Rimsky-Korsakov - The Tale of Tsar Saltan (Brussels, 2019)

Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov - The Tale of Tsar Saltan

La Monnaie-De Munt, 2019

Alain Altinoglu, Dmitri Tcherniakov, Svetlana Aksenova, Bogdan Volkov, Olga Kulchynska, Ante Jerkunica, Stine Marie Fischer, Bernarda Bobro, Carole Wilson, Vasily Gorshkov, Alexander Vassiliev, Nicky Spence, Alexander Kravets

La Monnaie steaming - June 2019

The Russian director Dmitri Tcherniakov has lately been viewing opera in the context of therapy, in productions like Carmen, Pelléas et Mélisande and Les Troyens, the intention always clearly to delve more deeply into the works and explore their underlying themes. The results have been to varying levels of success and suitability for their subjects, but with Rimsky-Korsakov's The Tale of Tsar Saltan, the director is on much more familiar ground, in Russian opera where some of his best work has been achieved.

The idea of exploring the underlying psychology of works actually has a two-fold purpose, perhaps even three in the case of The Tale of Tsar Saltan. One is to bring less familiar Russian classics to the attention of a modern western audience who may be less enamoured of fairy-tales and make them accessible. The second is indeed to delve into the subtext of the fairy tale, and - when considered as being a technique used widely by this director - the third is to show perhaps that opera is indeed a kind of therapy in its own right, reaching out and communicating on a non-verbal level through music and dramatic subtext.

In the La Monnaie production of The Tale of Tsar Saltan, Dmitri Tcherniakov adds a modern-day real-world framing device around the fairy tale that doesn't so much put the magical fantasy at a distance as bring us closer to it. (This is something that Romeo Castellucci has also been doing to powerful effect in the mythology of Orphée et Eurydice and the monumentally fantastical The Magic Flute). Here the fairy story is told to a young boy with autism. He has never seen his father and doesn't understand why his parents are estranged, so his mother tells him The Tale of Tsar Saltan, finding that the only way of reaching him is through the toy soldiers and magical tales that so enchant him, hoping to communicate the truth through the fable, casting herself as the tsarina.

The characteristics of Pushkin's fairy tale are familiar, his mother suffering a kind of Cinderella upbringing, abused by her mother and two wicked sisters. When they are presented to the tsar who is looking for a bride her sisters can only promise extravagant weddings while the youngest girl - a humble seamstress - promises she can deliver a worthy heir for the tsar. And becoming tsarina she does, but on the birth of the child her disgruntled sisters intercept the messenger and the tsar is informed that that the tsarina has given birth to a monster. To the astonishment of the villagers on this occasion for happiness and celebration, a message returns from the tsar saying that his wife and child should be thrown into the sea in a barrel.

Mythology and fairy tales traditionally have an important role to play in putting an important message across to a wide audience in a way that can endure for centuries, and opera can be seen to fulfil the same function. More than just musical drama for entertainment, and certainly more than being a singing contest to debate over who sings roles best, opera at its best and most meaningful - like Die Zauberflöte cited above - communicates something essential about our understanding of the world and of humanity's place within it, along with all the joys and troubles that come with it.

Tcherniakov's production of Tsar Saltan is a way of finding a route back to the underlying meaning of the work and to some extent necessarily reinterpreting it for a new age. The fairy tale and the opera are essentially about the loss of innocence of a child struggling to come to terms with the reality of the world. The realisation that it can be cruel, unfair and unjust needs to be reconciled with an awareness that life itself is a miracle, and that it can still be possible to find good within it. Using an autistic child allows the audience a way of seeing the 'magic' in the fairy tale of existence again.

In fact watching the opera in this way the concept is so good and the performances so impressive that it feels completely natural and authentic, as if this is the only way to see the opera and you couldn't imagine it being done any differently. And it's hard to imagine a more traditional representation being as profoundly moving as the progression and resolution that Tcherniakov devises for it, which - very much in line with truth and reality - doesn't mean that there is necessarily a happy ending to the fairy tale, much as one might wish for it.

There's much more that needs to be done to make this more than just a clever idea and Tcherniakov's production design is perfectly up to the task. It starts with a plain wood panelling background, mother and child playing together enveloped in a dull reality. As the story is related, the narrative magic exerts its influence and begins to take over, first populated by characters in cross-hatched puffy costumes (similar to David Hockney's designs for the famous Glyndebourne production of A Rake's Progress), with sketchy animation gradually drawing the boy/Gvidon into the swan's womb-like world of security. The blending and balance of ugly reality with animated magical fantasy is masterful.

There are of course other benefits to be gained from Dmitri Tcherniakov introducing a work well-known only in Russia in such an effective manner to western Europe, and primarily that's permitting us to enjoy Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov's beautiful orchestration and melodic flair - the Flight of the Bumblebee originating from this work - perfectly attuned to the dramatic and emotional core of the story, overflowing with glorious choruses. These are all very much essential Russian opera characteristics of course and brought out marvellously by Alain Altinoglu conducting the orchestra of La Monnaie.

Just as wondrous are the singing performances since Rimsky-Korsakov's vocal writing can be underestimated in favour of his considerable fame as an orchestrator. Svetlana Aksenova as the mother/tsarina and Bogdan Volkov as the boy/Gvidon are just incredible with the kind of Russian voices needed here; strong in delivery, but filled with warmth and passion and a little bit of an edge of bordering on despair. This is another outstanding, imaginative production from Tcherniakov, Altinoglu and La Monnaie, every element working perfectly in service of the opera, recognising the extraordinary ability of the medium to communicate on so many levels, and using them all brilliantly.

Links: La Monnaie-De Munt

Rimsky-Korsakov - The Snow Maiden (Paris, 2017)

Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov - The Snow Maiden

L’Opéra National de Paris, 2017

Mikhail Tatarnikov, Dmitri Tcherniakov, Aida Garifullina, Yuriy Mynenko, Martina Serafin, Maxim Paster, Thomas Johannes Mayer, Elena Manistina, Vladimir Ognovenko, Franz Hawlata, Vasily Gorshkov, Carole Wilson, Vasily Efimov, Vincent Morell, Pierpaolo Palloni, Olga Oussova 

ARTE Concert - 25 April 2017

Rimsky-Korsakov's telling of the fairy tale of The Snow Maiden is by no means a straightforward narrative. The story itself is simple enough and easy to follow, but it's elaborated on by the composer with all the colours and adornments of an epic Russian legend, with songs, dances, musical interludes, ceremonial folk dances and choruses. This however is not Sadko or The Legend of the Invisible City of Kitezh, and as beautiful as the scoring is, it risks losing sight of the simple message at the heart of the story about love and time, about the seasons bringing change and renewal. You have to wonder then whether Dmitri Tcherniakov doesn't risk adding another level of distance in his production for the Paris Opera that takes it further away from the fairy tale moral.  

The Snow Maiden isn't performed as often as other works by Rimsky-Korsakov and it's only recently that we've really had a chance to get to experience a wider selection of the composer's work. It has to be said that for all the controversy that he brings with him, Dmitri Tcherniakov has been at the forefront of introducing rarely heard Russian masterpieces to the West and presenting them in a new meaningful light, and Rimsky-Korsakov works have been very much a part of that. The Snow Maiden however is clearly something of a challenging work to stage effectively. John Fulljames directed a beautiful and wonderfully illuminating production of The Snow Maiden for Opera North last year, but even that failed to thaw the icy heart of the work.  

The nature of Ostrovsky's work as a piece of folklore with a very Russian character and a magical fairy tale element shouldn't necessarily present a difficulty to a director like Tcherniakov who wants to modernise it to some extent, but his production of The Snow Maiden seems to fall somewhere in between. Not unexpectedly, the dispute of Mother Spring and Father Frost is seen in a rather more contemporary domestic light, with the unfortunate off-spring of their ill-matched union - the Snow Maiden - being given up for adoption to a old Berendeyan couple. The Berendey village in the woods however, while apparently some kind of little commune, still can't help but retain an old Russian folk character in its dress and customs.

Big and colourful, recreating a small village arrayed in a small semi-circle with a wood of tall trees behind, it's another one of Tcherniakov's extravagant sets that presents a busy stage for all of Rimsky-Korsakov's rich arrangements and choruses. It certainly captures the sense of a close community, and Tcherniakov's direction also creates an impression sense of real meaningful drama between the characters in as far as he is able. He can't resist having Tsar Berendey nod off for a few seconds as Kupova starts on an elaborate answer to the simple question of who has offended her honour, but it's playful and not mocking, recognising that there's a lot of filler and conventionalism in the telling of the story.

The connection between the tides and seasons of nature of those that bring about changes in the nature of man however isn't drawn quite as cleverly as John Fulljames' production for Opera North. Everything that needs to be said however is said fairly directly in the libretto; "The hearts of people are getting colder. I see less warmth in their love", Tsar Berendey observes. If Dmitri Tcherniakov doesn't really draw out or highlight the folk elements and rhythms of nature in his direction, nor find anything new or insightful to bring to it, his direction doesn't quite go as far as obscuring the intentions and the moral of the story. But when it does come to life, it seems to be more to do with the lovely performance of the Paris orchestra and the fine singing performances.

The fact that Rimsky-Korsakov's score is sumptuously beautiful is clearly apparent, but under the direction of conductor Mikhail Tatarnikov, the skill with which the composer has matched the score to the dramatic and narrative side of the work is even more evident here. It also works beautifully hand-in-hand with the singing. Aida Garifullina has everything you want of a snow maiden, glowing youth and freshness and a voice that soars not with confidence, but with an otherworldly beauty. It was quite extraordinary to hear Lel sung not by a female contralto, but by a male countertenor. Yuriy Mynenko brought out another dynamic out of the work, a persuasive beauty that Lel's songs should really possess.

Musically and in terms of the singing performances, the Paris production is indeed beyond reproach, with other fine performances to enjoy in Martina Serafin's Kupova, in Maxim Paster's Tsar and Thomas Johannes Mayer's Mizguir. Aside from the opening introduction sequence, which appears somewhat at odds with fairy tale nature of the remainder of the production, Dmitri Tcherniakov's direction actually tells the story clearly and without over-complicating matters and it looks marvellous. With its naturalistic approach to the simple folk lifestyle of living life out in the woods, it does promote more of a back-to-nature sentiment as a way of opening one's heart to the radiant flame of life, but despite the exquisite beauty of the work, it still feels a rather cold and lifeless affair that never really connects to human emotions in the way that you would like. Cold and beautiful however might just be the actual nature of Rimsky-Korsakov's The Snow Maiden.

Links: L’Opéra National de Paris, ARTE Concert

Rimsky-Korsakov - The Snow Maiden (Belfast, 2017)

Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov - The Snow Maiden

Opera North, 2017

Martin Pickard, John Fulljames, Aoife Miskelly, Bonaventura Bottone, Dean Robinson, Yvonne Howard, James Creswell, Joseph Shovelton, Claire Pascoe, Heather Lowe, Elin Pritchard, Phillip Rhodes

Grand Opera House, Belfast - 17th March 2017

The Snow Maiden has all the classic fairy-tale elements; folklore, dreams, love, magic and poignant tragedy. All those elements are elevated to suitably epic proportions in Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov's opera version of Aleksandr Ostrovsky's play, tying the magical qualities of the story Cunning Little Vixen-like into the every-day magic of nature and the changing of the seasons; the magical changes that are all part of the rhythm of life. John Fulljames's production for Opera North ambitiously and inventively adds another level onto the proceedings that joins up and connects those different levels. It's impressive, it's beautiful, but unfortunately it's also just a little dull.

But just a little, and disappointingly that seems to be down to the nature of the story and Rimsky-Korsakov's rather academic scoring of the work, which never seems to have either the verve or grandeur of his work in The Tsar's Bride, Sadko or The Legend of the Invisible City of Kitezh. What The Snow Maiden has in common with each of those works - and with the fairy-tale satire of The Golden Cockerel - is an essential Russian character, and that at least is authentically retained in Opera North's production which not only presents its themes well but meaningfully elaborates upon them.

John Fulljames with production designer Giles Cadle (who does great work also on Hansel and Gretel and La Cenerentola) attempts to anchor Rimsky-Korsakov's rather serious minded treatment of the fairy tale by finding another great way to create magic out of reality. Again, it seems to arise out of the need of someone living in less than favourable circumstances to find a way to escape from their humdrum reality and live a dream of life that has a more meaningful and hopefully romantic purpose. The 'Snow Maiden' here is a seamstress in a clothing factory.

The changing of the seasons is evoked in this setting by the winter clothes line being put aside for the new spring fashions. One girl on the production line looks like she is lost in a dream, caught up in the changing times, wondering if this year is going to be the year that someone comes and melts her heart like the story of the Snow Maiden whose heart is too frozen to love. It's a simple framing device - one that Fulljames often seems to favour - that ties legend, folklore and the power of storytelling to reality in a way that makes it come alive; and in the context of the Opera North season of fairy-tales, it's a consistent theme that gives the magical element a relatable basis.

Thereafter the production manages to place the fairy-tale as another level on top of the reality that is always present beneath. At times, the storybook imagery of The Snow Maiden takes over, at others the dreaming seamstress seems to be drawn back to the real world, where competition and jealousy takes root between the girls over the handsome supervisor Lel, and over the upcoming marriage of one of the working girls Kupova to her fiancé Mizgir. Again in this Opera North season, it's the effective use of projections that permit such rapid and subtle transitions to be made not only between different scenes, but between different levels of reality, dream and the fluid and indefinable characteristic of what constitutes magic.

In The Snow Maiden it is fairly clear that the magic lies in the miracle of the changing seasons, in the transformations nature brings not only to the land, but to the influence and change it exerts over the temperament, mood and nature people of the land as the years go by. There are powerful changes occurring within the young girl who identifies with the Snow Maiden, her thoughts turning to love, to finding the right partner, unsure whether she is ready to give her heart away and whether it will be accepted. The language of nature and the seasons used in the libretto makes the implications plain, with there being much talk of plucking flowers and scattering seeds.

Using shifting abstract patterns, the projections not only add a level of magic-world beauty to the production - and it really looks spectacular - Fulljames and Cadle's designs also emphasis the connections between magic, nature and the real world. The setting of the drama within a clothing factory certainly makes the sentiments of love, jealousy and betrayal apparent and relevant, but the fairy-tale layer subjectively heightens the feelings as they are experienced by a young and sensitive girl. It's the projections that blend them together so well, making connections between lace patterns and snowflakes, the patterns spreading like growing shoots, the sap rising as the seasons pass and the personal dilemma of the Snow Maiden reaches a critical level

Clearly it's a well thought out production, where everything blends and works together wonderfully, keeping it moving and flowing when it could otherwise be quite static; it looks spectacular and magical at the same time. The singing is also of the highest order; Aoife Miskelly's deeply heartfelt Snow Maiden contrasted to good effect with Heather Lowe's warmth and sincerity as Lel. There is greater diversity in character and voice that further enriched the production, notably in Elin Pritchard's down-to-earth, heart-on-her-sleeve Kupava, whose laughter crackled through the drama, and on the part of Phillip Rhodes as the passionate Mizgir.

Fulljames's book-ending framing also manages to help take the cold edge off the inevitable tragic conclusion that comes to a Snow Maiden in the summer. There ought to be a positive side to this outcome of the passing seasons and the production supports this, making it a little more glorious and cheerful without taking anything away from the wistful tone of sadness. Despite every effort however, the production still can't quite overcome the inherent serious-minded gravity of the proceedings. Martin Pickard's conducting of the score captured all the elegance of the arrangements and the beauty of Rimsky-Korsakov's composition, but it still never managed to provide that spark that would melt the core of ice that lies at the heart of The Snow Maiden.

Links: Opera North

Rimsky-Korsakov - The Golden Cockerel (La Monnaie, 2016)

Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov - The Golden Cockerel

La Monnaie-De Munt, 2016

Alain Altinoglu, Laurent Pelly, Pavlo Hunka, Alexey Dolgov, Alexander Vassiliev, Agnes Zwierko, Alexander Kravets, Venera Gimadieva, Konstantin Shushakov, Sheva Tehoval, Sarah Demarthe, John Manning, Marcel Schmitz, Marc Coulon

The Opera Platform - December 2016

These are undoubtedly strange times we are living through at the moment, so it's probably not a surprise that our views on artistic expression can be coloured and filtered by what is currently going on in the world. Who would have thought however that Rimsky-Korsakov's comic fairytale opera The Golden Cockerel could ever again be anything more than a satire on an obscure conflict long ago in a far off part of the world? Oh, how we used to laugh at the ridiculous ruler Dodon (now there's a name that is looking a little too close to reality for comfort) trying to keep foreign enemies out of his country and petulantly exclaiming "Laws? Don't know the meaning of the word. My whims and orders are the law".

But of course, Rimsky-Korsakov's satire was indeed based on reality of Russian imperialism, militarism during the Russo-Japanese war. That could perhaps account for its uncanny accuracy and relevance, revealing in the process how history has an unfortunate way of repeating itself. But let's not get either too carried away or demoralised at what seems to be a scarily realistic look at the Trump administration, or at least not just yet. Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov's opera is a delightful, colourful confection of amusing scenes and sparkling music, and representing that more so than any attempts at satire or contemporary relevance seems to be the main purpose of Laurent Pelly's production for La Monnaie in Brussels.

The set designs for Pelly's production of The Golden Cockerel are typically gorgeous, with bold cartoony figures that bring a comic energy to the work. And yet -not unlike his recent DNO production of Chabrier's L'Etoile - behind all the comic capers of stupid, incompetent and paranoid rulers, you can detect a darker and more sinister undercurrent. Tsar Dodon barks out his orders from a silver bed on a small mound of slate-coloured rocks of an almost post-apocalyptic world, his adoring people who never doubt his word all dressed in dark rags. Much of the atmosphere is achieved through Joël Adam's impeccable lighting and colouration, but the cartoon-like figures in outlandish costumes and wigs, and the strutting golden cockerel who calls out whenever the enemy's troops are approaching the border, all stand-out impressively from this background.

There are clearly no overt references to the current US administration in a production that I'm sure was prepared well in advance of its December 2016 performances at La Monnaie, but there is no bouffant combover needed to see the similarities in the dunderheaded policy decisions and arrogance of an incompetent ruler. Dodon's sons look a little like Jedward, and to be honest, I wouldn't rule them out as future candidates for the US President's team of advisors should he have any more firings and resignations. Nothing would surprise me about the Trump administration or indeed how applicable the author and librettist Vladimir Belsky's observations on such an administration seem to be. The Russian references and the 'sleeping with the enemy' aspect of the work however could be much too close for comfort.

Comparing the Tsarita Shemakha to Theresa May on the other hand might be taking contemporary analogies a little too far, but again - and maybe it's just because of the exceptional and deeply uncertain times we are living in at the moment - it's tempting to see something of the deluded British PM's unfathomable mishandling of the Brexit issue in the situations. Shemakha's kingdom is "a small island between sea and sky", where "everything obeys my whim and will (...) but it's all an illusion" and "I'm alone on my dream island". It's a tenuous comparison I admit, but you have to amuse yourself somehow, for as beautiful as Rimsky-Korsakov's music is with its little oriental touches and as pretty as Laurent Pelly's production looks, it's the satire that counts and there's not that much of it brought out here.

If The Golden Cockerel has any fault, it's that there's not much of dramatic interest in the opera. It's the kind of work where you get the message fairly quickly and can then just settle down to enjoy it for the music and hopefully some inspired fairytale visuals to match. By and large, that's what you get here, but not much else. Any 'interpretation' is entirely down to whatever you can apply to it from your own (over-)imagination. The performance at La Monnaie is fine but Alain Altinoglu, in his first opera as the new Music Director of La Monnaie, doesn't really succeed in making the music and the drama come to life. It's good/essential to have Russian leads in this work and Pavlo Hunka and Venera Gimadieva give enjoyable performances as Dodon and Shemakha, but neither are enough to elevate the opera in this production to anything more than just a colourful fairy tale.

Links: La Monnaie, The Opera Platform

Rimsky-Korsakov - The Tsar's Bride (Berlin 2013 - Webcast)

Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov - The Tsar's Bride

Staatsoper im Schiller Theater - Berlin, 2013

Daniel Barenboim, Dmitri Tcherniakov, Anatoli Kotscherga, Olga Peretyatko, Johannes Martin Kränzle, Tobias Schabel, Pavel Cernoch, Anita Rachvelishvili, Stephan Rügamer, Anna Tomowa-Sintow, Anna Lapkovskaja, Carola Höhn

ARTE Live Web Internet Streaming - October 2013

It was fairly evident from the Metropolitan Opera's recent revelatory production of Borodin's Prince Igor that director Dmitri Tcherniakov not only wants to introduce rarely performed Russian opera works to western audiences, but he also wants to make them fresh, modern and relevant in the transition. That view is confirmed by the Berlin Staatsoper's production of Rimsky-Korsakov's The Tsar's Bride (from October 2013), where it doesn't take too long for the facade showing a winter street scene from the period of Ivan the Terrible to fall and reveal a very different behind the scenes contemporary setting in a TV studio.

References to a Tsar are never going to fit comfortably into any modern production of Rimsky-Korsakov's The Tsar's Bride, least of all a Dmitri Tcherniakov one. The director's idea here then is to cast Tsar Ivan's oprichniks as television executives, exercising their control over the public and obedience to the government through the broadcast of propaganda messages. The so-called 'tsar' that they serve however is only a virtual creation mocked up on computer software, his on-screen appearances in the broadcasts put together with an actor and motion capture technology. This whole background scene-setting sequence - far from the original work - is played out as a series of projections and e-mail chats exchanged between Grigory Gryaznoy and his staff, searching for a suitable bride for their tsar.

It's a typical Tcherniakov setting then, one where the public face and the reality beneath the surface and behind the scenes is contrasted and compartmentalised. This is reflected in the stage designs of Act I which have the director's familiar divisions into separate rooms, one showing a green-screen backed television studio filled with cameras where the recordings are made under bright studio lights. This backs onto a production office where the broadcasts are monitored, and a third section presents a conference room for the oprichnik executives to make their policy decisions and carouse in revelry of their power. On a revolving stage, the ingenious design is allowed to flow freely from one scene to the next, retaining in the process the wonderful flow of Rimsky-Korsakov's score.

The more 'public' scenes of Act II, and the opening of Act III take place in the living room of the Sobakin's house which is depicted in the boxed-in style of Tcherniakov's Paris Opera Macbeth. Marfa and her family can be seen through large windows in a big room with a flatscreen TV. As well as bringing the broadcasts of the "tsar" to the public, it also proves to be a strong way to depict the jealousy of Lyubasha as she looks in on the happy household and her love rival. So while we don't have the any mysterious monks appearing wearing a black oprichnik cassock, the television broadcasts of the computer generated virtual Tsar have perhaps a more sinister and insidious aspect. As always with this director then, it doesn't always work on a strictly literal level, but the intentions and meaning come through well.

Whatever you make of the concept, there's no denying that the rich dramatic vitality of The Tsar's Bride is all there in the performances. Whether that's because of Tcherniakov's direction or despite his intervention is a matter of judgement, but certainly the musical strengths of Rimsky-Korsakov's score are in evidence in the rousing account of the work conducted under the baton of Daniel Barenboim. Reflecting the richness of the work, with romantic rivalry, fantasy elements and love potions, the raging passions are all played out in a typical bold Russian character with big declaimed arias and roaring choruses, and Barenboim directs it all brilliantly, in a production that is bursting with life and vigour.

It's a work then that demands equally passionate Russian singing, and there are few disappointments on that score. The real stand-out performance came surprisingly from Anita Rachvelishvili, who is really showing that she is by far and away strongest as a singer in the Russian repertoire. As Lyubasha, she has a showcase a capella song in Act I which she handles admirably, but there's depth of character and passion here as well. Her expression of jealousy of Marfa and anger at Gryaznoy's betrayal really holds the emotional heart of the work together and allows the viewer to sympathise with Lyubasha as she is driven to the extreme of plotting Marfa's downfall. That culminates in an outstanding and chilling expression of anger at her rival at the close of Act II.

Olga Peretyatko has a voice of marvellous depth and character, capable of tackling the most demanding of Rossinian coloratura heroines with no thinning of the voice across the range. In Russian opera, and in a role like Marfa, there is however an extra force and stamina required and Peretyatko's voice isn't quite right for it. Her timbre is so bright and beautiful however that it's still delightful to hear her sing such a role. Where it really comes into its own is in Marfa's final 'mad scene' of poison delirium, which has to be credible enough to move even Gryaznoy to repent, and it is. Even if he is not Russian, the German baritone Johannes Martin Kränzle sings like one, boldly declarative and passionate, bringing a measure of the kind of characterisation that is also required to make the role of Gryaznoy real.

The Berlin Staatsoper's production of The Tsar's Bride was recorded for broadcast in October 2013 and played for a limited time only on the German version of the ARTE Live Web/ARTE Concert web site. It's no longer available for on-line viewing.

Rimsky-Korsakov - The Legend of the Invisible City of Kitezh

Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov - The Legend of Invisible City of Kitezh

De Nederlandse Opera, Amsterdam 2012

Marc Albrecht, Dmitri Tcherniakov, Svetlana Ignatovich, Vladimir Vanseev, Maxim Aksenov, John Daszak, Alexey Markov, Mayram Sokolova, Morschi Franz, Peter Arink, Gennady Beszubenkov

Opus Arte - Blu-ray

At the heart of Rimsky-Korsakov's The Legend of Invisible City of Kitezh is an epic battle between the forces of good and evil that recounts the legend of the invasion of the city by Mongol hordes. The librettist for the work however, Vladimir Belsky, also brought Christian elements into the story from the legend of Saint Fevronya and from folklore that lift the work towards flights of spiritual mysticism and rapture. There's something of a gulf then between the realistic literal depiction of the horrors of war and the pantheistic depiction of nature that doesn't entirely come together in Rimsky-Korsakov's score, but in many ways it just makes it all the more fascinating. I'm not sure that either the conductor Marc Albrecht or director Dmitri Tcherniakov manage to reconcile the inconsistencies in the opera, but it remains a glorious, intriguing work.

The first thing to note about Tcherniakov's direction is that he changes the plot slightly in order, presumably, to highlight the contrasts in the work and perhaps find a way to bring them together. Consequently he invents an 'end of the world' scenario, where Fevroniya is not some holy fool who communes with nature in the woods, but has fled there because, in Tcherniakov's prelude description, "after what has happened on earth, life can never go on as before". The beautiful set consequently depicts a Tarkovsky-like post-apocalyptic spiritual view of nature seen in The Sacrifice, and it's one that is also well-suited to the Cunning Little Vixen quality of Fevroniya's oneness with nature, Fevroniya even dining with human versions of the crane, the bear and the auroch that are referred to in the libretto. The intrusion of the outside world in the form of the Prince Vesvelod who asks her to marry him still doesn't fit realistically however with the main body of the legend of the invisible city and the attack on it by the Mongol hordes.

The beautiful scenes at the beginning and the end of the work (Tarkovksy again looking to be the inspiration for the familiar boxed lighted rustic house/room that is a familiar feature in many Tcherniakov productions) do at least serve to bookend the highlighted ugliness of the central scenes of the drunken revelry of Grishka in Little Kitezh, the horror of the invasion of the Tartars and the lamentations of the citizens at the destruction that has been visited upon them. You couldn't really say that the director captures the majesty of the long central third act, relocating it from the Cathedral Square in Great Kitezh to a makeshift refugee camp, while the miracle of the invisible city heralded by the spontaneous tolling of the bells is reduced inexplicably to a flickering strip of neon. The scene is very much underplayed, but when you listen to the gorgeous musical composition and striking arrangement of this act, it is undoubtedly a scene that is problematic to stage.

The first scene of this extraordinary third Act for example has long Parsifal-like symphonic and choral arrangements, as Prince Yury, a gusli-player and the Page sing for the fate of the city and its people in mournful laments with folk rhythms with a sweep of shimmering symphonic strings. It's deeply mystical in its sentiments, evoking the city of Kitezh as a celestial paradise, a light in the impenetrable darkness, a spiritual "haven and a refuge to all who suffer, thirst and seek". The act is divided however by a symphonic battle in which Prince Vesvelod is killed off-stage, the second scene taking place on the shore of Lake Yar, where Grishka and Fevoniya are held captive by the Tartars. Grishka has led them to Great Kitezh, but he has blamed their new Princess Fevroniya for the betrayal.

The third act should be the dramatic turning point of the work, the one that contrasts and attempts to join the two stark and contrasting visions of the world, where the actions of the good and faithful in the material world of war and death will be rewarded in the afterlife (in Act IV). The drunken, bitter, trouble-making and traitorous Grishka's has no conception of any world outside his own small ugly little existence, and it's such a shock to Fevroniya that she even thinks he might be the Antichrist. Tcherniakov isn't able to bring the two views convincingly together, but - as beautiful and uplifting as the music is - it's debatable whether Rimsky-Korsakov, the composer opposed to the religious Wagnerian liturgical touches of Belsky's libretto, manages to reconcile them either. Despite this, and despite the staging attempting to undercut the mysticism further, the third Act is still wondrously operatic.

If it all does indeed manage to come together and even raise itself onto another plane by the final fourth act, much of it is to do with the singing and Rimsky-Korsakov's writing for the voice. There are no real arias in The Legend of the Invisible City of Kitezh, or overt folk dances and set pieces that you might find in other mythological works by the composer like Sadko or The Golden Cockerel. It's more through composed, with a Romantic sweep and even some Wagnerian quotes in spite of Rimsky-Korsakov's opposition. It's the naturalistic roll of the Russian consonants however, flowing out unstrained in long solid arioso singing and in glorious, glorifying choral arrangements that anchor the sentiments in the real world even as they achieve a level of rapturous transcendence.

The Amsterdam production is marvellous then in that it has the deservedly much-praised chorus of the De Nederlandse on fine form, but it also has a fine mostly Russian cast that give solid, unfailing performances throughout. They are led by the young soprano Svetlana Ignatovich, who fulfils every vocal and visual requirement for the saintly role of Fevroniya. The picture of innocence and strength, of faith and forgiveness, the completion of her transformation into martyrdom and sainthood at the end of the work is achieved with an ecstatic acceptance of her fate. Tcherniakov again downplays any elaborately literal vision of paradise much in the same way that Rimsky-Korsakov refuses to let the music push it too far (the direction of the orchestra under Marc Albrecht similarly restrained yet ecstatic, resisting the usual Russian bombast), but everything that needs to be expressed has been done so in the writing for the voices and in the performances here.

The Legend of the Invisible City of Kitezh is released on Blu-ray disc by Opus Arte and it looks and sounds impressive in the High Definition format. In addition to a Cast Gallery, there is the usual informative look behind the scenes at De Nederlandse in a short 20-minute featurette with interviews that hint at the conflicts between the music and the staging. The BD is region-free and subtitles for this release are in English, French, German, Dutch, Japanese and Korean.

Rimsky-Korsakov - Sadko

Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov - Sadko

Mariinsky Theatre, St Petersburg, 1994

Valery Gergiev, Vladimir Galusin, Valentina Tsidipova, Marianna Tarassova, Bulat Minjelkiev, Alexander Gergalov, Gegam Grigorian, Sergei Alexashkin, Larissa Diadkova

Philips - DVD

Opera can take many forms, but apart from Wagner only the High Romantic Russian composers have really exploited its potential to elaborate on the epic power of myth, legend and folklore.  Even then, there can be few composers who have had such an affinity for this type of subject as Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov.  So grand are the extravagant displays of such works as The Golden Cockerel, The Legend of the Invisible City of Kitezh and Sadko however that they've been regarded as troublesome and costly to stage and largely neglected in the west.  As a result, Rimsky-Korsakov's reputation as a composer has suffered, or he is at least not held in the same high regard as he is in Russia.

If you really want to appreciate the nature of Rimsky-Korsakov's work then it's best seen in Russia, and a perfect example of that is this magnificent 1994 recording of the rarely performed Sadko at the Mariinsky Theatre in St Petersburg conducted by Valery Gergiev.  Musically and in terms of singing it's an impeccable performance and authentically Russian, which means big strong voices of power and precision.  Gergiev conducting of the Kirov orchestra draws out all the lush textures, folk rhythms and the sheer orchestral majesty of Rimsky-Korsakov's wondrous score, which recognises and fully expresses the power and the importance of legends and mythology and their ability to transform our view of the world.

The opera itself, first performed in 1898, is an utterly enthralling fusion of epic storytelling with music and theatre.  Sadko is a 'bylina', an epic medieval folktale that recounts the creation of the river Volkhova that connects Lake Ilmen to the Okian sea, bringing prosperity to the merchants of Novgorod.  That's brought about by Sadko, a clever merchant, adventurer and musician who woos the Sea Princess Volkhova through his playing of the gusli.  Rather than having traditional operatic Acts, Rimsky-Korsakov's opera breaks the story down into seven beautiful, lyrical scenes, with a great deal of spectacle and ballet sequences to enrich it.  The story calls for the transformation of swans on a lake into the Sea Princess and her maidens, huge village scenes and festivals for choruses, the catching of three golden fish, an ocean crossing and the creation of an undersea kingdom, so Sadko is quite a challenge to stage.

The Mariinsky's production, in this video recording dating from 1994, is accordingly very bold and colourful, as well as traditionally theatrical in the Mariinsky style.  Painted backdrops create the impression of vast scale as well as the fairytale picturebook nature of the story, with plenty of room left in the foreground for the huge choruses, the choreographed movements of the chorus and the beautiful ballet sequences.  A "wonder of wonders" and "marvel of marvels" - to use a phrase used often in the libretto - Sadko could hardly look more spectacular, the colourful theatricality and the medieval costumes fully living up to the larger-than-life context of the work and the extravagantly rich orchestration that Rimsky-Korsakov has composed for it.

There's a recognition however of the importance of the smallest details in the grander scale of the composition of the work that is reflected in the attention to detail on the part of both the stage direction and the musical performance.  Within all the spectacle are wonderful lyrical moments and demanding singing passages that require great stamina as well as beauty of expression from the singers.  Considering he is not just the central figure, but a minstrel who charms the Sea Princess, you would at least expect a strong Sadko and Vladimir Galusin gives a commanding and charismatic performance.  He's matched well with Valentina Tsidipova's Volkhova who deals well if not always perfectly with the considerable challenges of the role.

Sadko however also offers a variety of dramatic roles and some colourful set-piece cameos.  In the former category Marianna Tarassova stands out as Sadko's neglected wife, as does Larissa Diadkova as another gusli-playing minstrel narrator.  In the latter category Sergei Alexashkin is suitably impressive as the booming and formidable Sea King, but there are also wonderful moments from the other Novgorod merchants, from the three representatives of foreign lands (Viking, Indian and Venetian), and of course from the chorus.  The Kirov Ballet provide further colour and movement that maintains a wonderful energetic flow to the work in several beautiful dance sequences.

The 1994 performance was directed for the screen by Brian Large, who captures the occasion with his usual professionalism and alertness to the rhythms of the work itself.  It's clearly not filmed in High Definition as you would expect of a more modern recording, but the widescreen image nonetheless looks good on this 2007 DVD from Philips that gets across the colour and magic of the production design as much as it is able.  Audio tracks are in Dolby Digital 2.0 and Dolby Digital 5.1, with subtitles in English, French, German, Italian, Spanish and German.

Jean Sibelius - The Maiden in the Tower, Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov - Kashchei the Immortal

Jean Sibelius - The Maiden in the Tower
Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov - Kashchei the Immortal

Buxton Festival, 2012 

Stuart Stratford, Stephen Lawless, Kate Ladner, Emma Selway, Richard Berkeley-Steele, Robert Poulton, Owen Gilhooly

Buxton Opera House - 12 July 2012

Even though they are both very different in style, approach and meaning, there is at least one very obvious common theme between the two exceptionally near-contemporaneous rare one-act operas brought together in Buxton’s “Festival Double Bill” - both clearly deal with young women held captive in a tower by an evil, oppressive figure of power. If Jean Sibelius’s The Maiden in the Tower (Jungfrun i tornet), the composer’s only opera work, is the slighter and more superficial of the two in its treatment of this theme - both in narrative and in musical terms - it’s contrasted nonetheless to good effect in this clever pairing with Nikolai Rimsky-Korsahov’s Kashchei the Immortal, which is characteristically a richer and more complex reading of fantasy fairytale elements for this composer, aligning its themes and concept towards making a very real statement about the political situation in the Russia of its time.

The Buxton Opera production smartly avoids making reference to any early Russian turn-of-the-20th-century social or political messages, which though interesting are far from relevant today and perhaps one of the reasons why the work is so rarely staged outside of Russia. Instead, Stephen Lawless’s direction cleverly links the two works through having the same singers play corresponding/contrasting roles in both works, allowing the characterisation of the earlier Sibelius work to influence the meaning of the Rimsky-Korsakov. Removing the original context of a work and replacing it with another artificial background is of course not an uncommon practice in opera productions, but usually it is achieved through an updating or reworking of the stage setting, period and location. It’s highly unusual to see a work given a different musical background as a basis in this manner but it’s cleverly and most successfully done here in a way that doesn’t distort the deeper meaning of the two works.

It’s probably the Sibelius work however that gains the most from this double-bill enhancement. The Maiden in the Tower has a very simple storyline set at a children’s birthday party, although one immediately thinks of Oscar Wilde’s fairytale ‘The Birthday of the Infanta‘ and how dark and twisted that can be. The Maiden in the Tower does indeed set out with just such an intent, emphasised during the short overture in this production where the bailiff’s son, at his birthday party, is seen cruelly twisting off a doll’s head and furtively peeking up its skirt before donning a demon mask, effectively summarising his character is a few brief stokes - as does Sibelius in the score. When the bailiff’s son’s advances are rebuffed by a young uninvited guest, the boy has her locked away in a tower intent on having his wicked way with her. The girl’s reputation is mocked by the other guests, but her young boyfriend discovers the truth and tries to rescue her, fighting the bailiff’s son. A governess intervenes and releases the girl and the party continues without the birthday boy.

As a version of the Britten-like theme of the corruption of innocence, The Maiden in the Tower is not a terribly complex or insightful affair, the dialogue straightforward and declarative, and it’s not scored in any particularly subtle way either by Sibelius. It does however sound ravishing, with a Tchaikovsky-like Romanticism in its symphonic and folk-tinged arrangements which give strong dramatic punctuation to the Cherevichki-like folk and fairytale elements, with some wonderful chorus work that strikes those moments home even further. The piece is however given a little more edge from the stage direction which plays on the awkward age of innocent children approaching sexual awareness and makes the most of the singers evidently looking older than the children they are playing. This takes on another layer of depth when placed alongside Kashchei the Immortal. Is the kind of childish devilment and humiliation that has been inflicted at an early age capable of developing into something rather more unsettling and dangerous in later life?

Kashchei the Immortal, despite its more obviously fantastical setting, does actually suggest that this could indeed be the case with its evil magician. Played by the same actor/singer who played the bailiff’s son in The Maiden in the Tower, Kashchei has not only imprisoned a princess in his tower (Kate Ladner again the unfortunate captive), but he has brought-up his daughter Kashcheyevna to seduce and kill men in order to avenge himself “for past humiliations”. Seeing in his magic glass (an old flickering TV set here) the threat of the Princess’s lover Ivan, he dispatches the Storm Wind to warn Kashcheyevna, but his daughter finds herself unable to carry out her evil deeds despite having Ivan at her mercy. The Storm Wind, who had been held captive by Kashchei, spirits Ivan to the castle to rescue the Princess. Realising that she is in love with Ivan, who rejects her, Kashcheyevna weeps, and in displaying such emotion she brings about the destruction of Kashchei.

As well as using the same singers for similar roles, the connection between the two works in this production is evident in the subtle transformation of the same set used in both pieces and the connecting element of the demon mask, but nothing else is over-emphasised to the extent that the shadow of Sibelius lingers over Rimsky-Korsakov’s work. It does however feel appropriate that the moral of goodness triumphing over the seemingly immortal power of evil and being rewarded as promised in childhood stories does indeed be seen to be true in later adult life. In an additional twist at the conclusion however, the production realistically considers that such experiences do not come without a human cost. It’s not just “happily ever after”. The Princess, released from her captivity, the cruel ruler destroyed, curls up beside the defeated Kashchei as if having endured the captivity, she is unable to recognise freedom or in some way her inherent goodness sympathises with his predicament. It’s a truthful touch that shows that the situation has been realistically considered just as thoughtfully as Rimsky-Korsakov’s orchestration of the work itself with its underlying real-world meaning.

The performances in this production were simply marvellous across the board, the five main singers - Kate Ladner, Emma Selway, Richard Berkeley-Steele, Robert Poulton and Owen Gilhooly - equally strong, alive to the possibilities within these enhanced characters, giving them perfect expression in the singing and in the acting. The Northern Chamber Orchestra under the direction of Stuart Stratford also delivered a stirring performance that played to the strengths of these two very different musical works in a way that also made the most of their complementary contrasts.

Rimsky-Korsakov - Le Coq d’Or

Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov - Le Coq d’Or (The Golden Cockerel)

Théâtre du Châtelet, Paris, 2002

Kent Nagano, Ennosuke Ichikawa, Isao Takashima, Albert Schagidullin, Ilya Levinsky, Andrei Breus, Ilya Bannik, Elena Manistina, Barry Banks, Olga Trifonova, Yuri Maria Saenz

Arthaus Musik

The Châtelet’s impressive staging of Rimsky-Korsakov’s The Golden Cockerel, recorded here in Paris in 2002 (hence the French title) is one that dates back to 1984, a co-production with San Francisco Opera. This recording has already been released on DVD, but it is another one of those productions that are so visually splendid and memorable that it more than merits an upgrade to Blu-ray. Designed by Ennosuke Ichikawa as a Kabuki staging, it’s an impressive production that fits surprisingly well in tone and content with the intentions of the original fairytale opera with a moral.

The opera, Rimsky-Korsakov’s final work, composed in 1906, is based on a Pushkin poem ‘The House of the Weathercock’, and the minimalist simplicity of the set design reflects that transparency of the fairytale’s simple moral message. King Dodon, fearful of his country being invaded by their neighbours and forced by his General to discount the foolish advice of his two sons, puts his trust instead in a Golden Cockerel sold to him by the Astrologer that will crow to warn him when his enemies are about to attack. Despite the warnings of the Cockerel, whose alerts have the king sending armies out to all parts of his kingdom, Dodon fails however to recognise the threat that is posed by the arrival of the Queen of Shemakha. Dodon is “a Tsar in appearance, but a slave in body and soul” when he falls for the Queen’s beauty and allows himself to be seduced by her charms. Acting out of fear, pride, lust, the moral of course is that even noble rulers have basic human weaknesses and are not immune – more likely in fact – to act out of self-interest and for personal gain.

Both Rimsky-Korsakov and the librettist V. Bel’sky laid down very specific remarks about how The Golden Cockerel should be performed (these notes are reproduced in the accompanying booklet in the BD and DVD releases), which as well as disapproving of any cuts to the work or the introduction of any additional interjections by the singers – as might be expected – note that the purpose of the work is “undoubtedly symbolic” and that the purely human character its intent “allows us to place the plot in any surroundings and in any period”, recognising however that there is an essential Russian character involved. It’s clear then that this production, even if it has a somewhat more oriental flavour, is nonetheless completely faithful to the original intentions and even perhaps recognises that the opera was inspired by the conflict between Russia and Japan in 1904 at the time the opera was composed. The suggestions of military incompetence on the part of the authorities would in fact lead to the opera being banned by the censor, only receiving its premiere after the death of the composer.

The basic stage dressing for this production then is accordingly simple and abstract in the manner of a fable where the moral is symbolic, but it is also extraordinarily beautiful with all the magic and fascination of a fairytale. If the stage then consists of little more than a brightly luminous backdrop to reflect the time of day or mood, and there is little on the stage but some steps to suggest a royal palace and stylised trees to represent the kingdom, the colourful costumes and Kabuki make-up reflect the larger-than-life characters and, to a large extent, Rimsky-Korsakov’s rich romantic scoring of the work, filled with fantastical melodies and folk influences, with leitmotifs and a Scheherazade-like middle-Eastern exoticism. It’s given a wonderful warm account here at the Châtelet with Kent Nagano conducting.

The space is needed on the stage moreover to contain all the extras, chorus and dancers – all beautifully costumed – and give room to the principals, because this is after all to a large extent a singer’s opera (rather than say a dramatic opera or a conceptual one), with a wonderful range of voices and expression from bass declamation to soprano coloratura. Using a mainly Russian cast, those roles are in good hands in this Châtelet production, with bass Albert Schagidullin as King Dodon and Olga Trifonova the Queen of Shemakha. In among all those Russians however is Barry Banks, perfectly cast for the specific demands of the high tenor role of the Astrologer. It’s particularly delightful that the singing is of a very high standard throughout, but this is a wonderful production on just about every level.

This beautiful, colourful production certainly benefits from its upgrade to Blu-ray for the High Definition 16:9 widescreen image and for the sound mixes in PCM Stereo and DTS HD-Master Audio 5.1 that put over the qualities of the orchestration and singing. It’s really quite breathtaking. The Blu-ray is All-Region, 1080i, a BD25 disc with no extra features, although the booklet is informative and includes a synopsis. Subtitles are English, German, Italian, French, Spanish and Chinese.