Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - Requiem
Festival d'Aix-en-Provence, 2019
Raphaël Pichon, Romeo Castellucci, Siobhan Stagg, Sara Mingardo, Martin Mitterrutzner, Luca Tittoto, Ensemble Pygmalion
ARTE Concert - 10 July 2019
Romeo Castellucci's directorial projects are becoming less interested in the traditional narrative aspect of opera direction and more concerned with exploring and representing the spiritual side of humanity within the works. Of course, the works in question have to be capable of possessing this quality, and that's certainly the case for the likes of his La Monnaie Parsifal, his Paris Moses und Aron and his Hamburg Matthew's Passion. More recently he has set about exploring this in other less obviously spiritual works, in Salome for Salzburg and Tannhäuser for Munich, but perhaps the most interesting exploration of the spiritual existing with the physical nature of humanity has been in his stunning La Monnaie production of Die Zauberflöte. Mozart is of course fully open to be explored in this area and nowhere more so than in the Requiem.
Mozart's Requiem however isn't an opera, and the idea of setting it to a manufactured narrative would evidently be presumptuous, if not actually impossible. For the purposes of this Aix-en-Provence production - an ambitious one in Pierre Audi's first season as artistic director of the festival - Castellucci associates the work with a growing awareness of the temporality of human existence as individuals and as a species, as well as the fleeting impermanence of what our relatively brief presence on the planet leaves behind. The best way of looking at this approach to Requiem is that the director is seeking a way to extend the work far beyond its own confines, showing or at least suggesting connections it makes - musical, spiritual and existential - to the condition of being human and being mortal.
To extend the scope of Requiem further for this purpose, Castellucci makes use of several other Mozart sacred pieces and Masonic hymns in including the Kyrie from the Mass in C Minor, O Gottes Lamm, and opens the theatrical presentation of this work with a Gregorian chant. Essentially, this production of Requiem becomes a ritual of song and dance, celebrating life in the face of the certainty of extinction. It's this theme that dominates as, in typical Castellucci fashion, words are projected to the back of the stage, an 'Atlas of Extinction', that enumerates the extinction of creatures that no longer exist, to extinct plants, disappeared lakes, extinct tribes and races, extinct cities, lost languages, religions, buildings and works of art.
It's a fascinating device that really has an impact in conjunction with the performance and the music, showing that as well as being something sad there's also something beautiful in the contemplation of the awareness that all things come to an end. The catalogue however doesn't restrict itself to known extinctions but gnomically reminds us in its list of "present-day extinctions", of the extinction of I, of the extinction even the of the word I, of wind, water, grass, thought, fish in the sea, time, even the extinction of this music. And ultimately of course, an extinction of this day, the 10th July 2019. Indeed, if there is anything that can testify to the glory of human existence over its relatively short presence on Earth, it's Mozart's Requiem. Eternal rest grant unto them.
On the stage meanwhile, Romeo Castellucci makes use of the Pygmalion Vocal Ensemble to enact ritual dances for Mozart's music, placing quite a different character on the work that you would typically get from a solemn concert performance. Moving ever closer towards performance art or art installations, Castellucci has extras representing all the ages of woman (from old age to birth) splatters the stage and bodies with Holi-like coloured power and honey, with soil, spray painting the backdrops, as the chorus move into formations to put on folk dances, a maypole dance and ritualistic representations of life and death, all the while that Mozart's music plays and the backscreen runs through its seemingly endless catalogue of extinction.
Seen in this context it's extraordinarily beautiful, invigorating, thought-provoking and often very moving; but even so, the question remains about whether it is worthy of Mozart's music. I return to that statement at the start of the presumption or impossibility of staging Mozart's Requiem, or believe that it can be elevated to anything greater than it already is. Given that, yes, Romeo Castellucci creates a presentation that is indeed worthy of the piece as a sincere artistic response to this great work. Like Katie Mitchell's and Raphaël Pichon's attempt to do the same for J.S. Bach at the 2014 Aix Festival (Trauernacht), or indeed like Robert Wilson's reworking of Arvo Pärt's sacred music for Adam's Passion, it is of course the music that must be the heart and soul of the production.
That relies of course principally on the musical direction of Raphaël Pichon, the Ensemble Pygmalion Orchestra and Chorus. Even in the open-air conditions of the theatre of the Théâtre de l’Archevêché in Aix in a theatrical presentation, the performances and the singing of the principals Siobhan Stagg (soprano), Sara Mingardo (alto), Martin Mitterrutzner (tenor) and Luca Tittoto (bass) - not to forget the beautiful acapella Kyrie by boy alto Chadi Lazreq - captures all the glory and solemnity of the work. It's not enhanced by the visual representation, but the busy and sometimes strange imagery of the production design doesn't detract from it either. What it does is prompt you to think about not just death but extinction, and as a mass for the death of everything, Mozart's Requiem couldn't be more fitting.
Links: Festival d'Aix-en-Provence
Giuseppe Verdi - Rigoletto
Deutsche Oper Berlin, 2019
Michele Gamba, Jan Bosse, Yijie Shi, Stefano Meo, Siobhan Stagg, Samuel Dale Johnson, Byung Gil Kim, Cornelia Kim, Bryan Murray, James Kryshak, Gianluca Buratto, Maiju Vaahtoluoto, Paull-Anthony Keightley, Amber Fasquelle
Deutsche Oper Berlin - 30th April 2019
First performed at the Deutsche Oper in Berlin in 2013, theatre director Jan Bosse's first venture into opera has a similar look, feel and approach to Verdi's Rigoletto as other productions of this period. There's the all the variety of life as a circus theme of Robert Carsen's 2013 Aix-en-Provence production, there's something of the 60s' Las Vegas glamour of the Met's 2013 production, but perhaps more evidently with the seating of the Deutsche Oper house looking back at you from the stage, it at first looks close to the Bayerische Staastoper's 2012 meta-theatrical production of the opera as staged drama.
One thing that all these diverse productions have in common is the way they use each of these situations to look a little more deeply behind what at times appears to be an improbable melodrama and find the underlying themes of the work. Of course, as is often the case with Verdi, if you get the musical performance and the singing right the hard work is done for you, and happily that was the case at the Deutsche Oper's final performance of Rigoletto in its 2018/19 season. That doesn't mean that the stage production and direction only have to provide an attractive show for the narrative, but it should work with the music to bring out those more universal themes and morals.
The main moral of Rigoletto isn't hard to identify and it doesn't need an elaborate analysis; actions have consequences, sometimes unintended and unexpected consequences when they are the result of an act of bad faith, whether that is mocking someone less fortunate than you, plotting revenge, or simply hiding the truth. To the unfortunate Rigoletto, the hunchbacked court jester who thinks he has regal protection to do as he likes and wants to strike back at a world because of his affliction, the resulting comeback from his acts of bad faith feels like a curse; la maledizione.
Jan Bosse's production design initially seems appropriate then but limiting, the wooden panelled walls and banks of yellow seating that fill the stage reflecting the amphitheatre and balcony of the Deutsche Oper house back at the audience. The good-time partying of the court of the Duke of Mantua is like a stage, where whatever actions that take place are merely play-acting, viewed as if they have no consequences in the real world. All manner of license is permitted, and if someone doesn't like it, they are ejected from the theatre.
The set however proves to be surprisingly adaptive to the progression of where those actions ultimately lead. A raised platform and some veils create rooms and staircases to represent Gilda hidden away in her father's home, while at the same time maintaining the idea - for the moment anyway from Rigoletto's viewpoint - that they remain spectators to what goes on in the Duke's world, in the audience applauding his performance, immune to any real-world consequences.
One of the other main themes of Rigoletto that Bosse's production successfully highlights is that the idea of there being two worlds is not so much an illusion as naivety for not realising that there are different laws in the world for the rich and the poor, for those in power and those who follow them. Actions have consequences, but they have a different impact depending on where you stand in the social order. All men are not treated as equals in the eyes of the world. It's the realisation of this that Rigoletto recognises as the real curse at the conclusion of the opera.
Bosse's production then becomes a gradual process of stripping Rigoletto of his illusion that the world will work in his favour and not in favour of the Duke. And, quite literally, that is achieved in Stéphane Laimé's impressive set designs by a breaking down and stripping away of the stage props and backdrops. The on-stage seating turns around as the behind-the-scenes machinations of the Duke and the court are revealed to Rigoletto and Gilda, the stage finally stripped bare revealing the backstage area by the final heart-rending scene.
Viewed as pure melodrama the actions of Gilda leading up to the final scene have their own romantic logic, but here in Bosse's production they could be seen as having a different meaning without lessening the dramatic impact of the scene. Rigoletto is left with nothing but anger for the revelation of the injustice of the world - raging against la maladizione - but Gilda's sacrifice in this context is that of someone who still believes in truth and love, and cannot live in a world where that no longer exists; a human rather than a heroic response.
That still comes across effectively in the Deutsche Oper's production, but it has to work with the musical performances and requires strong consistent singing across the challenging principal roles. It's hard to fault the performances here. The musical direction under Michele Gamba seemed initially a little too smooth, but in reality it was simply matching the glamour of the Rigoletto's illusion, becoming rather more sinister around the storm as the mood changes and thundering home with the hard-hitting conclusion. Rigoletto's particular structural arrangements are all about mood and pacing and this was just perfect.
The singing was also exceptionally good. Yijie Shi is making the transition from lighter Rossini bel canto to the heavier Verdi repertoire quite successfully in such roles as the Duke of Mantua, carrying the dramatic weight and romantic lyricism superbly. Siobhan Stagg can carry heavier repertoire like Reimann's Lear, but is apparently also capable of singing the sweetly romantic side of Gilda. She is of course dramatically capable then of making this character a little more than just an innocent fool. Her 'Caro nome' was impressive, and she fared well in Gilda's duets/duels with her father. Stefano Meo was a strong Rigoletto, the ideal kind of Verdi baritone for this role, taking us through those variety of moods of bluster and incomprehension to devastation. There were notable performances also from Gianluca Buratto as Sparafucile and Maiju Vaahtoluoto as Maddalena and Giovanna.
Links: Deutsche Oper Berlin
Aribert Reimann - Lear
Staatsoper Hamburg, 2014
Simone Young, Karoline Gruber, Bo Skovhus, Katja Pieweck, Hellen Kwon, Siobhan Stagg, Erwin Leder, Lauri Vasar, Andrew Watts, Martin Homrich, Christian Miedl, Peter Gallard, Jürgen Sacher, Wilhelm Schwinghammer, Frieder Stricker
Arthaus Musik - Blu-ray
Shakespeare has been adapted to opera many times, sometimes even successfully, but rarely with fidelity to the richness of the text and the wealth of themes. To do Shakespeare justice, you need a robust musical language that can not only support and fill in the gaps that are inevitable in the transfer of a work from one artistic medium to another, but bring something new out of it. The occasions when Shakespeare is done well in opera are rare, rarer still (to the point of nonexistence) are works that can be said to improve on Shakespeare, but there are moments, Verdi coming closest in the dark thunder of Macbeth, in the dramatic concision and focus of Otello, and in the lightness of the comic touch and sensitive characterisation of Falstaff. 'King Lear' was Verdi's cherished project that he occasionally sketched and started to work on, but which eventually ended up eluding him.
Aside from Macbeth, 'King Lear' is one Shakespeare work that doesn't really need any darkening of the themes or emphasis on the madness, but this is exactly what Aribert Reimann's 1978 opera Lear does. It doesn't so much strive to faithfully represent the dramatic progression of Shakespeare's original or attempt to build on its themes and apply them to another context (although it does do both to a certain extent), as much find a musical equivalent for the drama and condense it down into abstract musical structures and intense vocal expression. The result, when filtered through Aribert Reimann's own experience and musical language, is close to terrifying. Which is really just the impression you ought to get from 'King Lear'.
The impression is one thing - and there's little doubt that Reimann's atonal noise can make a huge nerve-shattering and ear-splitting cacophony - but Lear also must engage the audience with its characters, its language and its drama. Claus H. Hennenberg's adaptation of the German translation holds close to the original (if the English language approximations are anything to go by), to the essence of it at least, but certainly in terms of fitting the language and expression to the characters. Inevitably, it's much condensed, but without losing any of the import of the original. It's not so successful if you judge the pacing of scenes and the passage of time to be critical, as they might be more on the theatre stage. What it loses in that respect however, it unquestionably gains from concision, intensity and from the musical expression.
King Lear in any case is fairly intense in the original, wasting little time in scene-setting, getting straight to the nature and heart of nearly all its characters in its opening scene where "majesty falls to folly". Reimann's Lear is exactly the same. The first thing you notice that is going to be characteristic of Reimann's treatment - aside from the difficult discordant music - is the layering in the first scene, with several characters simultaneously expressing their misgivings about the king's actions. That technique is nothing new in opera, but applying it to the density of Shakespeare's characterisation is a challenge. Reimann daringly and successfully layers those contrasting personalities and emotions and allows their musical voices to interweave and clash. The effect is extraordinary.
As thrilling and as astonishing as it is to see such expression in an opera based on a noted work of incredible power (simply one of the greatest dramas ever written), it does however inevitably become more and more difficult to sustain as the drama develops. Reimann is at his strongest in the first half - or at least he's operating at a level that is semi-endurable to an audience who are really put through a dark and deeply disturbing situation. It climaxes at the end of part one with Lear descending into madness at the treatment and rejection he has received from his daughters Goneril and Regan. 'Blow winds, blow!", he proclaims after an hour of intense drama, and in a scene that according to the composer was inspired by his own experience in Berlin at the end of the war, Reimann's music descends into its most cacophonic, the sound of a world collapsing entirely in a storm to end all storms.
Thereafter - particularly in Karoline Gruber's 2014 staging for the Hamburg State Opera - events are less related to the real-world and have more of a post-apocalyptic feel, where the world has changed unrecognisably. It can become very difficult to engage with the characters as they descend into a monstrous state, the world rocked by the decline of the house of Lear and the house of Gloucester. These two overlapping storylines feed off and inform one another, but although every effort - musical and dramatic - is employed here to create a similar dissonant interaction, it's difficult to get a sense of how they come together. Reimann's musical language, or perhaps merely the challenge of listening to it at length, becomes accordingly more difficult.
Karoline Gruber's direction attempts to address this by giving prominence to the Sprechstimme role of the Fool, using him as a means of grounding the work with a measure of real-world truth, as bizarre and contradictory as that might seem. This is however the role of the Fool in Shakespeare's 'King Lear', to say the things that others fear to express before the king, finding humorous ways to put the truth to him. As he says in the opera version "Truth is a dog to be whipped. A lapdog though may lie before the fire and stink". (A fine condensation of "Truth's a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped out / When Lady the brach may stand by th' fire and stink" in the original). In the stage production here, he seems to be detached from the drama, a commentator, the action even stopping in places to allow him to speak. In the latter half, he is something of the conscience of Lear, a touchstone to draw him from madness back to a form of clarity, as terrible as the realisation of the truth now is to him.
The Fool in this way takes up a lot of the abstract expression of the themes that can't be fully expressed otherwise in the operatic dramatisation, and aligned with Reimann's music, it's a powerful device for the director to use. Gruber's production however is not short of other abstractions and ideas, finding different ways of expressing Lear's madness, from multiple doppelgängers to nightmarish visions, the old king's personal guard reduced symbolically to a pile of boots. A revolving set keeps the rapid succession of events flowing, imperceptibly changing, forming and reforming, using words to emphasise the conflict within the king and his kingdom. In line with Reimann's reworking of the title, there is however no traditional imagery of royal trappings, and no period detail in the production. It's vaguely 1940s/50s in dress and appearance, but generic. This is about larger themes than a king who foolishly abdicates too soon.
If the music wavers between unsettling and punishing, it's also a challenge for the singers to work within it and, at its most intense, rise above it. The casting here is superb for the variety of voices and for the sheer force of expression that they are capable of. Lear is not an older man in this production, and it's doubtful that an older man could have the force and stamina necessary to battle with the instrumental madness the way Bo Skovhus does. Yet he never bellows, always showing the underlying humanity in this Lear. It's no surprise that his three daughters all have formidable voices. There's volume and venom aplenty in Katja Pieweck's Goneril and an even more piercing pitch in Hellen Kwon's magnificently scary Regan. Cordelia might be initially reticent in Lear, but by the time she revisits the mad king, Siobhan Stagg shows the full strength of her underlying character. Simone Young's conducting of the Hamburg orchestra through this score is, to say the least, impressive.
The recording certainly benefits from the High Definition presentation on the Blu-ray release. The image is clear and detailed (although a few scenes take place behind a mesh curtain), and the audio tracks (PCM Stereo and DTS HD-Master Audio 5.1) are well balanced, handling the extreme sounds of the percussion and the high voices very well. The recording can be a little echoing in both mixes, but although the 5.1 mix gives a better separation of the orchestral playing, the focus is better when listened to on headphones. There is a 20 minute Making Of that consists mainly of interviews with Simone Young and Aribert Reimann discussing the history of the work, its composition, and the approach to producing it in Hamburg. The booklet contains a tracklist, a synopsis and an informative essay on the work. Subtitles are in German and English. These can only be selected and changed while the programme is playing, not from the menu. The Blu-ray is region-free.
