Karlsson - Fanny and Alexander (Brussels, 2024)

Mikael Karlsson - Fanny and Alexander

La Monnaie-De Munt, Brussels, 2024

Ariane Matiakh, Ivo Van Hove, Susan Bullock, Peter Tantsits, Sasha Cooke, Jay Weiner, Sarah Dewez, Thomas Hampson, Anne Sofie Von Otter, Jacobi Loa Falkman, Aryeh Nussbaum Cohen, Alexander Sprague, Justin Hopkins, Polly Leech, Gavan Ring, Margaux de Valensart, Marion Bauwens, Blandine Coulon

La Monnaie Streaming - December 2024

There is an element of semi-autobiography in nearly all of Ingmar Bergman's films, or perhaps it could be described as an element of exorcism in confronting the fears, concerns and formative experiences that determined his outlook on life. Whether it's the terror of death in The Seventh Seal or the silence of God in ...well, most of his work, that outlook is not a particularly optimistic one. Perhaps the most important formative experience for Bergman and for most people is family and particularly one's childhood experiences. It was only much later in his life, in preparation for what he believed would stand as his final film and testament as a career as a writer, director and filmmaker that Bergman was able to approach those youthful moments of joy as well as the more familiar explorations of pain and fear in a masterful and probing manner through Fanny and Alexander.

As much as they draw upon personal experiences, incorporating the root causes of many of his personal fears as well as his influences that he would unflinchingly bring to the screen as one of the world's greatest film directors, Fanny and Alexander of course has a much broader outlook on life. Which it would need to, since Bergman's experience of childhood in Fanny and Alexander, fictionalised as the well-to-do Ekdahl family in provincial Sweden in Uppsala, doesn't appear to have much in common with most people's lived experience. The challenge of adapting this to opera then would be to focus on and draw out the more universal qualities and experiences from the sprawling richness of the original filmed work, as well as retaining the sense of coming-of-age drama of a turbulent family experience that is to have a profound impact on how one child relates to the wider world as an adult.

With his sister Fanny, Alexander grows up in a wealthy family of businessmen and artists, all of whom gather at the start of Mikael Karlsson's opera version of Fanny and Alexander, composed for La Monnaie in Brussels from a libretto by Royce Vavrek. The family own and run their own theatre, managed by Fanny and Alexander's father Oscar. As the extended family in formal dress gather around the lavish Christmas dinner table prepared by a host of servants after a performance of a nativity play at the theatre, Oscar tells the children that "Outside is a big world and the little world in which we were born succeeds in reflecting the big one" while Alexander and Fanny sit at the foot of the table creating their own personal little drama with a miniature toy theatre. It's a little heavy-handed maybe, but it succeeds in establishing how the opera develops the theme that art doesn't just imitate life but seeks transform those human experiences. 

What this scene also establishes is the gulf between childlike innocence and imagination and the danger of its corruption when it comes into contact with the harsh realities of the world. Certainly there is a lifetime of troubling experiences to be processed as the children unwittingly eavesdrop on the private lives of their relatives, lascivious uncles philandering with maids, their grandmother reminiscing with an old love, one uncle facing ruin from failed business interests, another depressed at aging and the declining state of the world. It would take Bergman a whole career to process these issues - some his own experiences as an adult reflected here as much as fictionalised ones for other people - and confront their roots in this ambitious project.

The most harrowing experience for the young Alexander, as it would be for many children, is their first encounter with the death of a close family member. His father Oscar is rehearsing a scene from Hamlet when he has a heart attack and dies. For the young Alexander, seeped in the family's theatrical tradition, it's as profound an experience as Hamlet’s own horror of meeting his father's ghost, and indeed his own father will later make a similar ghostly appearance in the story. It's a moment wrapped in theatrical and philosophical meaning and suitably presented as such in the staging of this premiere opera production by Ivo van Hove. The Shakespearean allusions continue as Alexander's hatred grows for his step-father, their mother Emilie remarrying to an austere authoritarian and cruel man of the cloth, a bishop who demands they abandon their former life of privilege.

All this will be familiar to anyone who has seen Bergman's film or extended TV mini-series, which is a sign that the creators of the opera have succeeded at least in retaining the essence of the work. Both composer Mikael Karlsson and librettist Royce Vavrek have a good track record in adaptations of movie-sourced material, the two having previously worked together on Lars von Trier’s Melancholia for the Royal Swedish Opera last year. Musically Fanny and Alexander is recognisably in the same style evidenced in that opera, rhythmically and melodically propulsive in the idiom of John Adams, with electronic effects used for dramatic underscoring. It's less 'science-fiction' sounding electronics this time, providing rather an undercurrent that underlines moments of intense emotional stress as well as the ghost appearances, which are also heralded by shimmering bells.

What doesn't come across in the recorded and broadcast version of the production is the effort of the composer to make the opera a visceral theatrical experience. Modern technologies don't have to be restricted to theatrical techniques - and Ivo van Hove knows all about those - but can surely also be employed for musical effect in modern opera. That however is not something that most opera houses are equipped for and it does involve a considerable amount of effort and complexity to install surround speakers and deep subwoofer technology to make the audience actually feel the musical reverberations. There is also the challenge of synchronising the electronic elements of the score with the acoustic orchestra (the performers also wear microphones so that they can be mixed into the live sound design), but the impact of all that is lost in a streamed broadcast.

As well as employing cinematic techniques in his theatre and opera productions, Ivo van Hove is a director who is also very familiar with adapting Bergman and other filmmakers for theatre and often uses extended theatrical techniques like live cameras and projections. By comparison his direction of Fanny and Alexander for the most part feels rather restrained and almost traditional. I have to say I prefer when he is a little more adventurous and avant-garde. The fact however that the scenes have the necessary impact - minimalist but for a number of key scenes like the death of Oscar, the ghost story of the two drowned children and the remarkable effects used for the Isak and Ismaël scenes - suggests that he knows when to hold back in order to give those key moments prominence (underlined by the reverberating score) and does succeed in finding the best way of presenting the material.

That's surely the essential thing, but aside from the scenes mentioned above that are creatively handled, and despite what sounds like a wonderful musical interpretation, personally I didn't find either enough to hold attention as the opera moved into the second half. It was perfectly good, but I was perhaps too familiar with the movie version, so the adherence to the original felt predictable and something of a pale copy of Bergman's film, an unnecessary reworking that didn't really add anything as an opera. I felt like that at least until the stunning and remarkably effective choices for the setting of the avant-conclusion in the puppet theatre shop of Isak and Ismaël. Here Karlsson and van Hove succeeded in establishing the value of the opera on its own terms, which, as it should be, was in the realm of bringing music, drama and singing together to lift the source material to new heights.

That is no small part was due to a stunning performance from countertenor Aryeh Nussbaum Cohen as Ismaël. His extraordinary voice and presence brings that necessary enigmatic quality to the key moment when Alexander's eyes are open to how an artist can take those mysteries and unknowns, the personal traumas and experiences and use them to not only create art, but also how they can be a vital tool for survival. That is supported, as I have said, in the music score and in the stage direction with conductor Ariane Matiakh harnessing all those varied forces of the complex musical arrangements together.

The singing and performances are excellent elsewhere, relying on some veteran performers like Susan Bullock, Thomas Hampson (first time at La Monnaie) and Anne Sofie Von Otter for smaller roles in order to bring extra significance to their roles in the drama. The principal role in the opera however is that of Emilie, the children's mother, sung impressively by Sasha Cooke. Boy soprano Jay Weiner played Alexander exceptionally well with no stage-school mannerisms or over-acting. Although Fanny is not a large role, it was equally well performed by Sarah Dewez.

External links: La Monnaie-De Munt, Fanny and Alexander streaming

Karlsson - Melancholia (Stockholm, 2023)

Mikael Karlsson - Melancholia

Royal Swedish Opera, 2023

Andrea Molino, Sláva Daubnerová, Lauren Snouffer, Anne Sofie von Otter, Rihab Chaieb, Ola Eliasson, Jens Persson Hertzman, Johan Edholm, Mikael Stenbaek, Anton Textorius, Klas Hedlund

ARTE Concert - 2nd November 2023 

I don't envy any composer - and to be honest can't even understand their motivation - for choosing to make an opera based on a fairly recent film. It's not that it's necessarily a bad idea in itself; cinema is a valid source of inspiration to opera and theatre directors and Kryzsztof Warlikowski and Ivo Van Hove in particular have drawn on movie and film techniques for some excellent productions. The challenge of making an opera based on Lars von Trier's Melancholia however is considerable. Since the original soundtrack of the film heavily featured Wagner's Tristan und Isolde, how would a composer put that out of his head while approaching a new musical version? But more to the point, does it even need to be made into an opera when the successful film is readily accessible?

Well the truth is that you could pose the same question to Lars Von Trier, since as a filmmaker he has followed - like many - in the footsteps of Andrei Tarkovsky. That influence has been obvious throughout his career, in the visual style of his earlier films, and Melancholia bears more than a passing resemblance in tone with Nostalghia and the apocalyptic subject matter of The Sacrifice. Von Trier nonetheless has managed to establish his own vision, and Melancholia proved to be one of the director's best films up to that point, one where he didn't need to court controversy for attention. The discovery of a hitherto unknown planet on a crash course for Earth as a metaphor for a young woman with mental health problems facing a devastating breakdown on the day of her wedding was a powerful one, related one supposes to the director's own mental health issues. "Melancholia is on her warpath".

It's a powerful subject, but there is no reason a composer couldn't bring out another dimension to the subject, particularly when it doesn't have to rely on Wagner as a generic musical accompaniment, no matter how well that works as a soundtrack for the film. An interview with the composer Mikael Karlsson on bringing the premiere of this opera to the Royal Swedish Opera, shows he was familiar with the film but clearly able to put the presence of Wagner aside and use his own musical language to work in service to the libretto written by Royce Vavrek. And it's a very modern approach that Karlsson takes, using a traditional orchestra, opera singers and chorus, but supplementing it with electronic rhythms, synthesisers and sound effects, not so much to create a 'science-fiction' feel as much as find a way to represent two different worlds, the external one and the interior struggle that Justine grapples with.

It might not really be the end of the world, but it certainly feels like it to Justine. This breakdown, coinciding with news of the appearance of the planet Melancholia, doesn't come from nowhere of course and there are many elements to explore in the young woman's relationships with her family; an overbearing mother who isn't satisfied, her father complaining that she isn't happy enough for all the expense he has put into the wedding, doubts about commitment in the marriage to her new husband, and issues with her father-in-law who is also her employer in a job where Justine is something of a workaholic. All of her frustrations, pressures and anxieties come to a head in the pressure-cooker atmosphere of the wedding reception. All of this takes up Act I of the opera, which really amounts to little more than the wedding from hell, but all the underlying issues individually as well as cumulatively are clearly traumatic.

The looming planet that appears in the sky hurtling towards Earth could be just a metaphor for an impending mental breakdown on an apocalyptic scale, but even if it is real, Justine's condition is such that the complete obliteration of Earth would be welcomed. There are several levels that have to be worked on then. Since it is not a movie there is evidently little room for the kind of cinematic techniques, montage and special effects employed by Von Trier, but the composer - if he is good enough - has the most powerful element of all at his disposal, which evidently is the musical expression of the layered issues. Karlsson's music needs to be more than just a soundtrack and it needs to avoid the danger of being bombastic on the progress of a planet hurtling on a collision course, as much as it has to depict the inner disintegration of Justine's mental breakdown.

Karlsson's use of electronic effects and synthesiser rhythms alongside the more traditional orchestral and arioso singing arrangements works quite well. It's a unique new sound I haven't heard used so extensively in opera before and it suits the subject. There's a bit of predictable ominous choral backing of haunting oooohh and aahhhh vocalisations, but there is also strong use of the chorus for reaction to the declining situation. In the first Act it sounds not unlike John Adams, quite dynamic, rhythmic and melodic, curiously establishing a mood that reminded me more of Luca Guadagnino’s use of Adams' music for I Am Love than Von Trier’s Melancholia, the former perhaps also closely related thematically and in a similar social and familial milieu.

As with the film version of Melancholia however, the second half - seen principally from the perspective of Justine's sister Claire - has an entirely different character, her view on motherhood giving a less self-absorbed view. It still has a melancholy and oppressive character, but it's one related to a wider existential concern; the thought of annihilation and extinction, whether personal or global, and the sense of sadness and loss of everything and everyone we know. Karlsson's approach to the music is accordingly quite different in response, as you might expect really, blending the electronic and acoustic well, with electronic sounds, samples and distortion replacing the ordered progress of the music.

While Karlsson succeeds in placing his own stamp on the story of Melancholia, it has to be said that the stage director Sláva Daubnerová and set designer are not so ambitious, or perhaps is less able to avoid the pull of the planetary force of the original, since it remains very close to the visual colour scheme and feel of the film version, certainly in Act I. On the plus side, the single location of the luxury hotel and the wedding reception adds to the intensity of the situation, an oppressively stressful occasion in proximity to family. Nor can they resist a stage version of special effects, having the wedding guests resort to strange movements, speeding up, slowing down and freeze-framing. Act II uses other techniques to close the world down, the stage darkening as the sun is blotted out by the mysterious planet growing larger as it bears down on them, clawing branches reaching down, the borders of the lawn curling in on the remaining figures of Justine, Claire and her son Leo. The projection effects built in intensity alongside this up to the spectacle of the finale.

I'm not sure whether you could say that the opera sufficiently establishes own distinct character from the original film, but you might feel differently if you haven't seen the film. On its own terms Vavrek's libretto, while heavily reliant on the film for situations, does nonetheless have its own expression. "Even as the bride wore white, inside the gown the bride was blue turned black" the chorus intone gloomily at the end of Act I, and I don't recall anything like the Act II hunter's scene in the original film, or certainly not like this and the way the opera slips into a surreal dream or nightmare world. There is definitely an effective equilibrium achieved in the contrasting tone of the two acts, the perspective of the two sisters, and in the music composed for them in each act.

It can't be easy to likewise balance all the varied tones of the drama in the unconventional electronic instruments and sound effects with the acoustic orchestral instrumentation, but the effectiveness of the musical direction under Andrea Molino is evident and impressive. As is the singing. The opera relies on two central performances from Justine and Claire, and it has two superb singers in Lauren Snouffer and Rihab Chaieb, but also solid performances from Jens Persson Hertzman as Michael, the husband and Ola Eliasson as the father. As Justine's mother Gaby, Anne Sofie von Otter must break some kind of record for the most use of the word 'fuck' in the aria 'Fuck you and your fucking rituals'. There is no reason that strong language can't be used in a modern opera, but it feels a little gratuitous here. Then again, why not? There are many ways of expression and this is just another one, which is no less effective than the others so well employed in Karlsson's Melancholia.

External links: Royal Swedish Opera

Tchaikovsky - The Queen of Spades (Brussels, 2022)

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky - Pikovaya Dama

La Monnaie-De Munt, Brussels - 2022

Nathalie Stutzmann, David Marton, Dmitry Golovnin, Laurent Naouri, Jacques Imbrailo, Anne Sofie von Otter, Anna Nechaeva, Charlotte Hellekant, Alexander Kravets, Mischa Schelomianski, Maxime Melnik, Justin Hopkins, Mireille Capelle, Emma Posman

OperaVision - 23 September 2022

Although visually it clearly takes place in late Soviet-era USSR, everyone wearing 1970s' costumes in the courtyard exterior and assumed interiors of a Soviet tenement block, it is of course tempting to see something of the current conflict in Ukraine in David Marton's 2022 production of Tchaikovsky's Pikovaya Dama/The Queen of Spades for La Monnaie, the production playing out much at the same time in September 2022 as the Russian invasion was at its height. While the period sets it apart and prevents it from making any ill-fitting and facile commentary on a serious and complex contemporary situation, Tchaikovsky's opera and indeed Pushkin's original ghost story do have something to say about the dangers of myths fuelling nationalistic delusions and war.

That's touched on in the children's chorus of the opening scene which otherwise has apparently little to do with the opera, a scene that would be difficult to imagine playing straight in the current circumstances and an example of how quickly 'innocent' intent can suddenly appear more sinister as times change. With this chorus of schoolboys lining up in a play-acted military march against Russia's enemies, Tchaikovsky could easily be outlawed (and has indeed been in some places) in the current climate where Russian artists and musicians are now viewed with suspicion. Marton however turns this into a more abstract scene, a Russian pianist centre stage, a radio playing the marching song, while a group of mothers listen to the broadcast of their sons with horror for what lies ahead.

It neatly sidesteps any controversy, not that La Monnaie ever work on the basis of playing safe in their productions, but it also sets the tone for what follows. The period and setting emphasise the divide between the rich and the poor, Liza the prize of the Prince that Hermann, hanging out with his chums in the tenement block, gambling, spending his money on black market goods, cannot hope to win. He knows he is a loser, not just in cards but in the game of life, and he feels that despair deeply, in the way that only the tragic figures of Russian literature can. And in a way that only a composer like Tchaikovsky, it his own troubled personal life, can put into music - as demonstrated in Stefan Herheim's 2016 production of this opera.

A creative director can of course delve into many different layers of this work, as Hans Neuenfels also did at Salzburg, using the children's march as a means of emphasising the strict rules of society that Hermann feels he has the right to place himself outside. What gives him the confidence to follow his own path in Marton's production is, like the empowerment of nationalistic exceptionalism expressed in the march, the lie of the myth of the Countess and the three cards that he chooses to believe in. He buys into it, but also buys a gun from a black market dealer to give him a little more power and influence. 

Marton of course doesn't keep it as simple as that and recognises the complexity of Tchaikovsky's music and the fact that art, opera and music have their part to play in exposing or examining the workings of the human mind, and indeed inspiring to go to war. Throughout the opera we see a man writing in a book, a libretto perhaps, and a pianist at the centre of the scene, Marton resisting however the temptation to go down Herheim's use of a Tchaikovsky doppelganger (or many of them, reflecting various sides of the composer). The two come together at the conclusion of the opera to reflect what they have experienced in the preceding episodes.

But art has other means and uses, particularly for ordinary people in the impoverished circumstances depicted in this era and this is also reflected in the setting. While the men are gambling, black market dealing or finding other ways of escape through alcohol, the women are seen looking to escape their surroundings, reading books, gazing into a glass of spirits, trying to catch a radio signal from the outside world. A young girl gazes at a globe, and Polina sings a melancholic song that observes: "What did I find in those enchanting dreams? A grave." Such scenes, as well as Tchaikovsky's pastorale and the arrival of Catherine the Great would feel out of place in this context, a divertissement in the middle of the near-contemporary realism depicted here, but it actually serves as another illusion to keep the peasants dreaming.

With a wealth of such material already provided by Tchaikovsky for a good director to use purposefully, there is no need then to bring any current conflict - which would certainly have been imminent during rehearsals - into the production. It's enough to perhaps just reference it to avoid any controversy of performing a Russian composer and let the opera deliver its own commentary on it, which it does most powerfully by taking things to their inevitable conclusion. Hermann is afflicted by madness to his 'cause', believing the words of an old woman on a payphone as if they are speaking a secret message to him. It means ruin and death and that is all that is left for Liza too. Dragged to her death by the same delusions of escape that had given her comfort.

Christian Friedländer set designs pitch the production into this ambiguous and divided world, somewhere between brutalism and romantic fantasy. The tenement block is stark enough to capture the romanticised view of the opera's ghost story running up against the harsh reality of ordinary people's lives, the contrasts of riches (or dreams of riches), with the impoverishment of their lives. Using the period, contrasting costumes of the real and the imagined, turning reality into art through the dreams of the secondary characters and chorus, in its own way it creates a visual representation of what opera does when art meets reality.

Conducted by Nathalie Stutzmann it's a strong musical performance, the orchestra delivering the high drama, matching the subtleties of Tchaikovsky's score to the underlying romantic sentiments and mad delusions. The singing performances are also a good fit for the roles, for the attack of the music and the intent of the stage direction. The Russian principals are excellent in this capacity, Dmitry Golovnin as Hermann and Anna Nechaeva as Liza both impassioned in their own ways. Jacques Imbrailo is fine as the Prince as is Anne Sofie von Otter, now at that stage in her career where she has the personality and character to take on the role of the Countess. There is good work also from the supporting roles and the chorus. It's not a classic production but one that is necessarily connected to a view of the times we are living under, a time of madness and a reminder that the only thing we can be sure of is death.

Links: La Monnaie streaming, OperaVision

Fagerlund - Autumn Sonata (Helsinki, 2017)

Sebastian Fagerlund - Höstsonaten (Autumn Sonata)

Finnish National Opera and Ballet, Helsinki - 2017

John Storgårds, Stéphane Braunschweig, Anne Sofie von Otter, Erika Sunnegårdh, Tommi Hakala, Helena Juntunen, Nicholas Söderlund

Opera Platform - 23 September 2017

Ingmar Bergman's films manage to strike such a fine balance between realism and heightened drama that it's hard to imagine that they would gain anything from being adapted into an opera. Bergman however was always a director keen to experiment in film expression and indeed even a creative opera director himself, his filmed version of The Magic Flute in particular showing that perfect balance between dealing with the practicalities of the dramatic stage and sparking the imagination.

Adapting Bergman to the stage is particularly challenging in the case of working with one of Bergman's intense late works of family drama and personal crisis from the late seventies onwards. Autumn Sonata, like Scenes from a Marriage, Cries and Whispers, Fanny and Alexander and Saraband, are all characterised not only by fraught situations of lives in pain with brutal exchanges that cut to the bone, but there is also often a less tangible element in them dealing with death and ghosts, or ghosts of the past.

Both elements weigh heavily on Autumn Sonata, and Sebastian Fagerlund addresses them immediately from the start of his new opera Höstsonaten, setting the dramatic and musical tone for what is to follow. There's an anguished exchange between Eva and her husband Viktor while they are expecting the arrival of Eva's mother who is visiting them. She hasn't seen her mother in seven years, Charlotte having largely neglected her family for the demands of her career as a famous international concert pianist.

There are issues on both sides that suggest that tensions are likely to arise. In the seven years of her absence, Charlotte has not only missed the birth of Eva and Viktor's son Erik, but she didn't even return when the boy died, drowned a day before his 4th birthday. Charlotte herself has recently lost her husband Leonardo, also a musician, who has died a slow, agonising death. To add to the tensions Eva has been looking after her mentally disabled sister Helena, and Charlotte is still reluctant about dealing first-hand with her child, and would have preferred to have her out of the way in a nursing home where she had been committed.

Those however are only the most recent and present issues that are likely to be the source of tension between mother and daughter; the latent animosity between them goes back further and deeper than that. Eva has a lifetime of hurt, pain, disappointment, lack of affection and validation left unspoken that she holds against her mother. It's been building up in her and it's time she had her say. She doesn't hold back, airing all her grievances, reproaches and recriminations in wild outbursts like "I love you" and "You hate me".

Some might expect a little more from an opera than self-absorbed people involved in a full-blown domestic dispute, and there's no doubt it's all more than a little overstated, but that's the point. Bergman's attempt to lay bare the stark reality of mother/daughter relationships is incisive and beautifully crafted, and essentially, the parent/daughter melodrama is no lesser a theme and treatment of the subject than many of Verdi's operas (Simon Boccanegra or Rigoletto). Still, the challenge remains for Sebastian Fagerlund to justify Autumn Sonata's translation from cinema screen to opera stage, and he does that well.

As the title indicates, there is an implicit musical dimension to Autumn Sonata that connects creativity to artistic inspiration. "Where do you draw it from? The brilliance, the pain" the chorus ask, Charlotte's public always with her and in the back of her mind. The question is not just where the artist draws their inspiration from but the hard price they often have to pay for it in the failure of their personal lives is also realistically considered here. Charlotte's career has left her in severe physical pain, and her taking of sleeping pills and painkillers compound her failure to be a good and understanding mother. Above all however, her public comes first.

Fagerlund interweaves all these elements well, pitching the music towards the emotional tenor of the work without letting it add to the high melodrama that is being expressed on all sides. The scoring for the voices is particularly good in this respect, permitting arias of reflection, duet duels and competitive trios of overlapping sentiments spilling over one another as they vie for attention. Fagerlund even permits the rarely lucid Helena her moment of vocal expression. With a chorus always ready to well up also in the background, temperatures are raised in intensity as Charlotte's visit descends into increasingly violent verbal blows.

The other critical factors contributing to Autumn Sonata working as an opera are of course the singing performances and the staging. All the roles are well sung and all the different voices here play a significant part in the work as a whole, but the principal roles are very much tied into the mother/daughter relationship of Eva and Charlotte. Erika Sunnegårdh is compelling and credible in her expression of Eva, and Anne Sofie von Otter shows none of the weakening that has been detected in other traditional roles, but is actually in superb voice in her creation of the role of Charlotte. The only fragility she shows here is her character's inability to continue to deny the damage she has done to her family.

With expression of personality and interaction of characters of primary importance, it's all very well directed by Stéphane Braunschweig, who also designs a set that helps express the multiplicity of views and sentiments. The stage is broken down into rooms and compartments, with backgrounds that open and close in response to the various levels that the libretto and characterisation operate on, showing parallel scenes, flashbacks, ghosts and even expressions of inner-life in the case of Helena. Without question, Bergman proves to be well suited to opera, and Fagerlund serves Autumn Sonata well.

Links: Opera Platform

Weill - Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny (Royal Opera House 2015 - Cinema Live)

Kurt Weill - Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny

Royal Opera House, 2015

Mark Wigglesworth, John Fulljames, Anne Sofie von Otter, Peter Hoare, Willard W. White, Christine Rice, Kurt Streit, Jeffrey Lloyd-Roberts, Darren Jeffery, Neal Davies, Hubert Francis

Royal Opera House, Cinema Live - 1 April 2015
 
What is both clever and great about Weill and Brecht's Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny is that as long as we live in a society that is centred around capitalism and commerce, it's message is always going to be pertinent and relevant. Inevitably there's much made of how the message of the work reflects our own current economic downturn, but even if we lived in boom times, the opera would still show fairly accurately the kind of 'Wolf of Wall Street' excess and vulgarity, the moral and social breakdown that inevitably follows when the acquisition of obscene amounts of money it seen as an end in itself. There's not much to be said for capitalism, is there?

As well as being clever (and true), this is however part of the problem with the work as it stands as an opera. It's rather preachy. Its parable of the building of a city by three criminals whose founding principles are based on nothing more than exploiting its transient citizens for every penny they can get out of them (no money left, you'll feel the full weight of the law - immigrants welcome, as long as you have something (money, cheap labour) to contribute) is more of a concept than a plot, and it lacks genuine engagement. It's true that Bertolt Brecht was more interested in gaining the intellectual participation of the audience than their emotional engagement or identification with the characters, but for the work to succeed on the opera stage today, it needs a little more of a bite to shake a modern audience out of its complacency.

Perhaps Brecht didn't anticipate, considering its evident failings as a model for social well-being and despite its superficial allure, that Capitalism could possibly turn out to be so pervasive as to be endorsed as a sine qua non, but then, it's clear from this work that he doesn't have too much faith in human nature being motivated by anything other than naked greed and self-interest. Nonetheless, the Royal Opera House production of Mahagonny does feel complacent. Not in terms of professionalism or performance - everything is well considered here - but it is a production that is designed for the opera stage for a Covent Garden audience, and it consequently fails to invite anything but a complacent shrug of recognition. 'That's so true', you think, 'but not much you can do to change it'.

For a regular opera, you don't really expect much more of a response than that, but Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny is not a regular opera and, consequently that's really not good enough. It's not entirely the fault of John Fulljames's direction for the Royal Opera House, but inherently a problem with the work itself. It's not the anti-opera that it sets out to be, but rather does end up preaching to a well-heeled audience that is not really going to consider its wealth vulgar, or have to worry that it will all disappear on binges of whoring and drinking. Weill might be partly to blame for how the musical language speaks and soothes away any unwelcome recognition, its jazz-influenced rhythms no longer as daring as they might once have been, but Brecht's heavy-handed mocking of capitalist society doesn't invite any real engagement or suggest alternatives either.

A stage director, set designer and a musical director willing to really engage with the message could however make more of a difference here. The problem with John Fulljames, Es Devlin and Mark Wigglesworth's interpretation is that it is resolutely opera house. They do justice to the letter of the work as it was written, and give every indication of the relevance of its intentions, but they don't find a way to update the nihilistic 1930's spirit of the opera in a way that would invite a modern audience to put aside their opera preconceptions. The La Fura dels Baus production at the Teatro Real, by way of comparison, managed to be a little more adventurous and inventive with the work, and conductor there, Pablo Heras Casado, managed to get more of the genuine swagger and swing of the orchestration. The production team at the Royal Opera House, on the other hand, don't really treat Weill and Brecht's work differently from the way they would approach any other opera commission.

Es Devlin's set designs are, it has to be said, inventive and very much find a modern way to envision the themes of the work - even if it tripped up the performers on one or two occasions. The city of Mahagonny comes literally from the back of a lorry, neatly compartmentalising the scenes in the first act, while the second and third acts add shipping containers to the construction. There are no niceties here, it's a city that has evolved out of the practicalities of delivering commercial products and services. That's as much a reflection of the abstraction of Brecht's alienation devices, inviting audiences to consider the "idea" of a city rather the concrete reality of a realistic set. We're now familiar with this kind of set design now however, and just as much depends on what you do within in. Unfortunately, John Fulljames doesn't find any original way of making consumption in this permissive society anything more than it is on the page. When you have actually seen worse in reality on the streets of modern metropolises, it's fairly tame stuff indeed.

So, instead of engaging with the ideas, there's not much else for the critic to review here other than the old fall-back of how good the singing performances are - as if Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny is just another work to be assessed in that peculiar view of opera as little more than a perpetual singing contest. Christine Rice was the probably the strongest voice here as Jenny, giving a great rendition of the famous Alabama Song, but for me she was much too plummy and operatic for the down-and-dirty role. Kurt Streit was best with character, but his singing was also strong, bright and lyrical, capturing the wild abandon of Jimmy McIntyre. If character realism is important here, and it's debatable, it would then colour your view of Anne Sofie von Otter's over-acted Widow Begbick, but it was an enjoyable characterisation, even if it apparent that her voice is no longer strong enough to carry the sung-recitative sections. Willard White's voice isn't as strong as it once was either but Trinity Jones is a familiar role for him, and he can still do it well.

This was a good performance then and highly entertaining, as professional as you would expect from the Royal Opera House, but something was still missing. Being aware of the content from a synopsis isn't usually an issue with opera - you can usually expect an infinite amount of variety in interpretation - but here, having laid it out beforehand in the pre-screening and interval features, it all played out a little too routinely and complacently. One thing Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny should never be is routine and complacent, but whether that's a problem with the Royal Opera House's production or the world itself worryingly becoming a parody of capitalism that outstrips anything in Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht's opera, one would like to think you'd get more out of this work than just a nice evening at the opera.

Links: The Royal Opera House

Offenbach - Les Contes d'Hoffmann (Teatro Real, Madrid 2014 - Webcast)

Jacques Offenbach - Les Contes d'Hoffmann

Teatro Real, Madrid, 2014

Sylvain Cambreling, Christoph Marthaler, Vito Priante, Christoph Homberger, Anne Sofie von Otter, Eric Cutler, Ana Durlovski, Measha Brueggergosman, Altea Garrido, Lani Poulson, Jean-Philippe Lafont, Gerardo Lopez, Tomeu Bibiloni, Isaac Galán

ARTE Concert - 21 May 2014

Les Contes d'Hoffmann is an 'opéra fantastique', but there's not much that's fantastical about Christoph Marthaler's version of Offenbach's most ambitious work in this production at the Teatro Real in Madrid. He certainly lets his imagination run riot with the concept, filling the stage with all sorts of antics and goings-on, but nothing really comes together or even seems to relate at all to what the work is about.

I must confess however that I've never been convinced that The Tales of Hoffmann has anything much worth making a fuss about anyway. I love Offenbach's comic operas, the brilliance of the wit, the daring of the satire and the entertaining, dazzling melodies, but the composer's only fully-fledged opera leaves me cold. I can appreciate Offenbach's musical sophistication here and how it's put to the service of the drama, even if it doesn't make a great impression, but I find the plots of Hoffmann's tales convoluted and tedious with little that reveals or provides insight into any genuine human values.

Which is a bit of a problem when the plot that has been drawn from assorted stories of E. T. Hoffmann are all supposed to examine the three great loves of his protagonist's life and the tragedy of their circumstances. As such, I have no objection to a director looking elsewhere for new areas of interest in Les Contes d'Hoffmann, or indeed playing up the fantastical nature of the work. Christoph Marthaler's production - one of the last legacies of the adventurous final term of the late Gérard Mortier at the Teatro Real - unfortunately only takes the work further away from whatever human experience might be found in it, and rather than find magic in it only adds greater confusion to an already convoluted storyline.

Worse than that, Marthaler's direction actually makes a slight but entertaining work feel long and very dull indeed. If you take the time to think about the production, there is actually an underlying theme in the setting, the whole opera with its diverse stories all taking place in a modern centre for the arts. That seems like a good place to unify the theatrical, the dramatic, the artistic and the creative imagination, but instead the stage is rather cluttered with art students sketching a series of nude models who pose and recline, while other characters wander around, fall about and randomly take up positions on the stage, many of them manipulated for some unknown reason by a remote control.

There's an awful lot going on but none of it makes any sense or relates to any familiar view of the work, none of it is interesting or entertaining to watch, and - what must be the bottom line - little of it really serves to enhance the work. If the production fails there's no question where the fault lies then, since the performers really do make the best of what they've been given to work with here. Ann Sophie von Otter, for example, is asked to interpret Hoffmann's Muse and Nicklausse as one and the same - a kind of drunken sprite who dances merrily around as Hoffmann's guide and protector. Von Otter enters fully into the spirit of the role, but the strength of her voice has declined a little in recent years. The singing and interpretation are characteristically warm, delicate and beautiful, but there's no longer any force behind it and she does occasionally become lost in the blend of voices and music.

Eric Cutler also does well within the confines of a character without any real personality who isn't given much to work with by the director either. His singing is clear, flowing and lyrical, but with very little feeling behind it - a problem, as I say, I would associate partly with the nature of the work itself. Vito Priante has one of the richest roles in Les Contes d'Hoffmann, playing the combined roles of Lindorf, Coppelius, Dr Miracle and Dappertutto, but he also fails to make any real impact, playing them all as the same character (which they essentially are) with no costume changes, but he doesn't have the necessary presence or enough character in the voice for the part.

The best thing about Les Contes d'Hoffmann, and certainly the best thing about this production, is the sparkle that the Olympia, Antonia and Giulietta characters bring to the work. More commonly performed by one singer in all the roles - and consequently one of the most challenging soprano roles in all opera - the casting here proved that there's much to be gained from using different voices for the very different demands of each of the parts. Soprano Ana Durlovski impressively sings Olympia as a sad, timid figure rather than a showpiece diva and it's all the better for it, finding the tragic nature of the character in one who, ironically, isn't even human. Equipped with a deeper soprano voice, Measha Brueggergosman took on the roles of Antonia and Giulietta - two sides of the same coin? - and filled them with fire and personality. Her voice didn't always hold firm, but she was particularly impressive in Antonia's duet with Eric Cutler's Hoffmann.

That fire was particularly welcome when there was so much tedium elsewhere. Despite the busyness of Act I, this was mostly a static production with little in the way of effects, little in the way of creative imagination and certainly little that could be described as fantastical. There's a surprising amount of standing around singing and there's not a great deal of life in Sylvain Cambreling's conducting either. Cambreling has a long track record with this work, but in the context of this production the interpretation of the score just felt lifeless and uninspired. This was not a performance, or indeed a production to win over anyone unconvinced about the merits of Offenbach's great unfinished project.

Links: ARTE Concert

Handel - Giulio Cesare in Egitto

George Frideric Handel - Giulio Cesare in Egitto

Salzburg Festival, Haus für Mozart, 2012

Giovanni Antonini, Moshe Leiser, Patrice Caurier, Andreas Scholl, Cecilia Bartoli, Anne Sofie von Otter, Philippe Jaroussky, Christophe Dumaux, Jochen Kowalski, Ruben Drole, Peter Kálmán

ARTE Live Web Internet Streaming, 27 May 2012

The question of how to stage a Baroque opera, rather different in form from the more familiar narrative drama form established in 19th century opera, has been a tricky issue that has had to be addressed in order to bring these works back into the modern opera repertoire. How do you make a rather long-winded and out-dated style of opera appealing enough to engage an audience through all the ornate embellishments and opera seria conventions? It helps of course if the score is by Handel, and it helps if the opera in question has a subject as juicy as Julius Cesar’s campaign in Egypt and his romantic encounter with Cleopatra, with some beautiful, memorable arias, and a considerable amount of profuse romantic declarations and rejections, and large amounts of political plotting and scheming. Despite being the most popularly staged Handel opera, the work - four hours long and featuring no less than four principal countertenor/castrato roles - does present considerable challenges in the staging of these event, since most of the action is alluded to only in the brief recitative and usually takes place off-stage. An “authentic” period treatment for the four hours of Giulio Cesare in Egitto could be a bit of a slog for an audience without some visual entertainment, and it seems to be with that principle in mind that Moshe Leiser and Patrice Caurier’s production of Handel’s 1724 opera for the 2012 Salzburg Pentecost Festival (newly under the directorship of Cecilia Bartoli) is certainly nothing like a period treatment.

Let’s just take a couple of early examples to see how they approach the long drawn-out expressions of deep emotions that establishes the characters and their relation to each other in the critical First Act. Cornelia, aghast at the murder of her husband Pompeo, his head cut off and presented to Cesare by Tolomeo in a misguided attempt to gain favour and the rule of Egypt, sings of her loss in an exquisite lament (‘Priva son d’ogni conforto’) that doesn’t actually require her to do anything dramatically, just emote the pain. Sung eloquently and movingly by Anne Sofie von Otter, the sentiments don’t really need any further elaboration, but Leiser and Caurier choose to show the depths of Cornelia’s despair by having her place her head in the jaws of a crudely manufactured giant rubber crocodile. Or - how should one stage the aria ‘L’empio, sleale, indegno’, where Tolomeo vents his anger at Cesare, while standing alone on the stage? Well, Leiser and Caurier have him tear apart a foam dummy of Cesar (one that bizarrely has arrived earlier on the top of the limousine bearing the arrival of the Roman Emperor), pulling bloody innards out of the stomach and biting into them.

Evidently such scenes clearly bear no relation to naturalism, never mind tradition, and as the early booing from the audience at Tolomeo’s tantrum here demonstrates, it’s clearly not for everyone. Whether it’s to your taste or not, in both cases, it can’t be denied that the visual expression of those scenes don’t really do anything more than simply match the extravagance and depth of feelings as they are expressed by both characters through the excessively ornate terms of the da capo aria. The nature of the convention and its lack of adherence to any kind of naturalism in dramatic situations is even played upon in Act II, when Cesare’s General, Curio - dressed in modern army combat gear - looks on in a frustrated manner as he tries to get the Emperor into a bulletproof vest and away from a group of assassins approaching them in Cleopatra’s palace, only for Cesare to insist on returning to the front of the stage to finish the long repetitions of his da capo aria. It’s clever, it’s knowing, it’s aware of the conventions and working within them, but most importantly, Leiser and Caurier’s production of Giulio Cesare in Egitto is never boring.

Updating the involvement of a major Western power in the turmoil of the Middle-East to a modern setting is however clearly always going to generate some amount of controversy and to their credit, Leiser and Caurier don’t shy away from scenes that, in some cases, almost seem designed to shock and provoke a reaction. Little of that however relates to any actual commentary on real-life modern-day situations other than in the broadest of terms, but there are certainly recognisable features of present-day Egypt, the wider Middle-East conflict and recent Arab Spring rebel uprisings, with the stage bearing all the signs of a desert war, littered with burning tanks and, um, giant lizards. As head of the invading foreign power, Cesare here is keen to strike up a deal with the new regime, installing Tolomeo as the new puppet ruler in an arrangement that will be beneficial to Rome for the setting up of oil wells in the region. In this context, having seen his father killed by this cruel regime, Sesto becomes a terrorist and straps a bomb around his waist for a suicide attack, assisted by his grieving mother. Bombs rain down in a shock-and-awe battle towards the end of the conflict, as the rebels take on the government forces. Without having to make any overt commentary on the Middle East, it’s a scenario that a modern audience would be able to relate to - certainly more than Cesar’s campaign in Egypt in 48 BC - but what is even more surprising is how well it actually works hand-in-hand with the themes, if not the actual historical events, recounted in Handel’s work.

The directors however - depending on your view - could be seen as pushing things a little too far into parody. Certainly the abuse of power, the sexual improprieties and the mistreatment of women that go along with it are all part and parcel of the exercise of political authority and ambition - as is Cleopatra’s use of seduction to try to gain power herself - but the manner in which these scenes are depicted seems to be fully considered according to the nature of the characters and not merely put in to shock the audience. For Cleopatra’s part, it all seems to be done with a sense of fun, and Cecilia Bartoli (well used to working with this directing team) throws herself bravely into the role, and not just in singing terms - which you would expect anyway. She seems to enjoy playing the part of this sexy temptress, vamping it up in a leather outfit that emphasises her ample bosom, or as a dancing girl with feather fans, even dancing like an Egyptian while wearing a wig of the Queen’s famous bob hairstyle. At one point in Act II she even rides a rocket bomb (as Cupid’s dart) into the sky, which earns huge applause, although her stunning delivery of the aria might have had something to do with that. Her character’s slip into lamentations in the second half of the work however is handled without any such fuss or spectacle (although she also feels like sacrificing herself to the rubber crocodile at one point). So too, the enslavement of Cornelia and the attempts to use her as a bargaining tool for sale on is treated with great delicacy, but the “villains” less so, Tolomeo shown jerking off to a porn mag while singing “Belle dee di questo core”.

More than simply setting out to shock or upset, the impression given is that, in their attempt to prove that opera seria doesn’t have to be just a long series of tedious arias with short sections of recitative to set them up, the directors have perhaps just gone too far in the other direction and thrown in far too many ideas that don’t always work. This Giulio Cesare in Egitto is just overflowing with ideas and there’s almost too much to take in. But one thing for sure is that it’s never, ever boring, and in a four-hour Handel opera, that’s quite an achievement. Just as importantly, it doesn’t detract from what it the most important element of the work, and that is its expression through the singing. Bartoli, as noted above, is just outstanding, fully entering into the role and singing it beautifully, powerfully and with genuine feeling and understanding for the character of Cleopatra. Andreas Scholl’s delicate countertenor also fully embodies the character of Cesare, the singing impassioned, the da capo coloratura both expressive and impressive. The real key to the success of this production however lies in the equal attention given to the superb casting and performances of the other roles, particularly Anne Sofie von Otter’s Cornelia and Philippe Jaroussky’s Sesto. Their expressions of deep anguish underpin the seriousness of drama and its conviction, and they are both outstanding in individual arias, but particularly impressive in their ‘Son nata a lagrimar’ duet. Christophe Dumaux as Tolomeo, Jochen Kowalski as Nireno, Peter Kálmán as Curio and Ruben Drole as Achilla also give fine performances that ensure that there are no weak elements here as far as the singing is concerned.

Giulio Cesare in Egitto was recorded on 27th May 2012 and broadcast live by the French/German television channel ARTE. It is currently available to view in its entirety for free on their ARTE Live Web site.

Debussy - Pelléas et Mélisande

Claude Debussy - Pelléas et Mélisande

Opéra National de Paris, 2012

Philippe Jordan, Robert Wilson, Stéphane Degout, Vincent Le Texier, Franz Josef Selig, Elena Tsallagova, Anne Sofie Von Otter, Julie Mathevet, Jérôme Varnier

Opéra Bastille, 28 February 2012

The sheer perfection of the match of Debussy’s music to Maeterlinck’s symbolist drama Pelléas et Mélisande is unparalleled in the world of opera. It stands alone as a unique piece of music-theatre that is incomparable with any other opera - even Debussy was unable to repeat the experiment with unfinished attempts at some works by Edgar Allan Poe, and it remains the only opera he ever composed. It’s not possible to improve on perfection of course, but there is another element that is just as important when it comes to actually staging the work, and those are the choices made by the director. Robert Wilson’s production for the Paris Opéra, first seen in 1997 has been revived several times over the last 15 years, and is revived again in 2012 for good reason. Once seen, it’s hard to imagine Pelléas et Mélisande being staged in any other way. The match of Wilson’s unique vision to the opera is as close to perfection as Debussy’s music is to Maeterlinck’s drama.

Everything that has become familiar with Robert Wilson productions over the years is here in his production of Pelléas et Mélisande, but rarely has it been employed so evocatively, expressively, imaginatively and as a whole with the tone of the original opera work as it is here. Reflecting Debussy’s own Belle Epoque symbolist, oriental, ancient Greek and Egyptian influences in the arts (the subject of an exhibition in Paris at the same time as the opera is revived there), Wilson’s stylised imagery of hieroglyphics come to life is perfectly fitting. Placing angular figures in dramatic poses framed in silhouette against luminous pale blue backlit backdrops, with floating objects and geometric shapes placed prominently on a bare stage, subtle gradual shifts of light and the occasional flash of bold colour, the effect when matched with the moods of Pelléas et Mélisande is completely beguiling and utterly beautiful. What Robert Wilson brings to this particular opera however, more than just a bag of theatrical tricks that have been employed over the years to different effect in works as varied (and with varying levels of success it has to be said) as Aida, Madama Butterfly, Einstein on the Beach, Orfeo and Orphée et Eurydice, is a revelatory visual expression of the mystical haunted quality of the almost surreal fairytale.

The term haunted seems an appropriate way to describe the dreamlike experiences of the figures in Pelléas et Mélisande. Here in Wilson’s production, the characters seem to float or stand frozen in strange poses, as if they are ghosts compelled to reenact a series of actions that have been played-out time and time again, detached from their original context, their movements reduced to a series of mannerisms. They each inhabit their own space, crossing by each other without touching. So when Mélisande lets down her hair, it’s a mimed gesture, and when Pelléas wraps himself in it, he’s not even close to the tower where Mélisande is standing. Likewise, Golaud talks about lifting little Yniold to spy on his brother and his wife, but he doesn’t physically hold him, and nor does Yniold, reporting their actions, actually see them on the stage. When figures do actually touch, it’s at very specific moments and the impact is every bit as dramatic as the situations that the drama and the music describe.

Seen like this, much of the mystery that has surrounded Pelléas et Mélisande for over a century can suddenly be seen in a new light. It is indeed as if all the figures are merely spectres caught in a timeloop, doomed to continually play out their own part in the drama that has unfolded in an attempt to understand the mistakes they have made that has led to such a tragic conclusion. Nothing ever changes, they repeat empty gestures, coming no nearer to understanding the sequence of isolated events, and have no hope of averting the fate that is in store for them. Suddenly then the mystery of Mélisande’s strange appearance in the forest at the start of the opera and her cries of ‘Ne me touchez pas! Ne me touchez pas!‘ begins to make sense. She doesn’t know how she came to be there, but it’s as if she has a sense of the tragic destiny in store for her - the crown at the bottom of the water perhaps the one she later wears when she marries Golaud, the prince of Allemonde - and her words are a vain attempt to stop it before the train of events are set in motion once again. In Wilson’s production, Mélisande rises after she has been declared dead at the end of the final act, and the story seems to be about to recommence all over again.

One would think that a native French singer would be a prerequisite for the rhythms of the sung/spoke dialogue that Mélisande has to deliver (the dramatic singing qualities of Nathalie Dessay for example, who I’ve heard singing the part exceptionally well), but Elena Tsallagova is one of the more outstanding young Russian singers who have come to prominence through their association with the Paris Opera’s Atelier Lyrique. A magnetic, ethereal presence in her flowing, angular costume, she sang the role flawlessly - a perfect fit for the role. I can’t say I’ve ever seen characters actually smile in a Robert Wilson production, and one would think it even less likely in this melancholic work, but on the couple of occasions when such an expression came over Mélisande’s face, Tsallagova managed to make it seem quite unsettling. Stéphane Degout didn’t seem quite so comfortable striking poses as Pelléas, and his beautifully lyrical baritone seemed a little light for the role, but it complemented Tsallagova’s Mélisande well and suited the ethereal tone of the production.

The singing in the other roles was immensely powerful to balance the lightness in tone of the two main protagonists. Vincent Le Texier was a terrific Golaud, commanding and a little frightening in his rage, jealousy and suspicions - you can understand exactly why Julie Mathevet’s Yniold quivers the line ‘J’ai terriblement peur‘ in his presence. Franz Josef Selig’s deep warm bass and beautiful enunciation gave genuine warmth to his Arkel and Anne Sofie Von Otter was a likewise solid presence as Geneviève.

One of the greatest and most enigmatic works ever composed for the stage, it’s the endless fascination of its mysteries and its inescapable tragedy, as well as the feeling that the answers are there somewhere within and the words and actions of the characters and might eventually yield some clue as to its meaning, that ensures the work’s enduring popularity. Always thought-provoking, illuminating works in a new way, Robert Wilson is particularly brilliant with a work that has particular significance and a special place in the repertoire of French music. Performed live, Pelléas et Mélisande is one of those works that take on an entirely new dimension, and in such a context with the cast assembled at the Bastille in Paris, and with the terrific orchestra of L’Opéra national de Paris conducted by Philippe Jordan working its way through the intricacies of Debussy’s score, the effect is incomparable.