Gluck - Iphigénie en Aulide/Iphigénie en Tauride (Aix-en-Provence, 2024)

Christoph Willibald Gluck - Iphigénie en Aulide and Iphigénie en Tauride

Festival d'Aix-en-Provence, 2024

Emmanuelle Haïm, Dmitri Tcherniakov, Corinne Winters, Russell Braun, Véronique Gens, Alasdair Kent, Florian Sempey, Stanislas de Barbeyrac, Alexandre Duhamel, Nicolas Cavallier, Soula Parassidis, Lukáš Zeman, Tomasz Kumięga, Timothé Rieu, Daphné Guivarch

ARTE Concert - 11th July 2024

The important and influential reforms that Christoph Willibald Gluck brought to opera seria are still impressive and remain an evident feature in his versions of two connected Greek dramas for the French stage, Iphigénie en Aulide (1774) and Iphigénie en Tauride (1779). If you are used to viewing opera seria - and there have been many opportunities to revisit some of these great works in an authentic form over recent years - Gluck’s concise, minimal compositional form and the dramatic drive of through-composition feels thoroughly modern compared to the old traditional recitative and da capo aria form. And since the Greek dramas still have meaning that tells us about something about human experience in the modern world, so too do they benefit from this being highlighted in a modern production. All the more so when the two works are staged side by side as a single unit by Dmitri Tcherniakov for the 2024 Aix-en-Provence Festival 

Even the manner in which each of the works are presented on the stage allows for a continuous flow of drama that allows those themes to be better connected and explored. The overture for Iphigénie en Aulide shows Agamemnon's nightmare of carrying through his intention to sacrifice his daughter Iphigenia, demanded by the gods to ensure the safe passage of the Greek forces to Troy. Despite his pleas to Calchas, the Gods and even trying to ensure that Iphigenia doesn't arrive in Aulis, his efforts are in vain. The nightmare has a force of its own that will see it carried though by the time we get to the conclusion. The danger of what lies ahead remains as a driving force all the way through the opera, even if it doesn't come to pass that way in the opera, except for this one where it kind of does...

You can feel it even when, led to believe that Achilles who Iphigenia is to be married to has been unfaithful, Clytemnestra immediately pleads with her daughter to leave, but Iphigenia wants to find out the truth. There is an urgency here in the drama, in the music, which you can imagine intensifies as the drama progresses. There is no time for self-indulgent arias that stop the flow so that the tenor, soprano or mezzo-soprano can reflect on their misfortune. The dilemma can be felt, discussions and exchanges must be made (and perhaps there are still some aspects remaining for the seria form) but every scene feels like it is moving the drama forward, that events are happening quickly and there is an immediate need to act. The production bears that out while all the time maintaining an unreal air of regal sang froid, propriety and elegance, again all of which can be heard in the music. And in the voice, with Corrine Winters impressive in the title role.

Gluck's sense of pure musical drama is perhaps still not fully formed in Iphigénie en Aulide, and it is considered the lesser of the two works performed here. It's certainly less frequently staged than Iphigénie en Tauride. I personally don't buy into the idea of lesser Gluck. Lesser is just never a word I would use to describe any Gluck opera. Even his pre-reform works (all too rarely revived, alas) are superb and have their own qualities. It's not even a question of refinement, just that the later works benefit from a greater unity of form and content. It's hard however to see any weakness in Iphigénie en Aulide, particularly when it is well directed, as it is here. The music is beautiful and the sentiments are sincerely expressed without over-emphasis. It's a serious matter, a horrific one, a father about to sacrifice his daughter. You would actually expect there to be more outrage at the situation, but there is that element of knowing their duty, following the will of the gods and Iphigenia's love for her father, so instead it is profound grief that is evident here and expressed beautifully in the music and the singing.

To possibly overstate the relationship between the music and the direction, you could see the same intentions reflected in Elena Zaytseva set showing the house of Agamemnon as a house with transparent walls. It's elegant and stately, but there is nothing that can be kept hidden behind its doors. Tcherniakov takes that consistent worldview approach in most of his productions now, and it's evident here in the gloomy sepia tones, in the corruption of the royal family. The lengths to which they are prepared to go to cannot be overstated, so Tcherniakov puts it up there. The dream played out in the overture is a terrible presentiment and with the uniformity of the stage setting you can feel that tension reach a peak as Iphigenia dresses for wedding and brings herself closer to the terrible fate that awaits her after the celebrations. You see the nightmare unfold and repeat before your eyes.

We are dealing with mythology here so there is or should be no need to align this with any modern reality, although Krzysztof Warlikowski certainly managed to use contemporary themes successfully in his production of Gluck's Alceste. To say it's just mythology however doesn't take away from the human experience that Gluck presents in his version of Racine's tragedy, and it is enough for Tcherniakov to get that across. As well as highlighting the horror faced by Iphigenia, he doesn't neglect the fact that it is also a difficult duty for Agamemnon as a father, taking into account the contradiction between the public and private aspects of a king who needs to appear firm, commanding, brooking no doubt, no argument. Gluck's score bears all the complexity of these competing demands, Russell Braun's Agamemnon bringing this out in a fury out of remorse.

Considering the dramatic drive, there is nonetheless a variety of sentiments expressed. The wonderful dance music for the celebrations for Achilles and Iphigenia's marriage is retained and fits in well, and Achilles has a considerable part to play in the variations of tone and character as a figure caught in the middle of this absurd affair. Achilles is sung brilliantly by Alasdair Kent in the high tenor range, abruptly interrupting the course of events (and even the course of the music), and Véronique Gens is superb as Clytemnestra, inhabiting the role, responding with the dramatic expression of an expectantly grieving mother. That said, the sentiments expressed are limited by the singular drive of the situation towards a horrific notion of sacrifice, which might account for why the work is not more often revived.

As such it's a good idea then to expand the production to pair Iphigénie en Aulide with Iphigénie en Tauride, making this Aix-en-Provence production more of a fuller experience. It's been done before, relatively successfully at the Dutch National Opera. Tcherniakov however has a habit of overturning expectations and killing off figures who don't usually expire at the end of the opera and keeps alive those who traditionally die at the conclusion. At least here you would expect him to keep Iphigenia alive for "Part 2", but, well, that wouldn't be like Tcherniakov to make things easy now, would it? The impact of the family joining in a celebratory dance of death at the conclusion is certainly effective in its own way.

Iphigénie en Tauride is indeed then like a mirror image of Iphigénie en Aulide, Part 2: The Nightmare Continues. And indeed it opens with another nightmare, that of Clytemnestra murdering her husband Agamemnon. It takes place in the same outline of the house, only this time only a framework remains, sometimes neon lit (like Tcherniakov's Lulu), which when dulled down takes the appearance of a cage, a prison. Again, it's the overall tone that is important to the director, to establish the character of the work and make it effective rather than trying to find a way to make the archaic mythology work as a drama. Tcherniakov appropriately then plays Iphigénie en Tauride like it was Strauss’s Elektra, the tone one of the weight of crimes bringing increasing derangement and madness. Which is to be expected also on an island that executes any visitors, including a couple of shipwrecked Greek sailors who arrive there. Orestes too is damaged, deranged, tormented and full of aggression from his experiences.

Another characteristic found in Dmitri Tcherniakov productions is his intention to humanise works, bringing elevated mythological themes down to a level where everyone can relate to what is going on. There are no mystical priestesses in robes here, no high priest, as for example with the Met production. The inhabitants of Tauris look like refugees, like Tcherniakov's Knights of the Holy Grail in his Parsifal, wrapped up in heavy clothing to protect against the elements. The framework of a set becomes more a place of the mind here, an echo or a shadow of Aulis, where Orestes murders his mother in a ghostly recurrent nightmare. With its use of lighting illuminating scenes from the waking nightmare, it strikes a contrast that explores the work from the human experience as well as the deeper level of the psychological impact. As such, it reflects of course Gluck's musical exploration of the tone, mood and intent of the work.

Considering how he left things at the conclusion of Aulide, you can be sure that the director will - and consequently needs to - reinvent what takes place at the conclusion of this work, but it also has an impact elsewhere. Tcherniakov very much underplays the traditional key scene of the revelation of brother and sister. There is a gap of shocked silence, but Iphigenia seems to already know it's Orestes and is just waiting on her brother to finally acknowledge the reality of the tragic family misfortune. And again, it would be wrong to think that it's just Orestes who has suffered. As in Aulide, the goddess Diana (Soula Parassidis) appears at the conclusion as a double of Iphigenia. Quite what you are to make of that and how much psychoanalytical examination you want to subject the work to is up to you, but it's consistent in its reference back to what takes place in Aulis. What is perhaps more worthy of consideration is how this applies to the state of the world today, to current wars where victims become executioners. The horror of that doesn't need to be spelled out.

Whether you like Tcherniakov's work on the operas or not, the intentions are sincere and thought-provoking. What is not questionable however is the quality of these works themselves and the impact they have in this production by the joining the two operas together. The singing in Iphigénie en Tauride relies as much in the impact of the choral work, which was excellent throughout, as it does on Orestes and Iphigenia. Both Florian Sempey and Corrine Winters were fine, but it was certainly more of a challenge for Winters, singing two operas back-to-back and the latter in a lower tessitura than she would normally sing. It felt a little less dynamic as a result, but the direction also called for a muted performance here. The real winner here was Gluck, the music side-by-side, back-to-back and end-to-end doubly glorious under the baton of conductor Emmanuelle Haïm.

External links: ARTE Concert, Festival d'Aix-en-Provence, Aix Festival Digital Stage

Donizetti - L'Ange de Nisida (Bergamo, 2019)

Gaetano Donizetti - L'Ange de Nisida

Fondazione Teatro Donizetti, Bergamo, 2019

Jean-Luc Tingaud, Francesco Micheli, Florian Sempey, Roberto Lorenzo, Konu Kim, Lidia Fridman, Federico Benetti

Dynamic - Blu ray

Although it was always a mark of prestige, 19th century Italian opera composers often ran into considerable difficulties when writing for the Paris stage. For all the work involved, major operas would often receive limited performances and end up in now more familiar Italian versions that were cut back for an Italian audience and to avoid censorship, the French originals often almost lost in the process. Verdi managed to rework his French compositions into Italian versions with variable success, but the French versions are still rarely performed, and in the case of Rossini's Il viaggio a Reims, the lost opera was only recovered in 1984. The rediscovery and new critical editions of these works is therefore always fascinating, but few involve as much effort in reconstruction and revival as Donizetti's lost opera L'ange de Nisida.

L'ange de Nisida is such a rarity that not only did Donizetti never see it performed, the work has actually never even been fully staged until this Fondazione Teatro Donizetti production in Bergamo in 2019. The original French opera was abandoned when the Renaissance Theatre in Paris went bankrupt in May 1840 and it appears that any original manuscripts of the opera were dismembered and overwritten to be reused in the composer's next French opera, La Favorite. As a consequence there remained no complete score to be unearthed from the archives. Even the French version of the new work La Favorite is itself a rarity, but anyone who has seen it in one of several recent productions (Toulouse 2014, Munich 2016) and recognised it for the gem it is, will be fascinated to see the work it derived from restored and reconstructed.

Not unexpectedly, La Favorite not only has musical similarities with L'ange de Nidisa but since the music was written for specific situations, the opera shares similar characterisation, plotting and themes. Not that it was ever a complicated plot in the first place. Essentially both works boil down to a ruler who is taking advantage of a young girl that he cannot marry. Here, Don Fernand d'Aragon's lover is La comtesse Sylvia Linarès, an innocent girl whose circumstances as the king's mistress are so unfortunate that she is regarded as an angel by the population of the island of Nisida. In order to appease the Pope, who is scandalised by the arrangement, Fernand marries Sylvia off to a soldier, Leone, unaware that the brave young man who has fled Naples is in love with her. Realising he is being used however causes something of a crisis of conscience for Leone and he rejects Sylvia, retreating to a monastery. With tragic consequences, evidently.

That's more or less it, and barring some reconfiguration of the characters and situations, it's very similar to La Favorite. The plot might appear thin, short on any real incident, the anguish and sentiments over-stretched by the musical and vocal extravagance, but - much like La Favorite - the settings certainly provide Donizetti with the opportunity to deliver colourful musical drama in the form of regal choruses, religious sentiments and solemn chastisements that cover personal moments of love, anguish and confusion, all leading to the kind of melodramatic tragic conclusion that Donizetti does better than most.

The challenge of staging any Donizetti opera is making its plot half way credible, but the material is there to work with. Despite the apparent lightness of the melodies and conventional numbers, there is often a darkness in the stories that is actually reflected in the musical composition. Compared to Linda di Chamounix or La Favorite, Donizetti perhaps doesn't succeed quite as well here in capturing the depth of feeling or the dark undercurrents of personal suffering, loss of pride and innocence in an abusive relationship by a supposedly respectable person of power. If it feels like there is a lot of French opera and Baroque opera hangover "filler" in L'ange de Nisida, Donizetti nonetheless delivers the key moments of sweeping sentiments with thunderous and thrilling crescendos.

The material is there if a director wants to probe the dark corners of the work, but you can't fault Francesco Micheli's adventurous production for Bergamo, nor could you complain of any failings in the musical or singing performances under the musical direction of Jean-Luc Tingaud. If the idea is to make the drama a little more three-dimensional the production succeeds to a large extent by the opening up of the Teatro Donizetti while it was in the process of being restored, the stalls area without seats becoming the stage and a bank of stalls seats moved up onto the stage. The opera is then performed in the round, with Tingaud conducting the orchestra facing away from the stage.

Whether this plays any part in opening up the work at all, it does nonetheless find a fresh way to consider the work and even enhance its character as a rarity. There is actually a valid underlying idea behind this, seeing the composition and reconstruction of the opera in the context of renovating the Teatro Donizetti, the floor littered in the first half with scattered pages, with even the "death" of the opera being suggested at the conclusion. There are numerous little touches like this - even some of the costumes are made of paper - all of which add to the unique character of the production without over-stretching the work beyond its limitations. One practical intervention is where the Naples mob that Leone fought in Act I come back at the conclusion to find a way to explain Sylvia's sudden death, and by granting the king his vengeance it does add to the darkness at the heart of the work.

Partly through adapting his work for a French audience but also undoubtedly to a growing maturity in the writing, there's less of Donizetti's ostentatious cabalettas and virtuoso coloratura in L'ange de Nisida, the vocal arrangements more attuned - notwithstanding the melodramatic and high romantic sentiments - to a more relatable human level of dramatic expression. The vocal challenges are still there however and if you just want to enjoy the musical qualities of the opera purely for the singing, this production presents it at very high standard indeed. Lidia Fridman is superb, a darkly blazing Sylvia, Konu Kim lyrical as Leone, and the roles of King Fernand (Florian Sempey), Gaspar (Roberto Lorenzo) and the monk (Federico Benetti) are all full of character. The performance and impact of the chorus - often performing from the gods - is spectacular.

The image quality on the Dynamic Blu-ray is very good considering that the complications of camera positioning, lighting and downward projections lead to some slight variations of tone and colouration. In the main however the performance is captured well with plenty of closeups and angles that you wouldn't normally get on a DVD recording. The audio recording and mixing is also a little variable, but again mostly down to the unconventional staging and the rustling of the beautifully designed paper costumes. The mixing isn't quite right in Act I, Don Gaspar's mic sounds artificially boosted, overwhelming the music, but this soon balances out and both stereo and surround mixes carry a warm musical accompaniment. Occasionally, there are minor continuity differences noted in visual and audio syncing from editing several performances together.

The extra features on the BD/DVD release are very informative. There's a very engaging interview with the director on the disc that explains his ideas for the production well and gives some background to how it was developed. The accompanying booklet contains a fascinating account and analysis of the historical place of L'ange de Nisida as well as a thorough examination of how it was reconstructed though extensive research by Candida Mantova, detailing the thought processes behind the editorial decisions made in order to present an authentic and complete performing score with as little compromise as possible. The BD50 disc is all region compatible and has subtitles in French, English, Italian, German, Japanese and Korean.

Links: Fondazione Teatro Donizetti

Puccini - La Bohème (London, 2018)

Giacomo Puccini - La Bohème

Royal Opera House, London - 2018

Antonio Pappano, Richard Jones, Michael Fabiano, Nicole Car, Mariusz Kwiecien, Simona Mihai, Florian Sempey, Luca Tittoto, Jeremy White, Wyn Pencarreg, Andrew Macnair, John Morrisey, Thomas Barnard

Opus Arte - Blu-ray

There's no other work of opera that hits you emotionally the way La Bohème does, and that's something you don't want to lose with an inappropriate stage production that sucks the life out of it. The challenge of finding a replacement for John Copley's long-running 40 year old production at the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden then is not without considerable risk, as its production design and tone has become inextricably entwined with the opera and even seared into the consciousness of several generations of opera goers.

Of course it doesn't have to be that way. The genius of Puccini's musical composition and arrangements goes far beyond the mere tugging of heart strings. It's a model of precision that captures a variety of tones and moods, celebrating the spirit of youthful endurance through deprivation and set-backs, of young love and maturity of sentiments, of facing up to changes including the ever-present reality and inevitability of death. It is a serious work, a great work that speaks for itself.

A stage production doesn't really need to do too much to illustrate that any further, and it often seems like Copley's production captured the essence of the work and retained a freshness while Zeffirelli's similarly long-standing production, for example, now looks tired and overwrought. No matter how enduring or suitable the production, La Bohème can always do with a bit of a refresh, even if it's just to take the predictability out of it. And, essentially, that's really all Richard Jones's new production does. Whether it improves on the old production is debatable - although I can't imagine many would think so - but it does highlight new parts of the work that might be lost through over-familiarity.

The locations remain much the same and are instantly recognisable, if a little more minimally stylised in design, which is not surprising since it's a Richard Jones production. The garret in Act I is sparsely furnished, its furnishings presumably gone the same way in earlier occasions as Rodolfo's play - into the furnace to heat the place. Narrow wooden beams bear down on the limited roof-space, a small door leading into it and a skylight above. Its bohemian artist inhabitants do indeed look like scruffy artists in second-hand clothes that may once have been smart, with long hair and unkempt beards. No hipsters here, thank goodness.

Act II is also refreshing for its move away from the traditional French street cafe depiction of Cafe Momus for a rather more obviously upmarket posh restaurant. Once outside of the garret however it also becomes clear that Richard Jones's production has also done away with 1840's Paris Commune setting for a location that is a little more generalised, but certainly evokes the nearby Covent Garden market in some kind of idealised Quality Street box way. It's a little bland, but functional and it doesn't get in the way of the musical performance, which since it's Puccini under Antonio Pappano, means it's in very capable hands, and indeed, Acts I and II are everything they should be; urgently, sweepingly romantic, playful and lyrical.

That also makes up for the lack of imagination shown in the designs for Acts III and IV. Really, Act III is just a stripped-back version of the familiar cold night outside a warm lively tavern scene, with a stage bare but for falling snow and a cardboard-box looking tavern, albeit with Marcello's wall paintings displayed on the outside (which at least shows he can paint, something that the invisible canvas in Act I and his crude stick figure drawings in Act IV don't really get across). The tavern slowly sliding into the background by itself however as the Act progresses just looks weird.

If it still works reasonably well in Act III and on its return to the even more bare garret room (it must have gotten quite cold again) in Act IV it's got a lot to do with Pappano's musical direction but also the performances of the singers. And to be fair Richard Jones's direction of the performances is also good and undoubtedly an important contributing factor to the production still working effectively as a whole. It's not the most adventurous La Bohème, but even La Fura dels Baus didn't feel like they could do much with it and let's not even get into Claus Guth's bohemians in space misfire. Only Stefan Herheim has really been able to bring a completely new approach to in his Den Norske production, deconstructing the opera, exposing its workings and revealing it as the musically impressive and emotionally harrowing masterpiece that we already know it is.

Essentially however La Bohème reinvents itself every time you bring fresh new voices in to reinterpret the work and there's an impressive line-up here. Michael Fabiano's Rodolfo is a revelation. He's a great singer that brings something new and distinctive to a role every time I've seen him, even in the most familiar roles (Alfredo in La Traviata, Don José in Carmen). His Rodolfo is superb; relaxed and confident, charming in humour and persuasive in his romantic intentions towards Mimi; there's a sweetness also in his voice and impeccable delivery that is just irresistible. Nicole Car is perhaps a bit too energetic and full of life as Mimi after her cough and stumble on his doorstep, but just as the music and character develop, so too does the emotional charge between the two of them in the final two acts. The ending is of course devastating.

Links: Royal Opera House

Meyerbeer - Les Huguenots (Paris, 2018)

Giacomo Meyerbeer - Les Huguenots

L'Opéra de Paris, 2018

Michele Mariotti, Andreas Kriegenburg, Lisette Oropesa, Yosep Kang, Ermonela Jaho, Karine Deshayes, Nicolas Testé, Paul Gay, Florian Sempey, Julie Robard-Gendre, François Rougier, Cyrille Dubois, Michal Partyka, Patrick Bolleire

Culturebox - 4 October 2018

There's a strong case for keeping Meyerbeer in his own period and, so far, less of a case has been made for updating productions of his works to appeal to the tastes of a modern audience. Giacomo Meyerbeer's grand operas seem to be doomed to be consigned to history (along with so many other forgotten opera composers) as extravagant novelties to impress critics and elaborate entertainments for the rich. At a time when opera is going through a phase of reinvention as it attempts to be more expansive and inclusive, there doesn't seem to be a place for Meyerbeer any longer.

Which, along with the expense of putting on a Meyerbeer opera production, the sheer length of a five-act grand opera and the specialised singing required to sustain it, means that one of the most influential opera composers in its history hasn't been performed much in the 20th century. In the 21st century, there have been a few more adventurous attempts to rehabilitate Meyerbeer, to seek to restore and recognise his importance, or at least explore whether his works are worth reviving. The results have been mixed but tending towards 'problematic' and that's exactly where I think you could categorise Andreas Kriegenburg's new production of Les Huguenots for the Paris Opera.

Les Huguenots is an opera that can't be ignored, but it is in itself problematic. It's Meyerbeer's most famous work, it best displays many of his undoubted skills as a composer and it has a dramatic historical event as its subject - the St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre of 1572 in which thousands of French Protestants (Huguenots) gathered in Paris for the royal wedding of Marguerite de Valois to Henry of Navarre were slaughtered by Catholics opposed to the Reformation during a period of heightened tensions, but it has to be said that its grand opera mannerisms don't make the subject friendly to modern interpretation. On the other hand, we are going through an age when religious conflict and intolerance to differences is a hot subject again, and what is Les Huguenots if not that?

Andreas Kriegenburg doesn't appear to be particularly concerned with the historical context of Les Huguenots, but choosing to set the work in the future it's questionable whether he thinks the work has anything to say about today either. If not that, then what? Well, it's far from clear, as other than a random piece of text setting the scene in 2063 there is actually nothing 'futuristic' about the production, and - other than costumes and the period - it actually adheres fairly closely to the composer's original intentions for the work, which is (unfortunately) as a romantic melodrama above all else.

Harald B Thor's set designs are very much in the Paris Opera house style; a brightly lit white stage, tasteful bold pastel colouration of costumes and semi-abstract sets that fill the vertical and horizontal space of the Bastille stage. There's a box-like grid construction for the Château of Count Nevers in Act I, there are platforms and tall thin bare bark trees to give an impression of the gardens and river of Marguerite de Valois' Château de Chenonceaux in La Touraine, with pale blue lighting. It's all very tasteful, with tasteful mild nudity, clean and uncluttered and it looks wonderful, but despite the supposedly futuristic sets, it does little for Meyerbeer's rather old-fashioned operatic style.

What it does do at least is highlight the brilliance and complexity of Meyerbeer's arrangements as well perhaps as its unnecessary over-elaboration. The famous Pré aux clercs scene in Act III in particular is impressive, the stage choreography and colouration highlighting the different colouration of the musical arrangements; a sequence that the singing of the Huguenot troops, the celebrations of Catholic students at the tavern, a procession of Sunday worshippers and the dance of a gypsy contingent. Then Meyerbeer brings them all together and the de-cluttered stage arrangements allow you to appreciate the skill involved in this.

The production is just as smooth elsewhere, Act IV sliding one set across to make way for another full stage set, with no over-elaboration or unnecessary detail, just simple elegant minimalism. Unfortunately, it's also just rather bland and non-committal, having nothing to offer in its futuristic setting, giving no reason why Catholics would be murdering Protestant Huguenots in the year 2063. As far as Meyerbeer and Scribe's drama goes, it accurately represents the original intentions with its romantic melodrama at the centre between Raoul and Valentine, but does nothing more than place it in a rather more tastefully decorated and designed setting.

It's a reasonably entertaining production then, which is important, made all the more enjoyable for the strong musical performance and exceptional singing. Marguerite has most of the technical challenges and Lisette Oropesa meets them extraordinarily well. Yosep Kang's Raoul de Nangis however is also very capably handled, the diction clear and lyrical. Ermonela Jaho is pushed into an uncomfortable range as Valentine, but she delivers the high notes impressively and with great expression, and actually comes across as one of the more 'human' characters here when everyone else seems to be playing grand opera. Paris Opera regulars Nicolas Testé, Paul Gay and Karine Deshayes all perform exceptionally well here, and the chorus also delivers.

Musically ...well, it's Meyerbeer so it has its longeurs, but it sounded great under Michele Mariotti. All the big bang conclusions at the end of each act really hit home and were well stage managed for additional effect, but there was also a lightness of touch and delicacy for the variety of sentiments that one finds in Les Huguenots, 'operatic' though they might be (drinking songs, lyrical love duets and romantic confrontations, religious pleas and calls to war with dramatic interventions). I don't usually hold to the view that some operas are better without the visuals, but in this case l found the work stronger and more interesting when just listening to the performance. I don't think that's as much to do with Kriegenburg's direction as the fact that Meyerbeer and Scribe's often ludicrously over-the-top sentiments don't really hold up to being taken seriously. Which is why Meyerbeer remains problematic, but Kriegenburg's direction does nothing to address it.

Links: L'Opéra de Paris, Culturebox

Rameau - Dardanus (Bordeaux, 2015 - Webcast)

Jean-Philippe Rameau - Dardanus

L'Opéra de Bordeaux, 2015

Raphaël Pichon, Michel Fau, Karina Gauvin, Gaëlle Arquez, Reinoud van Mechelen, Florian Sempey, Nahuel di Pierro, Katherine Watson, Etienne Bazola, Virgile Ancely, Guillaume Gutiérrez

Culturebox - 22 April 2015

You could criticise Jean-Philippe Rameau's Dardanus - and indeed most of the composer's tragédie-lyriques - as being a little too stiff, formal and serious, the work straight-jacketed by precise rules and conventions that Rameau and his predecessor Lully before him helped establish. You could however admire Dardanus for the very same reasons, for its ability to fit such beautiful music, song and dance into a very rigid format, making it a wonderfully entertaining spectacle.

And there's the key to how you make Dardanus, composed in 1739 and scarcely heard of again until the present day, work today for a modern audience. It's by not playing it with stiff, rigid formality, but finding a natural warmth in the beauty of the composition, the structure and the melody. It's also about presenting the work with some respect for its intention to entertain, with plenty of colour and spectacle.

Bordeaux have a good recent history with Rameau. Their modernisation of Les Indes Galantes last year (for the 250th anniversary of the death of Rameau) was an absolute marvel, updating the work certainly way beyond its original settings but completely respecting the intentions and the spirit of the opéra-ballet with all its wonderful verve, energy and inventiveness. A classical drama in the tragédie-lyrique vein, Dardanus is a different prospect but, Michel Fau's direction for the Bordeaux stage, in a co-production with Versailles, never forgets the primary purpose and delivers a colourful drama that is matched by the warmth of Raphaël Pichon's conducting of his Pygmalion ensemble.

As it adheres very much to a classic narrative, the primary purpose of Dardanus is not, clearly, to present any kind of credible or coherent drama, but to present a drama in music. The plot involves a ruler, King Teucer, who has plans for his daughter Princess Iphise's marriage to King Anténor. Iphise doesn't want to marry Anténor, but is troubled that her affections seem to be swaying her towards tender feelings for Teucer's enemy Dardanus. Dardanus, Anténor and Iphise all venture into the magic kingdom of Isménor, where the true intentions of each are brought into the open and made known to each other, causing a lot of confusion and trouble for all.

Opening with the obligatory Prologue featuring Vénus and Amour ('Triomphe, tendre amour"), Dardanus then is five acts of fairly standard plotting with sentiments of forbidden love and conflict leading to a rather contrived conclusion. For some not entirely convincing reason, other than perhaps to provide the opera with a necessary bit of merveilleux stage spectacle at the necessary point, Neptune sends a sea monster to attack Teucer. Dardanus saves the King's champion Anténor from bring devoured by the sea monster, and thereby wins the right to marry Iphise. Rameau pads all this out with lots of dancing and a structure that seems to run on an aria-ballet-chorus-ballet-recitative-ballet-aria loop. Dardanus has the potential to be very dry indeed with all these interruptions to the dramatic flow.

Rameau's music however is much too good to let it be drowned in a dull academic presentation. There is a sense of establishing beauty and order on the world in the music itself - learning to love instead of hate - and Raphaël Pichon finds the beautiful warmth in Rameau's writing that underlines such sentiments, as much in the interplay of the instruments as in their individual qualities. There are moments of sheer wonder here, even in those little side events, such as in the little pastorale 'Paix favorable, paix adorable' which takes the form of a chorus, turning into a ballet and then into a duet which has all the joyous quality of a Handel oratorio.

Michel Fau's direction and Emmanuel Charles' set designs don't feel the need to update all this to a modern setting, but recognise that Dardanus can work on its own terms if it holds true to this original purpose and intent. That doesn't mean that they settle for trying to recreate baroque theatre effects, but find instead a new, modern and colourful way using projections as well as traditional costumes and stage effects to achieve the same impact. It never quite resorts to kitsch or parody - other than where the occasion really leaves no alternative - but finds its own dazzling vision for the work. A good example of this is in how they approach the battle of the sea monster, which is done in a hugely entertaining fashion without the need to create any cardboard sea monster special effects. All the ballets are included, sometimes inventively other times just bringing the dancers onto the stage where indicated and letting them do their piece.

There's no room for extravagant arias in French tragédie-lyrique, and reportedly there wasn't any particular need for clarity of diction, but the libretto is beautifully articulated here by some beautiful and appropriately pitched voices. Florian Sempey carried the honours as Anténor, his lyrical baritone carrying the kind of warmth that was complementary to the production. In his actions as well as his voice, there was a genuine sensitivity that made Anténor a little more sympathetic and not just a caricature villain,. He's clearly devastated that Iphise doesn't love him, valiantly entering into battle with the sea monster to prove his worth. Sempey's voice holds firm and lyrical throughout.

Gaëlle Arquez complements him well as Iphise, her voice bright, her emotional conflicts expressed purposefully, never faltering. The figure of Dardanus is relatively bland by comparison, and characterised as such by Reinoud van Mechelen's light but sweet tenor. Although limited to only a few scenes, Karina Gauvin is the kind of singer you want to impress when Vénus makes an appearance, and she fulfils that role well, but it's Katherine Watson taking up the bit-part roles of Amore, a Shepherdess, Bellone and a Dream, who gets to feature in some of Rameau's most beautiful little incidental arrangements, and she makes a fine impression here.

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