Magnard - Guercœur (Strasbourg, 2024)

Albéric Magnard - Guercœur

L'Opéra national du Rhin, 2024

Ingo Metzmacher, Christof Loy, Stéphane Degout, Catherine Hunold, Antoinette Dennefeld, Julien Henric, Eugénie Joneau, Gabrielle Philiponet, Adriana Bignagni Lesca, Marie Lenormand, Alysia Hanshaw, Glen Cunningham, Natalia Bohn, Yannick Bosc, Lucas Bléger, Laurence De Cet, Éric Kaija Guerrier, Dominique Kling, Aleksandra Kubuschok, Caroline Roques, Nicolas Umbdenstock

ARTE Concert - 2, 4 May 2024

For my 999th post on OperaJournal, Albéric Magnard's Guercœur presents a fine opportunity to reflect on the nature of opera and its ability to convey the experience of life and death in a way no other artform can match. The existence of Guercœur itself is almost miraculous, the opera a forgotten and almost lost doorway into the past, one that when revived and staged for the first time since its posthumous premiere in 1931 has been allowed to breathe again. Many such works are forgotten and lost, but the fact that some works survive to make this journey across centuries and speak to us from the past never ceases to be a magical and irresistible experience for me. What is special about Guercœur is that its story and indeed the story of its own existence all combine to illustrate and emphasise that it has something important to tell us that needs to be heard in the present day.

The fact that Guercœur exists at all is, if not miraculous, fortunate to say the least. Composed between 1897 and 1901, the story of a knight who has died and gone to paradise but begs to be allowed to return to the world only to be disappointed by what he finds there, the opera was never fully performed in the composer's lifetime. Magnard was killed in 1914, attempting to protect his home from German soldiers, his property destroyed along with most of his manuscripts, including the opera Guercœur. It was reconstructed from memory and a piano reduction by the composer's friend Joseph Guy Ropartz and presented for the first time in 1931. There are many such stories of composers lives and careers ruined destroyed by war and untimely deaths, but it is the fact that Guercoeur actually concerns itself with similar sentiments, about a warrior who has been ripped away from the world too soon and wants to return there to complete his life's work, that makes this even more fascinating.

It's down to the Opéra national du Rhin in Strasbourg now to revive this work from the dead, putting real flesh and bones, real human sentiments, feelings and expression into something that otherwise exists as nothing more than markings on paper. There is even a sense of that longing to be brought back to life in the opening scene of the opera where, in a place beyond time and space, souls live in ideal blissful contentment, no wants, no desires. Except for one spirit, Guercœur who begs to be given the chance to live again. The Shades of a Virgin, a Woman and a Poet are unable to persuade him otherwise, nor Souffrance (Suffering), so Vérité (Truth) accedes to his request  allowing him to "become again the plaything of human weaknesses, of desire, hatred, shame, doubt and fear".

And those human qualities are what the idealistic Guercœur goes back to face. In the two hours since he has died and been in a place beyond space and time however, two years have passed on Earth and the world is already a very changed place from the one he left. Guercœur's love Giselle is now engaged to his faithful disciple Heurtal and the people that the knight freed from tyranny are already calling for an authoritarian dictator to restore order and make their country great again. Hard to imagine something like that happening today, I know. To Guercœur's horror, his friend and disciple. Heurtal is ready to assume that role of dictator, just as he has assumed Guercoeur’s place as the beloved of Giselle.

On the surface, Guercœur is not the most complex of this kind of Orphic myth or morality tale where someone is given a chance to see life and death from both sides. It's a Wonderful Life and A Christmas Carol reveal otherwise unrealisable truths just as effectively as the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, a story that has been a cornerstone of the opera world in many forms and varieties over the centuries. The moral can be seen as a simple warning about life being for the living and leaving the dead to their place, but it's the emotional beauty and the human tragedy of the story that is attractive and superbly related in Magnard's opera and self-written libretto. It covers the idealism of the spiritual nature of man and questions of our legacy after death, but it also considers the other side of the equation, the day-to-day reality for most people, how they cope on an individual level as well as part of a society in response to the death of an important and influential figure or in the aftermath of a war where death takes an even greater toll. There is the fear that true peace can only be found in oblivion.

In the way that it contrasts our expressed desire for beauty, freedom, peace and a utopian society with the reality of human weakness for earthly material needs, greed, pride, power and ambition, it could easily be an opera written for today. What is fascinating and makes this even more strangely compelling, is the history of the work and the composer itself, its brush with the finality of death and destruction, its 'calling' to be brought back to life. As mentioned earlier, what is special about opera is that this 'dead' work of notes on a page has been reincarnated here, in an expressive manner that can only be achieved through opera performance when it is produced for the stage. Real people pour their heart and soul into these recreated figures and its the efforts of Ingo Metzmacher, Christof Loy and Stéphane Degout here who raise this work from the dead to bring an important message to the world today.

Conducted by Ingo Metzmacher, the music is drenched in turn of the century post-Wagnerian Late Romanticism, but Magnard's fantastical view of a lost paradise is more than just the extravagant fin de siècle fantasies of Korngold and Schreker (although arguably they also in their own way reflect and confront the reality of the world around them and the philosophical ideas of their time). Guercœur has the same quest for answers to questions on Love and Death and the role of the Artist as some of Wagner’s late works, but it doesn't have the same sense of mythological self-aggrandisement (if I may somewhat unfairly and not entirely accurately characterise Wagner's more nuanced and ambiguous position for the sake of comparison). Although there are recognisable elements and references there, Guercœur belongs more to the French Romanticism of César Franck, but like many composers that followed him in this period, the shadow of Wagner is inescapable. 

Magnard’s own voice however can be heard in this and its primarily in the human rather than the mythological element of the story, the willingness to confront his idealism and humanitarian viewpoint with the truthful reality of the nature of people and society. The opera draws resonance and complexity from how it recognises these issues, and like the period of time that has elapsed in the real world since Guercœur died, the work too has been in a state of suspended animation and needs some form of adjustment, translation or interpretation to reconnect with the new world it finds itself in. In essence, more than a faithful musical or singing performance, that is the principal element that needs to be brought forward into our modern world, and it is the task of the director to 'translate' that into action on the stage for a contemporary audience.

Christof Loy approaches the work with his characteristic attention to detail. Detail in regards to the human experience, that is, reducing the sets and other potential distractions to the bare minimum, never letting the focus drift away from what is essential to make the work feel alive, vital and meaningful. It's not a spectacle, despite the nature of this work seeming to call out for bold contrasts between the otherworldly allegorical and the human reality. Loy treats them equally, a simple plain background - one dark, one light, but seeming to overlap as the set containing really only chairs revolves to slip between one reality and the other. It looks like there has been very little hands-on input, but in truth the power of the work is better expressed by human figures than stage props and Loy is I believe one of the best directors of actors. There are no operatic mannerisms here, you believe in the characters and feel the weight of their predicament.

That goes not just for the extraordinary experience and conflict within Guercœur, a role that is taken with pure heartfelt expression and sincerity by Stéphane Degout, a singer I have admired and rated very highly for a long time, in a perfectly judged performance, but all the roles are perfectly weighted, balanced and aligned with the content, tone and intent of the opera; the 'human' characters as well as the allegorical ones. The conflict of love for one lost and the need to find a reason to live is no less great a dilemma for Giselle, sung with sensitivity and clarity of purpose by Antoinette Dennefeld, and there is even sympathy for Julien Henric's Heurtal, who struggles with the demands placed on him in the role he has inherited. There are choice roles for Catherine Hunold (Vérité), Eugénie Joneau (Bonté), Gabrielle Philiponet (Beauté) and Adriana Bignagni Lesca (Souffrance), all of them with key roles to play in Guercœur coming to an acceptance of his fate.

The opera is also gifted with heavenly choruses that are not only ravishing but necessary to contribute to and support the underlying sentiments and transformation that Guercœur has to undergo, contrasted with the earthly uproar, conflict and violence that he is forced to endure on his return. Loy recognises that the power and true meaning of the work is in its third act credo of Hope for a better future and that it is here that Truth, Beauty and Goodness, with some necessary 'Souffrance', are most needed. There is also an acknowledgement that this is no magical fantasy, that this message needs to go out to all those in witnessing the performance at l'Opéra national du Rhin, and as the cast approach the front of the stage in the lead up to the beautiful conclusion, the camera filming the event takes in that other crucial element for any opera to continue to live and breathe; its audience.

External links: L'Opéra national du Rhin, ARTE Concert

Janáček - Věc Makropulos (Geneva, 2020)

Leoš Janáček - Věc Makropulos

Grand Théâtre de Genève, 2020

Tomáš Netopil, Kornél Mundruczó, Rachel Harnisch, Aleš Briscein, Sam Furness, Anna Schaumlöffel, Michael Kraus, Julien Henric, Karoly Szemeredy, Ludovit Ludha, Rodrigo Garcia, Iulia Surdu

GTG Digital - 20 October 2020

The subject of Janáček's Věc Makropulos is definitely not a traditional one; it's a science fiction story derived from a play by Karel Čapek about a woman who has been blessed/cursed with the secret of eternal life. Science fiction and the fantastical are probably more common than you think in opera and long before the 20th century, not just in such overtly classic SF themes as Haydn's Il Mondo Della Luna, but you could even include the magical fantasy elements of such works as The Magic Flute, and Handel's Orlando and Alcina. As with literature however it's the human element that is essential, the SF or fantasy genre presenting a new prism through which to explore the limits of what makes us human. That, aligned with Janáček's modernist approach to opera offers many possibilities for The Makropulos Affair.

The most obvious theme and clearly one of the principal questions that the story explores is the human relationship to time. In a way this aligns the opera with similar themes in The Cunning Little Vixen; the need to accept the span of a lifetime as being wondrous in itself, but there comes a time when life needs to be renewed, the old making way for the new. It's not unreasonable then, particularly considering Emilia Marty's profession as an opera singer who has lived down through the ages, her origins coinciding with the birth of opera, to see that idea applied to opera itself and the need for the artform to reinvent itself in order for it to have continued relevance and meaning.

In that respect Janáček's Věc Makropulos, created in 1926, is very much a twentieth century opera, the composer also striking out for new musical ground. Here he expands on the psychological music drama of Káťa Kabanová and would take it even further in his final work From the House of the Dead, leaving behind the folk influence and conventions of his earlier works - as fresh and original as his approach to them was - and take opera in a new direction, pushing the idea of singing to follow vocal patterns, rather then vocals following musical rhythms. And yet time and timing is also a factor in Věc Makropulos, compressing a complex story with diverse characters and the relationships between them into a relatively short opera, the music measuring out its own idea of time.

If the Hungarian film director Kornél Mundruczó considers the idea of the work being representative of opera through the years, it's in pretty bad shape by the time Emilia Marty makes her appearance in this Grand Théâtre de Genève production recorded between Covid lockdowns in October 2020, with pre-recorded orchestra and chorus for social distancing reasons. She may impress young admirer Krista with her singing voice, dazzle Albert Gregor with her beauty and drive Janek Prus to distraction and suicide, but this Emilia Marty is noticeably rough around the edges, close to being on her last legs. As she removes layers of clothing, sores, stitches, weeping wounds and bandages are visible, all trying to hold her together, By the time we get to the second Act, she's connected up to an intravenous drip.

That idea of stagnating life (or opera) has been explored in other productions (Robert Carsen's Venice production made more of the theatricality aspect), but Mundruczó chooses to approach the idea of Emilia Marty or Elina Makropulos in a more open and modern context. Choosing androgyny rather than the usual beautiful femme fatale or opera diva, EM here can be seen in Janáček's opera and Čapek's story as the prototype of the enigmatic modern day rock star, like Bowie or Tida Swinton's Marianne Lane in Luca Guadagino's film A Bigger Splash. Her own personality is submerged behind identities and reinventions of herself to such an extent that she loses sense of her true identity and becomes a hollow shell of a person.

Whatever way you want to look at Emilia Marty or Elina Makropulos - whether diva or rock star or movie idol - she is an ideal that can never live up to the reality, as Janek's father Prus finds out when he sleeps with her. She is in fact the personification of everybody's dream and ideal, a cipher that everyone uses as an object onto which they project their own dreams, ideals and insecurities. You can also read into that the fate of the objectification of women, EM doing what she needs to do to get by through the ages, to survive at the hands of men and their laws. For Emilia, that's borne out here also in the struggle she has to get around the ideas of inheritance that favour first-born sons, but it soon becomes clear that she has suffered in other ways through the ages.

While Mundruczó doesn't over-emphasise these themes, he allows them to become more evident by removing the second act from its theatrical setting. Act II takes place in Marty's own apartment, one carefully designed to reflect her true personality, inspired by the modernist design of Hungarian-American architect Marcel Breuer. And what consequently comes out in this production is the strength it takes to face up to who you are. By accepting the reality instead of living the dream. Life only has meaning when it is finite. True immortality, or at least a version of it, is offered to Krista, as a singer, but she refuses take the easy option. It - personality, identity - has to be earned.

As likewise does gaining an understanding of what makes EM tick. Janáček's music goes some way to exploring the unusual psychology of Marty, who turns out to be a surprisingly modern phenomenon. Initially fragile and weak, holding no consistent musical theme or melody but just jagged pieces that do not hold comfortably together, her vocal lines strengthen towards the later part of the work, soaring to a conclusion of release or recognition. Mundruczó follows those rhythms, divesting Marty of her clothing and layers of identity until she re-enters time - the furniture and objects of the room floating in space at the moment of revelation - as she becomes truly human.

The singing performances are good, although there's a little uncertainty at first that Rachel Harnisch could carry off the role of Emilia Marty with the necessary charisma, as she is not made up to look like an ageless, timeless beauty. It's a deceptive impression - one that Janáček indeed writes as such - as she powers through to the conclusion in a state of undress. There are no concerns about Aleš Briscein, soaring and lyrical as Albert. All the performances are impressive, which is quite an achievement because Makropulos is a hugely demanding opera on performers, on musicians and on the audience. Without any intervals, the opera is still challenging and it demands total concentration to follow the implications of the court drama and psycho-drama. The rewards however are great, and with Tomáš Netopil conducting, this production holds you rapt and does lead you to consider the circumstances of the characters, and feel the weight of the challenges time and life present to them.

Links: Grand Théâtre de Genève