Mazzoli - The Listeners (Oslo, 2022)

Missy Mazzoli - The Listeners

Den Norske Opera & Ballett, Oslo - 2022

Ilan Volkov, Lileana Blain-Cruz, Nicole Heaston, Simon Neal, Tone Kummervold, Eirik Grøtvedt, Johannes Weisser, Frøy Hovland Holtbakk, Håvard Stensvold, Martin Hatlo, Line Tørmoen, Ingunn Kilen, Ørjan Bruskeland Hinna, Megan Gryga, Margaret Newcomb, Jeanette Goldstein, Mathea Kvalvåg-Andersen, Nora Windfeldt, Cecilie C. Ødegården, Mihai Florin Simboteanu, Anne-Marie Andersen

OperaVision - 9th October 2022

When you get right down to it and view it in broad terms, all operas are about life, love and human existence in the face of adversity. That's remained true for all the differences in style and period over the centuries. It applies to L'Orfeo as much as it does to Einstein on the Beach, much as the latter is ostensibly and to all intents about nothing at all. The nature of the adversity faced over the ages changes with society, so it shouldn't really be a surprise when a modern opera deals with modern concerns in a modern way, using situations and the kind of people we see today.

That of course can vary greatly, as much as the problems generated by living in the modern world varies greatly, whether it's climate disaster or the end of the world as we know it from European perspective in Fafchamps' Is This The End?, in Sivan Eldar's Like Flesh, Tom Coult's Violet, or the African-American experience of Terence Blanchard's Fire Shut Up in my Bones. American composer Missy Mazzoli's musical language seems more akin to modern European music of the likes of Louis Andriessen, while the setting of The Listeners is very much in the language and experience of the American lifestyle, where perhaps the human issues it deals with is more pronounced. Essentially however, it deals with matters that are becoming more and more prevalent in modern society and as such a suitable subject for an opera to deal with.

What is at the root of the problems is not entirely pinned down, the opera presenting something of a J.G. Ballard science-fiction social dystopia situation (albeit one based on a real phenomenon), but in itself that difficulty in defining it is part of the issue, as everyone has their own experience. Here it manifests as a low hum that is affecting their mood and sleep of a section of the population of a small American town. It's presumably more serious than tinnitus, which in itself is no minor ailment, of course. The implication of the title perhaps suggests that there are a group of people who might be more alert to something that runs deeper, a malaise that is seeping into our consciousness because of the type of lives we lead, the pressures we face around us, or indeed the constant hum of never ending and seemingly increasingly troubling news horror stories.

That aligns The Listeners very much with a predominant theme in contemporary opera and in literature, a similar "hum" presaging the end days in the diminishing of time in Coult's Violet, a metaphor for the rapidity with which we appear to be heading towards social and climatic breakdown. Another approach is in a new book I read recently by Hanna Jameson, Are You Happy Now?, which takes a particularly Millennial generation view of how society has left young people, or people of an in-between generation with the growing realisation that they have no control over their lives and are ill equipped emotionally, mentally for the society that has been determined for them to live in. This leads to an outbreak of what can be described as an epidemic of catatonic depression.

There's a similar deeply troubling personal response to the persistent low hum that is experienced by Claire Devon, a schoolteacher in the community of Ranchland. It's causing problems for her family who don't hear the noise and think she is going crazy. She confides her problem with one of her students, Kyle, whose studies are suffering because of the low hum and he directs them towards a group of people he has found on the Internet who also hear the hum. Lead by an enigmatic guru, Howard Bard, inevitably their meetings and sharing of experiences lead to the group behaving like a cult. And inevitably that tends to get taken advantage. Does Bard really have answers or is he a liar and a fraud?

It's certainly possible to see a contemporary political dimension in this, in a group of people troubled by society seeking answers and solutions from a populist leader, but the subject could be viewed in any number of ways, from personal to social crisis, mental health to conspiracy theories. I said at the start that all operas touch on the same underlying human questions, and there are wider applications that apply here, but it can often seem like modern operas lack the sophistication or glamour of the classics. That's not necessarily so, particularly as most modern productions also try and bring the high-flown otherworldly elements of gods, kings, wars and mythological classics a little more down to earth and relatable in human terms, but there is no reason either why that idea can't also be somewhat reversed and elevated when it comes to modern opera.

The situations and dialogue in The Listeners however are mainly everyday and domestic with ordinary spoken language, sex scenes and strong language. Some might not like it, but that's how people live and it's more often in those domestic situations, at home, at work, in the talk and gossip of others, that we feel those pressures most acutely. Turning a constant background hum of everyday life into an epidemic does permit the opera to take on a more abstract and dramatic form, and although the goings-on of the cult might be seen to slightly dominate over any message, it's very well put together in terms of characterisation, situation and narrative. The musical construction of the opera is fascinating too, but more of that later.

That is not to say that there are what might be perceived as weaknesses. Who exactly are the Listeners? Is it a conspiracy theory of government surveillance and control? Is it the people who not so much take notice that something is wrong in the world but people who actively listen out for it and can't ignore what they hear. That could also be taken as conspiracy theorists, so there is some ambiguity about how you feel about Claire sharing her experiences with other like-minded people who believe they can see things others don't. I'm not sure where the composer and librettist stand on this, even though obviously the cult is depicted as manipulative, but the message and outcome remains ambiguous. Then again ambiguity isn't necessarily a bad thing, and it allows for the opera to be interpreted and not remained fixed to a single preachy viewpoint.

I not against modern opera using direct modern day language rather than any high-flown poetry. A certain abstraction might serve to draw more out of the complex but specific political content in John Adams's operas like Nixon in China, Doctor Atomic and The Death of Klingfhoffer. Royce Vavrek's libretto may be rather more plain-speaking, but there are surely better ways of expressing deep personal conflict and confusion than in banalities like Claire sharing her feelings with a coyote in the a refrain of "Me and you. We're not so different". Strong language I don't have a problem and I don't expect deep philosophical pondering, but little of whatever you think is confronted here initially appears to be backed up with any strong message in the content or the music.

It's a good idea however to gather the views/confessions of other 'ordinary' people, listeners like Angela and Thom who express and give a wider perspective on the attitudes and experiences that inform their view of the world and their belief in the group. Inevitably it's a sense of feeling isolated, unable to connect and relate to others, their potential suppressed by social order and expectations. It's perhaps there that the idea and warning of The Listeners comes through. People are "notes in the bigger chord" and need validation not dismissal, not letting their fears take over and destroy them, not let the 'dark web' so to speak, take them. Or more relevantly, since there is room for interpretation here, allowing political leaders to feed and exploit their fears. Self empowerment, if you like, but it remains ambiguous how much this should be indulged.

It helps that the opera is well-staged, well-lit and well-directed by Lileana Blain-Cruz, avoiding clichés that could be suggested by the smalltown American setting and subject. There is a good use of projections, web chat, TV news broadcasts and live projections of people's confessions to Howard Bard's camera. It captures a sense of the complexities of the world we live in, gaining multiple perspectives and within them the cracks where people can fall. The singing and dramatic performances are good right across the board, making use of these seemingly secondary characters to widen and deepen the perspective. Eirik Grøtvedt stands out in particular as Kyle, and Tone Kummervold brings character and colour as Angela. Howard Bard might be more of a stock cult leader personality, but there is also a good singing here from Simon Neal. All of the 'secondary characters' bring something to the performance.

The highest praise however has to go to Nicole Heaston as Claire. It's a terrific performance that engages all the way through. Her character deals with considerable pressure and consequently has challenging vocal expression. And, true enough, Heaston can make a 'Shut the fuck up!' sound lyrical and cutting at the same time. Some might not like that in an opera, but it's not that far removed from Maria Stuarda's 'Vil bastarda!' written nearly 200 years ago, delivered here to much the same intent and effect.

Musically, I haven't come across the music of Missy Mazzoli before or yet had the chance to see Breaking the Waves, but it strikes me as similar to John Adams with a more European sensibility of Louis Andriessen. There is no harsh dissonance, some Leoš Janáček-like rhythmic pulses, motifs and a richness in instrumentation with sparing use of electronic effects that provide colour and texture. In more than capable hands of conductor Ilan Volkov, there is a lot of interest to find in the score. Considering the subject you might expect some low level electronic drone music, but - tellingly perhaps - none is heard. You can hear the hum of the listeners, a counteractive force to the noise rises to the fore in the chorus at the end of Act. "We harness the hum, we build the harmony", but whether all is as harmonious as that suggests is left tantalisingly open to interpretation.

Links: Den Norske Opera & Ballett, OperaVision

Verdi - La Traviata (Den Norske, 2018)

Giuseppe Verdi - La Traviata

Den Norske, 2018

Julia Jones, Tatjana Gürbaca, Aurelia Florian, Matteo Lippi, Yngve Søberg, Caroline Wettergreen, Martin Hatlo, Jens-Erik Aasbø, Johanne Højlund, Rolf Conrad, Eivind Kandal, Pietro Simone, Ole Jørgen Kristiansen

OperaVision

I imagine I'm not the only person to get jaded and avoidant of La Traviata, particularly when it's performed in sanitised Belle Époque period. If you've been listening to a lot of early Verdi in the meantime however - which we've had more of an opportunity to explore in recent years - it is interesting to come back to La Traviata and see it in a context that highlights the level of mastery and developing maturity Verdi had reached. At this stage in his career, Verdi is a musician in complete control of the musical and dramatic expression of his medium, pouring all those considerable forces into a subject that he clearly feels strongly about. There's no two ways about it, La Traviata is a remarkable work, a superb example of craft and passion, and perhaps even genius.

While you might have endured numerous stuffy and unimaginative copy-cat productions - which it has to be said are still capable of delivering a devastating emotional impact - there have been other more adventurous productions of La Traviata willing to explore the work's themes further, testifying to the strength of the musical and structural composition and the presence of universal and contemporary themes within it. The need to fit into a social milieu, society's insatiable hunger for gossip and scandal, and the question of women's rights and the cruelty of their treatment is ever more important in our own times.

Other than it being in modern dress in a very stripped back minimalist set, the Den Norske production directed by Tatjana Gürbaca doesn't initially appear to have much more to add to these themes other than emphasis in certain places. This director however was capable of using selective emphasis well in a similarly minimalist production of Parsifal for Antwerp, so there is some promise of looking at La Traviata afresh. There's a silent pantomime during the overture, with men dropping trousers during Violetta's wild party, Alfredo is there in casual dress in contrast to the other formally-dressed guests, Violetta and her maid Annina collect money out of the pockets of the stupefied drunk revellers, but there's not really much here to make anything new of the run though the Brindisi, the 'Sempre libera' etc. It's admirable, but uninspiring.

All this takes place on a platform stage on top of the theatre stage with little in the way of props, and by removing the accoutrements the work is able to work purely on an emotional plane and move swiftly onto Act II with barely a pause. Alfredo brushing away the debris from the party becomes then another way of showing the two of them wanting to make a 'clean sweep' of the past, even as their old friends look on from the sidelines, sceptical and delighting in the unfortunate turns that prevent the wayward couple thinking that they can exist and succeed outside of the orbit of social expectation and its approval.

There are other hints why society's conventions and expectations might drag them down, and they could strike you as a little jarring as this act and the rest of the opera progresses. Alfredo is unexpectedly physically rough with Violetta's maid Annina, but that could be seen as foreshadowing his later abusive treatment of Violetta at Flora's party and hint at an underlying distasteful attitude towards women in general. That is somewhat over-emphasised by the Matador song at Flora's party, which may well be a display of machismo, but using it as an excuse for the guests to physically maul Violetta feels uncomfortable and doesn't seem merited by the situation, particularly as everyone is later appalled at Alfredo's unacceptable behaviour towards her. Outwardly at least.

A similar kind of discrepancy between outward polite behaviours really hiding less pleasant or perhaps just old-fashioned attitudes towards women is not unexpectedly also brought out in the behaviour of Giorgio Germont. During 'Pura siccome un angelo' his daughter is present on the stage, which isn't new, but there's an interesting spin here in how Germont's pleading to Violetta to step aside for the sake of his daughter is played as his daughter taking her place, to be stripped and abused by society. This and a whole family gathering gets across much better the idea of the perpetuation of attitudes towards women and of the hypocrisy that underlies them. By Act III, the stage has fractured, Violetta largely alone on an island of the stage. Violetta's efforts to resist the tide of social attitudes and achieve happiness is doomed to failure and her sacrifice is played up as a kind of martyrdom, which to a large extent it is intended to be.

Such ideas are good at relating the sentiments and the gender politics of the work to the present, but musically there's less room for invention and interpretation under the musical direction of Julia Jones. The effectiveness of Verdi's composition is plainly evident however in how this gains force as the opera progresses. The flow of the work in that regard is impressive here and the singing is effective. Aurelia Florian is challenged by the extravagant high notes and coloratura, but builds on the character of Violetta, as you have no option but follow her course, and she does carry a strong emotional expressiveness throughout. Matteo Lippi is likewise very expressive in the romantic Italianate style that you would expect for Alfredo. Some interesting ideas and meaningful emphasis is applied here in the Den Norske production and Verdi's masterpiece is undeniable, but I don't feel I need to hear La Traviata again for another while yet.

Links: Den Norske Opera, OperaVision

Puccini - Tosca (Oslo, 2017)

Giacomo Puccini - Tosca

Den Norske Opera, Oslo - 2017

Karl-Heinz Steffens, Calixto Bieito, Svetlana Aksenova, Daniel Johansson, Claudio Sgura, Jens-Erik Aasbø, Pietro Simone, Ludvig Lindström, Thorbjørn Gulbrandsøy, Aksel Johannes Skramstad Rykkvin

Opera Platform

One of the criticisms that can perhaps be legitimately be made against Tosca is that it is indeed little more than a cheap violent thriller, or a "shabby little shocker" as Joseph Kerman once characterised it, a term that it now wears as a badge of honour. Kerman's other criticisms against it for breaking the so-called rules of opera composition are rather more dubious subjective opinions based on a personal interpretation of what opera should be, but Tosca certainly is a dark, violent piece of verismo whose shock value threatens to submerge any human qualities that might be found in the opera, if indeed you think there are any. You could pretty much say the same about Calixto Bieito's production of Tosca for Den Norske Opera's production in Oslo.

Bieito's rather bleak outlook on the opera then might well be the only really valid way of approaching this work. To take it seriously as a historical piece or even as a strictly realist piece of drama, it's obviously absurd and quite overblown. Whether Tosca has any real commentary to make on historical events or whether it has any insightful point to make about ordinary people caught up in a political nightmare is doubtful. It's safer to think of Tosca as purely a political thriller and nothing more, and on that basis it is undoubtedly a thoroughly effective piece.

Similar criticisms could be made about Puccini's final unfinished opera Turandot, which is a work that seems perversely cruel and rather heavily scored out of all proportion to the opera's fairy-tale setting, and Calixto Bieito likewise focussed on the sinister authoritarian undercurrent that runs through that work in his production of it. Bieito's Tosca is more or less a companion piece to that Turandot, a study in the corruption and brutality of totalitarian rule that crushes individual freedom, going further to explore the repression of the arts within such a regime and the duty of the artist to speak out against it.

"Your silence will not protect you", states the placard wielded by political prisoner and fugitive Angelotti before the Oslo production of Tosca starts, and more so than in Bieito's Turandot where a similar warning was made about the silencing of dissent by artists who dared speak out against a cruel regime, Tosca does indeed deal with two artists - the opera singer Tosca and the artist Cavaradossi - who find themselves forced to take a stance against a cruel regime and address the real issues of its corrupt activities when those issues are brought to their door.

Director Calixto Bieito does his best to make that situation as shocking and as sinister as it is possible to make it on a stage and within this particular work. The audience are subjected to an onslaught of violence for the full three acts of the opera, with no interval to provide a breathing space. It's somewhat stylised and representational, but it still carries the requisite shock value. The Madonna painted by Cavaradossi is not a painting but a real woman, stripped naked, her robe held out as a 'fan' for Tosca to discover. Cavaradossi is brutally tortured on-stage, Bieito makes use of dwarfs in school uniforms for henchmen, and even introduces a son for Scarpia, another schoolboy who licks lasciviously on a lollypop. There's no innocence to be found anywhere here.

Least of all in Scarpia. And, as you might expect, Bieito makes him as vile a character as possible, pawing over Floria Tosca and another woman who we presume is his wife, and Claudio Sgura does his best to make him as repugnant as possible. That's to be expected, but Bieito also seems to want to explore how this corruption also extends to destroy the purity of the artist and how this might even be a necessary thing. This Floria Tosca goes rather further than most before killing Scarpia (bizarrely with his own spectacles rather than a knife) and is fired up by the experience. As Cavaradossi observes those "sweet hands pure and gentle" have "dealt out death".

For Bieito's emphasis to work - if it is even possible to truly depict the horror of a totalitarian state on a live theatre stage and in an opera like Tosca - it needs a Tosca who can respond to it on those terms, reacting to the violation of her integrity with horror and then come to terms with opposing it, even if that endeavour in Puccini's opera is ultimately futile. That, on top of the kind of the role's singing demands is a lot to ask of any soprano, and Svetlana Aksenova struggles somewhat. Aksenova doesn't have quite a big enough voice or personality to carry such a role, but sings well nonetheless. Her acting performance however lacks conviction to such an extent that when Scarpia says his is fired up by the new woman who has explosively adopted a new role he has never seen before, you do wonder what he's talking about.

Aksenova however does come more into the part in Act III when the trauma of the experience seems to tell on Tosca, and it's in this act that the effectiveness of Bieito's direction of the work becomes evident in its relationship with the music. You can't really put the true violence of Tosca on the stage; it's too brutal and it needs the medium of music to translate it. Karl-Heinz Steffens's conducting is a bit light in places when you need more forceful hand and a greater dynamic between the verismo violence and the more idealised human sentiments, such as those sung so beautifully by Daniel Johansson in Cavaradossi's 'E lucevan le stelle'. Half measures won't do and I don't think you can overstate in Tosca; the contrast needs to be there to show the force with which those gentle human sentiments will inevitably be crushed.

Puccini shows no mercy for any of his characters and neither does Bieito. The lighting is harsh permitting no soft colours, the stark bright spotlights picking out the characters in the darkness and throwing shadows. There is no place to run and no place to hide on Susanne Gschwender's sets. Nor is there a place to jump. You can hardly expect Bieito to be as crude as actually having Tosca leap from the Castel Sant' Angelo, but whether it's an acknowledgement that there's only so far you can push such 'realism' before it becomes sentimental or whether the director believes that both Tosca and Cavaradossi have to live at least long enough to acknowledge their actions, Bieto spares them the final famous denouement, but not their torment. Ultimately however, it's Puccini's extraordinary building and contrasting of the musical forces that determines their fate and Bieito follows it to its appropriately devastating conclusion.

Links: Den Norske Opera, Opera Platform

Puccini - La Bohème

Giacomo Puccini - La Bohème

Den Norske Opera, Oslo, 2012

Eivind Gullberg Jensen, Stefan Herheim, Diego Torre, Vasilij Ladjuk, Marita Sølberg, Jennifer Rowley, Giovanni Battista Parodi, Espen Langvik, Svein Erik Sagbråten, Teodor Benno Vaage

Electric Picture

The first notes you hear in this 2012 Den Norske Opera production of Puccini's La Bohème are the beeps of a heart monitor on a life support system that Mimi lies attached to in a hospital bed.  The beeps take that familiar flatline tone as Mimi breathes her last and doctors rush in to the opening chords of the score proper in a vain attempt to resuscitate her, while Rodolfo looks on aghast, completely lost in his own grief.  This evidently isn't a traditional way to start La Bohème, but it is very much a typical Stefan Herheim touch where the standard linear approach is just not an option.  As a director, Herheim is clearly interested in getting into the minds of characters whose actions and motivations we can take for granted from over-familiarity, and La Bohème is a very familiar opera.  Not here it isn't.

Having established that Mimi dies - which, let's face it, even if you weren't familiar with the opera, it's a fate that is signalled clearly enough by Puccini right from the moment she totters and stumbles into Rodolfo's garret, often with a hefty tubercular cough for good measure - Herheim is more interested in the impact her death has on Rodolfo after the opera ends, considering the times and the troubles they have shared together.  Here then, viewed in flashback, La Bohème becomes a study of grief and bereavement that Rodolfo struggles to work through and eventually come to an acceptance of his loss through his poetry and his friends.  If anyone can make such an idea work, working within the fabric of Puccini's scoring without necessarily contradicting sentiments that are implicitly there in the nature of the music itself, it's Herheim.  Whether you think there's any value in distorting the work to that extent is of course debatable, but there is certainly more intelligence in this thoughtful and considered approach than your average straight production that merely "performs" the work, Herheim taking into account the very real emotions and troubles of characters whose lives are played out in art and poverty.  It's certainly at least a refreshing alternative for anyone who is more than familiar with the long-running Copley and Miller productions of the work at the Royal Opera House and the Coliseum in London.

His grief played out in flashback then, the past and the present coexist simultaneously for Rodolfo, who has no means of pulling them together.  The hospital ward seen at the start then opens up to a more traditional view of the past in Rodolfo's Parisian garret where he and Mimi first met, the cleaner, surgeon and nurse taking up roles as the other characters (introducing Musetta into the process rather earlier too).  The sense of perspective however shifts in a subtle way to tinge the meeting with that sense of grief for the inevitability of what has happened/will happen.  When Rodolfo poses the question 'Qui sono?' to himself here then - looking thoroughly confused - it takes on an entirely different meaning, one that involves real soul-searching, as well as a certain existential dilemma.  Compressing and overlapping time in this way simultaneously concentrates all the joy and happiness of that fleeting moment of beauty, while forcing one to consider how brief and vulnerable are the flames of love on those candles that are so soon to burn out.  The same flames of love will burn Rodolfo as well as provide warmth through the winter.  Rather than contradict the emotions of a beautiful piece (Act 1 of La Bohème is for me something incredibly powerful), this production genuinely enhances what is already there.

There are lots of touches however that aren't going to be to everyone's liking.  Already in this First Act, Mimi collapses, her wig is removed to reveal a bald head that bears the signs of chemotherapy (this Mimi is dying from the rather more contemporary killer of cancer rather than the traditional old-fashioned disease of tuberculosis), and she is ushered back into that modern hospital bed that looms at the corner of Rodolfo's consciousness.  The shifting of the off-kilter sets from one 'reality' to the next - incredibly well designed to transform so smoothly - have an unsettling effect not only on Rodolfo but on the viewer also, leaving them unsure at times about what exactly is going on, and why the familiar figures in the work don't behave in character in the way that we expect.  Mimi "dies" again at the end of Act II, for example, and her medical chart is added to the Café Momus "bill" that has to be paid at the end.  I think the implication is clear enough.  Unwilling to "pay the bill" however the near-demented Rodolfo here is so impassioned that you get the impression he believes he could bring her ghost back to life by the end of the opera.  Wouldn't that be something?  But no, Herheim stays faithful to the intentions of the work.  "Per richiamarla in vita non basta amore" - "Love alone will not suffice to bring her back to life", he says in Act III.  It's all there in the libretto if you want to look for it.

The absurd modern twists on an otherwise faithful staging can be a little off-putting - or will be simply intolerable to some viewers - but they can also be extremely powerful.  If you consider that Puccini's writing here is extremely manipulative and has a tendency towards heavy pathos, sentimentality and schmaltz, Herheim's staging forces you to listen to the music in a different context, and the effect is phenomenal.  Puccini, like the listener, knows Mimi's fate from the outset, and doesn't pretend otherwise.  The tragedy isn't so much that Rodolfo doesn't know it, or that he is unwilling to face up to her flirtatious and mercenary nature, or even the realisation that she's seriously ill and going to die, but rather, that he is on some level aware of it, but still loves her despite it all.  All those implications are there in Puccini's score and brought out in the development of the opera if you want to explore them, and Herheim does.  Using Rodolfo's inability to come to terms with his grief as a means of showing his struggle to deal with the inevitability of what must occur not only makes this almost indescribably sad, it's also an effective way of dealing with some of the problematic issues surrounding Puccini's generously expressive scoring.

Aside from the technicalities and impressions created by Herheim's direction and Heike Scheele's set designs, the performance of the work itself is overall very good.  The added dramatic twists moreover rather than getting in the way of the performances only seemed to intensify their impassioned delivery.  More so Rodolfo than Mimi, it has to be said, Diego Torre singing the role superbly, with consideration for the different nuances of meaning applied to his character.  By focussing the attention on Rodolfo's state of mind and resigning Mimi to little more than a ghost however, the consequence is that it weakens Marita Sølberg's contribution to the work, but she sings it well in the context.  The subjective view of Rodolfo also has a consequence of reducing the relevance of the other characters to relatively minor roles, but even if it loses some of the contrasting elements of the nature of relationships that is brought out by the Marcello and Musetta pairing (adequately sung by Vasilij Ladjuk and Jennifer Rowley), the tightening of the focus isn't necessarily a bad thing in this work either.  Svein Erik Sagbråten's recurring Death-like presence as the landlord Benoît, Parpignol, Alcindoro and a Toll gate keeper could also be seen as bringing more of a consistency to the colourful but marginal episodes of the work.

On Blu-ray, the production looks and sounds as good as you would expect from a recent HD recording.  The singing sounds a little echoing in both the PCM Stereo and DTS HD-Master Audio 5.1 mixes, but I found that the stereo track sounded much clearer through headphones.  The recording and mixing of the orchestra however is gorgeous, with lovely tone and detail in the orchestration.  It's a good account of the work - Eivind Gullberg Jensen directing the opera for the first time - attuned to the performances and only slightly adjusted in one or two places for the tempo and tone to match the production.  There are a few very short interviews on the disc (around a minute each) with the director, conductor and cast, done backstage in the intervals presumably during a television broadcast of the live performance.  The BD is all-region, with subtitles in English, French, German, Spanish, Italian and Korean.