing with her "Der Hölle Rache" as Königin der Nacht. Sung and spoken in German, with an ambitious twist to reinterpret the meaning of the work, you really can't ask for much better treatment and respect for Mozart and a great opera like this.

Links: Irish National Opera

Wagner - Parsifal (Royal Opera House, 2014 - Blu-ray)

Richard Wagner - Parsifal

Royal Opera House, London - 2013

Antonio Pappano, Stephen Landridge, Simon O'Neill, Angela Denoke, Gerald Finley, René Pape, Willard White, Robert Lloyd, Dušica Bijelić, Rachel Kelly, Sipho Fubesi, Luis Gomes, Celine Byrne, Kiandra Howarth, Anna Patalong, Anna Devin, Ana James, Justina Gringyte, David Butt Philip, Charbel Mattar

Opus Arte - Blu-ray

Richard Wagner's Parsifal is a work of supreme brilliance, the final work of a musical genius. It's the summation of a career that marked the highest achievement in the world of opera not only up to that point, but it's debatable whether it has ever been surpassed. More than just standing as one of the greatest works of opera ever composed however, it's also a work of art that is practically a philosophical summation of everything it means to be a human, suffering in an imperfect world while searching for meaning and a higher sense of purpose. Musically, the work even seems to go beyond itself and expand into another realm or dimension that lies outside conventional space and time, and it can even take the listener there with it. If you've experienced Parsifal, you'll understand that is not hyperbole.

No pressure then for any opera house who has to put it on and live up to such high expectations. While there are ideological problems and contradictions inherent within Parsifal, there is at the same time a degree of openness to interpretation in how to present a work that is far from conventional and difficult to stage as a traditional opera that makes it an intriguing prospect, but there are dangers in trying to pin it down to any one meaning. It's perhaps unreasonable then to expect anyone to have anything new to add to what is inherently great in itself, just that the work be allowed to weave its magic. As such, it's hard to find any fault with the Royal Opera House's 2013 production of Parsifal, but inevitably some parts fare better than others.

In terms of just the pure performance of the work and indeed the purity of the performance, the concept, the casting, the attention to meaning in the musical detail and the manner in which every element of the work contributes to the piece as a single interlocking whole, everything about this production is well-considered and judged to near-perfection. Every element brings out the quality of Wagner's writing to its fullest expression and is performed with passion, purpose and complete commitment. Other than René Pape singing Gurnemanz, the cast might not have been the Wagnerian's first-choice for these roles, but my goodness, they all perform like they ought to be.

Most extraordinary of all is Angela Denoke, who gives an utterly magnetic performance, seemingly possessed with the spirit of Kundry. Kundry is evidently no ordinary woman but something mythical and superhuman, so it's a bit much to expect anyone to really embody this character to the extent that Wagner developed her but... well, there you go, Denoke is something of a phenomenon here. It's such a strong and committed performance, from a vital central role, that it anchors all the others - not that they aren't spectacular in their own right. Gerald Finley feels the pain as Amfortas, director Stephen Landridge working with this aspect of the work as the driving force for the stage conceptualisation. Finley's singing is as smooth, precise and as measured as his Hans Sachs for Glyndebourne, but perhaps just a little too calculated. Combined with the pain of the grail itself (a new idea of which more anon) and the pain of Kundry's long, troubled existence that Denoke takes to a new dimension, it all serves to underpin the central concept in a variety of complementary ways.

Simon O'Neill might not quite have the character or the acting ability to lift Parsifal up to a similar level, but you can't really find any serious fault his singing or his unstinting commitment here. He gives it everything and perhaps over-expresses when sometimes a singer just needs to surrender to the role. His stamina however is impressive, and he doesn't just hold firm and steady throughout, but finds near-impossible reserves to keep up a consistent level of performance across the almost four hours that the role of Parsifal calls for. You know that you can rely on that level of professionalism and consistency from René Pape as Gurnemanz and we aren't disappointed. I'd say we get even a little more from Pape this time around, particularly in his third act performance as a shuffling near-broken knight who finds his long suffering and his faith have been rewarded. It's all there in those finely sung lines and Pape delivers them with self-contained dignity.

Knights of the Grail are there in name only in Stephen Landridge's abstract-modern production, all of them wearing immaculate grey suits rather than suits of armour. The staging is a little bit cold and clinical in this respect, Alison Chitty's symmetrical geometric stage design dominated by a large cube that serves principally as a hospital room for the bed where Amfortas was being looked after by concerned doctors. The use of lights and sometimes projections however also use the cube to reveal backstory elements in flash-frames and live-action slow motion. Nothing should overwhelm the senses more than the music or the expression in the singing in Parsifal, and every element here seemed well-judged to suggest and engage the audience rather than over-emphasise or impose a false reading. The bloody depiction of Klingsor's auto-castration, for example, is a strong image, but it ties into the sense of pain, of the image of sick world in need of healing that is there throughout the work and brought out in Landridge's production. And it must be said, brought out also in Willard White's performance and his presence throughout much of the second act.

Landridge's production continually engages with imagery that relates very closely to the original stage directions, but with a distinct twist that makes you re-examine what it all means. Most striking (and controversial) of all is the image of the Grail itself. There might be an inward rolling of the eyes when the cube opens up at the behest of the knights to reveal that the Grail is actually a child wearing nothing but a loin cloth, but the sense of a sacrificial act and the question of blood - both so vital to the underlying message of Parsifal - as well as the sheer pain of Amfortas's role as the keeper of the Grail, is unquestionably intensified when the ritual involves the actual cutting of the child and spilling his blood for the faithful.

Such touches don't perhaps reveal any new vision for the work, but they certainly find a thought-provoking way to touch on the philosophical mysteries and the religious significance of the work without having to rely on over-used Christian imagery that has become detached from its original significance and meaning. The meaning of Parsifal may remain elusive but as Simon Callow succinctly put it in his perceptive commentary during the intervals when I viewed this at the cinema screening, it's really just about the world being in a mess and being healed by a return to innocence. The Royal Opera House's production, led from the pit by Antonio Pappano with attention to detail and with genuine feeling for the work's Good Friday message, ensures that it touches upon and brings together every aspect of the transcendent beauty of Wagner's great masterpiece.

On Blu-ray, the clinical qualities of the production design are perhaps made even more evident. The image quality in the High Definition transfer is however impressive, and it benefits considerably from the DTS HD-Master Audio 5.1 mix that warmly expresses the detail and the beauty of the orchestral playing. The BD is a two-disc set, with Act I and II on disc one, and Act III on disc two. There are only a few short features on the discs - a 6-minute Introduction to Parsifal that takes into account the production and the characters, and a five-minute piano run through of a scene from Act II between Simon O'Neill and Antonio Pappano. The booklet explains the significance and the intent of Alison Chitty and Stephen Landridge's production design, and there's a fascinating essay by Lucy Beckett on the writing of Parsifal, with reference to Wolfram von Eschenbach's 13th century text that serves as a basis of the libretto. 

Dvořák - Rusalka

Antonín Dvořák - Rusalka

Royal Opera House, London, 2012

Yannick Nézet-Séguin, Jossi Wieler, Sergio Morabito, Camilla Nylund, Petra Lang, Byran Hymel, Agnes Zwierko, Alan Held, Daniel Grice, Gyula Orendt, Ilse Eerens, Anna Devin, Madeleine Pierard, Justina Gringyte

Covent Garden, 27 February 2012

It’s somewhat surprising that Dvořák’s gorgeous Lyric Fairytale opera Rusalka has never been performed before at Covent Garden. One hundred and eleven years after its composition, its February 2012 premiere at the Royal Opera House was therefore long overdue, but under conductor Yannick Nézet-Séguin it was at least a fine introduction to the musical qualities of the work. The far from traditional stage production however - premiered at Salzburg in 2008 and revived here with many of the original cast - without necessarily detracting from the work, certainly confused the audience about the intentions of the piece, the directors attracting a fair share of booing on the opening night performance.

The intentions of the work and its source in European folklore - notably Hans Christian Andersen’s ‘The Little Mermaid‘ may not be easily apparent other than it being merely a fairytale, but even on that level there is a richness of imagery and some typical themes in such work on the corruption of innocence, particularly in the context of the destruction of the purity of nature by the actions of humanity. It’s also a tragic love story of a water nymph who falls in love with a prince in the woods and wants to become human. Escaping from the tyranny of the water goblin, with the help of a witch in the woods, she manages to grow legs and appears as a beautiful but mute vision before the prince hunting in the woods. Unable to cope with the complex and inconstant nature of human beings, Rusalka however finds herself banished from her sisters and home, unable to fit into the human world either, and ultimately cursed to live in a limbo state between them.

Quite how the production directed by Jossi Wieler and Sergio Morabito came to be set in what looked like a brothel then and whatever intentions were behind this choice were unclear, but it’s not the first time that the opera has been subjected to a radical reworking. Martin Kušej’s 2010 production of Rusalka for the Bavarian State Opera managed to graft the story of young girls being held captive in a dank cellar and abused by a Josef Fritzl-like water goblin quite successfully onto the work’s theme of the corruption of innocence, finding in Rusalka’s dilemma a parallel to the profound psychological damage that abused women in captivity must endure for the rest of their lives. There would appear to be something similar attempted with this production, but its muddled intentions were far less coherent and nowhere near so successfully or powerfully seen through to the fullness of their dark intent.

The key to understanding the production’s concept comes perhaps in its treatment of the Rusalka’s three wood nymphs. Reflecting Rusalka’s innocence of the fact that she is growing up in a brothel - the set dressed with lurid colours and red curtains - in Act 1 the three semi-naked figures in transparent dresses writhe around like exotic creatures of a young girl’s imagination, but it’s only after leaving her home - losing her mermaid tail and literally learning to stand on her own two feet - and having been subjected herself to the acts and whims of men, that the young woman’s illusions are shattered. In Act 3 then, the three “nymphs” are seen more for what they really are, dressed far more conventionally (albeit still in theatrical fantasy terms in unbelievably skimpy outfits rather than with any sense of naturalism) as cheap prostitutes. The scales have fallen from Rusalka’s eyes and, no longer able to return to the world of childhood innocence, the idea of living in a world with this knowledge becomes intolerable.

That’s one interpretation - the best I can come up with - but its manner of expression in the production is far from consistent, mixing this stylised theatrical realism with pantomime-like fairytale imagery, often to bizarre effect. Rusalka quite literally has a mermaid fish tail at the start, which is removed from her by the witch Jezibaba’s giant person-in-a-big-furry-costume black cat familiar. The revolving stage set with its red curtains is asked to stand-in for a variety of locations and the fit isn’t always good, the imagery and mix of concepts proving rather confusing. I’m not sure where the religious elements and use of neon crosses come into the work, although perhaps it views religious intolerance and hypocrisy as being antithetical to Rusalka’s pure and natural paganism.

Regardless of how it’s interpreted, the progression of the storyline and the impact of Rusalka’s dilemma still comes through, expressed principally and convincing by a strong performance from the Royal Opera House orchestra under Yannick Nézet-Séguin. They captured the Wagnerian romanticism of the work rather more successfully however than the folk rhythms that Dvořák beautifully blends into the opera, coming across a little too aggressively in such places. It was the quality of the singing however that carried the work through in spite of the peculiarities of the production. Camilla Nylund’s performance and delivery were flawless, meeting not only the technical demands of the singing, but injecting the right note of wistful romanticism into Rusalka’s “Song to the Moon” aria, and a sense of distraught confusion at the harsh reality of being a human that leads to her tragic fate. Bryan Hymel was equally as emotive in his delivery of the rather more human failings of the Prince, his singing strong and resonant.

There were moreover no weak elements even in the secondary characters with Petra Lang a formidable foreign princess, Agnes Zwierko compelling as the witch Jezibaba and Alan Held a strong Water Goblin. Particularly impressive however were the Rhinemaiden-like figures of the three wood nymphs, Anna Devin, Madeleine Pierard and Justina Gringyte. This was consequently a solid performance of Rusalka, exceptionally well-sung by a strong cast, even if the production didn’t always capture the lyricism of this beautiful work in the orchestration or the stage direction.