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Simon Holledge's Letter from Berlin, October 2003
Berlin is an ongoing, non-stop, opera festival. During October there were 51 performances of 19 productions at the three main opera houses. During the six days of my visit I had the choice of seven operas. Given splendid orchestras and singers, inventive directors, excellent acoustics, and average ticket prices of around 35 euros (US 40 dollars), Berlin is a formidable operatic destination, perhaps only rivalled by Vienna.
Dario Volonté was an inspiring Calaf, singing with passion and elegance, rising heroically to the climactic moments of the opera. A spinto rather than a dramatic tenor, he nevertheless had all the power necessary for the role. Elena Kelessidi was a sympathetic Liu with a lovely timbre to the voice, albeit with a less than ideal vibrato. Sylvie Valayre was the least successful of the soloists. Her phrasing was awkward and she had intonation problems. At times she sounded flat. Although volume was apparently not a problem as such, the role is evidently not suited to her. However she matched the physical requirements of the production to perfection! The production by Doris Dörrie drew on popular Japanese children's and teenage culture. This requires explanation. A skin-head, T-shirt and track-suited Calaf [real world: labourer? footballer?] contrasted with Timur and Liu, both dressed in purple plastic capes, the latter with long white hair [manga1] sporting a large Gothic cross on her skirt [vampire protection?]. Liu was the equivalent and equal of Turandot: a good sister, bad sister relationship. Liu confronted Turandot directly in the death scene, killing herself with the latter's sword.
The 'populo di pekino' appeared as skeletons in Act I, but thereafter in red and silver space suits [Ultraman, a Japanese children's TV programme, dating back to the 1960s]. Ping, Pang, Pong were monsters [Ponkikki, another long-running children's TV programme]. Turandot was a narcissistic teenager with long spiky black hair [manga], eventually transformed into a loveless housewife [real world], when Calaf forcibly stripped her of her costume (and toy bear attached to her belt), making her wear clothing matching his own. Altoum wore a brown plastic suit [retired 'salariman']. No real communication or warmth was shown except in same sex relationships: Altoum with Calaf, and Liu with Turandot. There were three main props: a monumental mobile phone, used as the Act 1 gong, and also for confirming the answers to the riddles; a giant toy bear serving as Turandot's capsule refuge; and a tiled-roof, one-room Japanese house built over a garage, belonging to Altoum, but taken over by the loveless couple at the end of the opera.
A large tourist map of Beijing, complete with coffee stains and scribbled telephone numbers served as a curtain, however there was only one Chinese scene. At the beginning of Act 2, the three ministers dreaming of their retirement became young Chinese motorcyclists accompanied by three qipao2-clad nightclub hostesses. (Their 'explicit', plain-daylight, trousers-on, group sex scene caused some hilarity in the house). All of which poses a considerable number of questions. Can a parody work when the audience are largely unaware of what is being parodied? Is it acceptable to take a serious opera subject and introduce humour? Is it acceptable to take an adult theme and present it as a children's story? Is it responsible, in our small present-day world, to indiscriminately mix Chinese and Japanese references? Finally, would Dörrie and the Staatsoper have the courage to risk a riot and present this in Tokyo?
The production of Elektra by Dieter Dorn, also at the Staatsoper, was conventional by comparison. A steel-blue stage, illuminated by occasional bursts of light, revealed three hanging props: an axe, a bell and a headless human (?) sacrifice. Most of the cast wore loose Greek robes and Elektra spent her time clutching her father's large greatcoat while awaiting Orest.
Deborah Polaski is emotionally committed to the big roles in the repertory and while her voice is not cast in the heroic Flagstad/Nilsson mould, she is a fine actress who delivers a thoughtful performance. She is obviously much loved in her home theatre and at her best in its sympathetic acoustic. Albert Dohmen was a powerful, intense Orest, considerably louder than anyone else on stage, though some clumsy stage business by other members of the cast lessened the dramatic impact of his interpretation.
At the Deutsche Oper Berlin, on the other side of the city, a new, extravagant, production of Don Pasquale by Jean-Louis Martinoly was presented on October 11. The concept behind it was simple: Don Pasquale and Norina clash, not just because of a difference in age, but also because of incompatible tastes. Don Pasquale is an antiquarian and collector of old masters, Norina is a free-wheeling artiste (acrobat? actress? singer?). A busy production with lots of action and a surprising number of extras, there were some very elaborate sets. Not a production to demonstrate much fiscal responsibility at the DOB, but it was entertaining to watch.
The Komische Oper, where the celebrated director Walter Felsenstein worked from 1947 to 1975, has a beautiful turn-of the century auditorium but unfortunately I was unable to see any opera there. Instead I saw an interesting performance of Stravinsky's play with music, L'histoire du soldat, given in the foyer by seven members of the orchestra and a group of young actors. This was an ingenious production demonstrating all the possibilities presented by a minimal set: 101 uses for a revolving metal trolley! The young actors gave a loud and powerful performance which might have been more attuned to the rhythms of Stravinsky's score.
Ever since the fall of the wall, Berlin's politicians have questioned whether the city has the money to continue to maintain three separate houses - with three opera companies and three ballet companies. From January 2004, in an arrangement which may or may not be permanent, they will be loosely merged into one organization, under a single general director (yet to be chosen). Their resources will be rationalized and some 220 jobs will be cut.
The Staatsoper has a beautiful auditorium that attracts tourists, but it has poor, cramped backstage facilities. The Deutsche Oper has a huge backstage and great technical resources, but a front of house of surpassing ugliness. How should these houses be used? Both have musical directors - Daniel Barenboim and Christian Thielemann - concentrating on the same core repertoire of German Romantic works. The Komische Oper presents less of a problem. Using young singers and performing exclusively in German, it has its own unique mission, its own unique audience. Simon Holledge, 7 November 03 1manga: cartoon or comic strips, read by both children and adults in Japan Uwe Schneider's Letter from Berlin, November 2003
The Berlin Opera scene is currently undergoing greater change than any other in Europe. Discussions about the organization, structure, repertoire and (particularly) finances of the German capital's three houses are ongoing. Seemingly every week a new plan is unveiled. Take, for instance, the Deutsche Oper Berlin, which lost its promising General Manager Udo Zimmermann in dubious circumstances last season. Zimmermann stood for widening of the repertoire, experimentation and an ambitious new theatre. Some of his productions, though not all, may have been misguided, but at least they collectively showed a clear and well-thought-out concept for a 21st-century opera house. The new management team seems more traditional. Ioan Hollender, General Manager of the Wiener Staatsoper, has been engaged as a consultant. One of the first things he did was buy a nine-year-old production of Bellini's I puritani from his own Vienna State Opera. There wouldn't be much to say against this, were it not for the fact that the production was a total flop. John Dew's production really hasn't much to offer. It is one of those stagings in a sort of black box, which is from time to time flooded with some 'meaningful' coloured light (reddish for love, bluish for madness etc), with no props or scenery other than the basics (sets: Heinz Balthes). It is a throwback to those 'psychological' productions in the Europe of the 1980s and early 1990s, associated with directors like Peter Mussbach, Jonathan Miller or John Dew. But what was well motivated and structured in those productions seems to have given way to nothing more than a few foreground lighting effects and banal symbolism.
A soprano, dressed in virginal white, standing on an empty, turquoise illuminated stage, is not enough to depict a descent into madness, nor do two designer chairs equate with a place of executive power. Two steps forward when somebody is excited, or a clenched fist to show tension, are hardly enough to develop either the plot or the characters. The many raised hands, genuflections and singing right at the front of the stage were an unintentional reminder of the theatre of bygone days. But all this was topped by Dew's only idea: after heavy cuts in the finale, which celebrates the love of Elvira and Arturo, Riccardo kills Arturo just as Elvira is singing of the joy of their reunion. This is not only contrary to the libretto, but also interferes with the text and music to the extent that even the German subtitles stopped - maybe in the hope than nobody in the audience would understand Elvira's Italian words. Arturo, with his many exposed high notes, is one of the most challenging tenor roles in the bel canto repertoire, and Spaniard José Sempere attempted to be equal to it by bravely substituting steely tone for phrasing and melodic harmony. Though his middle register was well produced and intelligently used, a squeaking sound in the exposed passages ruined his interpretation and he got some boos in the end. Elvira was sung by soprano Maureen O'Flynn, who has had a steady career in recent years. Her voice is not the biggest, but she has an excellent, flexible technique, which allows her to project coloratura and long phrases even above loud ensembles. Nevertheless her portrayal of Elvira seemed somewhat pale - behind the good technique there was little deeper feeling and a limited range of vocal colour, and I missed a certain dramatic power. The orchestra made a sovereign effort under the unobtrusive direction of Frédéric Chaslin.
A much more vivid and satisfying musical evening took place at Berlin's Staatsoper Unter den Linden only days earlier, in the revival of Thomas Langhoff's 1999 production of Le nozze di Figaro. Though Langhoff's production isn't much more than a conventional staging, which has hardly an original idea, it works fine, knows all the 'coups de theatre' and tells the story without any silly tricks or diversions - at least when it has as great a cast as seen on November 15.
Conducting Mozart is a highly skilled art which does not come easily, as proven by another Le nozze di Figaro - the first new production of the season at the Oper Leipzig. It opened on November 1 and is a lively, more or less conventional staging by Dutch producer Guy Joosten. Based on his 1995 production for the Vlaamse Opera (Belgium), it has been adapted to the stage and resources of the Oper Leipzig. Since Henri Meier took over the company in 2000, he has aimed to cultivate an in-house ensemble of young singers flexible in repertoire and style. It was these singers that were showcased in this Figaro, and were the strength of the performance. The singers know each other, they know how to interact, how to phrase and how to form an ensemble, creating a rare homogeneity. Of course this has its price: the characterization of individuals takes a back seat to the whole arrangement, and singer-actors with personality are needed.
Guy Joosten, the producer, is a busy man. At the moment he is preparing Gounod's Roméo et Juliette for the Met. At Leipzig, he had two premieres in one month. Besides Figaro he is also directing a new production of Berlioz's Les Troyens, which opened on November 29. Both productions are built around one single, central idea. In the case of Figaro a glass structure resembling a greenhouse dominates the scenery and becomes a symbol for the force of nature - a well established motif in German Literature since the 18th century. (Goethe's novel 'The Elective Affinites' is the most prominent example.) The driving force of nature in question here is of course 'love' and its transformations. The glass house is destroyed step by step and we end up in a genuinely 'natural' location for the finale - a concept that neither harms the work, nor disturbs the action on stage. In other words, if you change the set and you'll get a Figaro production as you can see it anywhere in the world.
Berlioz's view of the classical drama wasn't free of this either. Joosten treats Berlioz's idea as a 'grande machine théâtrale', while failing to deal with the themes such as heroism and patriotism which give the work its structure. It was a fascinating evening anyway, because Joosten and his set designer Johannes Leiacker collaborated to presting fascinating pictures on stage to illustrate the action. © Uwe Schneider, 2 December 2003 December 2003
Leos Janacek's burlesque The Excursions of Mr Broucek, which had its world premiere in 1920 at Prague, hasn't had much luck on the world's stages. In fact there has never been a definitive version of the work. The new production at the Prague National Theatre, which was premiered on 20 December 2003, was the first performance of a new, critical edition.
Unfortunately stage director Jirí Nekvasil wasted his opportunity. He concentrated on the action, while avoiding comment or judgement, not to mention anything approaching satire. The merit of David Poutney's production from the 1990's (seen in London and Munich) had been to explain Janacek's critique of the defects of society. Nekvasil's production instead left the audience with an amateurish development of the plot, without any interaction between the characters, or any explanation of what this work might be about. Having said this, the production had some highly poetic moments, such as when the scene changed and film projections were used, when the scenes seemed to fade into another, when we ran through the streets of old Prague or travelled through space to the moon (stage design: Daniel Dvorák).
The musical side of the production couldn't be praised highly enough - Charles Mackerras and the orchestra did miracles with the score. The warm sound of the strings of the Czech Philharmonic and the variety of tone in the woodwind seemed to explore every possible nuance of Janacek's music. A waltz theme and its variations structure the melodic and rhythmic complexity, and Mackerras shaped the swell of the phrasing as if it were the easiest thing in the world. The standard of the singing was also high, with a particularly intriguing performance from Jan Vacik in the title role. His character tenor has possibilities of shadings and force which I have never before heard in his heroic or bel canto roles. Peter Straka sang the more heroic tenor roles with an impressive and elegant voice. The soprano parts were sung by Jitka Svobodová, who has a lovely voice but seemed a bit nervous. One could only hope that this complex masterpiece gets another chance in a production with more regard for the libretto and the composer's intentions.
At the Dresden Semperoper, only two days earlier, producer Günter Krämer, who recently produced Hálevy's La Juive at the Met, and his set designer Gisbert Jäkel, attempted to present Johann Strauss's Die Fledermaus as the study of a society on the edge, while ignoring the vaudeville character of the work. Heavy cuts to the original text, together with the insertion of some new, boring dialogue, only served to damage the work's dramaturgical structure and proportions. Fledermaus is one of those operas which seems to tempt producers to re-interpretation, and the list of notable failures is long: in the 1990s at Munich, Leander Hausmann tried to deconstruct the work using fashionable modern acting methods and the whole production had to be rearranged after the premiere. In Leipzig, the late Ruth Berghaus concentrated on the conflict between bourgeoisie and upper class, resulting in one of her most boring productions. Hans Neuenfels reduced the work to a provocation of the 'high society' of Salzburg Festival visitors, while again changing the libretto.
It was a shame given that the evening had started most promisingly - Manfred Honeck and the Sächsische Staatskapelle played a virtuoso overture, full of drive and gaiety - but after that the orchestra were soon out of the picture. As for the singers, Camilla Nylund gave a generally secure Rosalinde, while Hans-Joachim Ketelsen sang and played Eisenstein in a routine manner - neither managed to become a leading character. The same went for Dale Duesing as Falke, who has certainly seen his vocal prime. Iris Vermillion sang a splendid couplet as Orlofsky and Reinhard Dorn, though he characterized Frank well, took some liberties with the vocal line. Miroslav Dvorsky didn't make much out of Alfredo, but had some nice tenorial moments.
The Berlin Staatsoper saw a new production of Tchaikovsky's Pique Dame in December, and I attended the seventh performance on 22 December. It is a production that tells the story without much flourish, stressing the problems of gambling more than the love plot, thus moving closer to Pushkin's novel. Polish producer and film maker Mariusz Trelinski and his team (set: Boris Kudlicka, costumes: Magdalena Teslawska) make it clear from the very first scene that Hermann's addiction to gambling was responsible for everything, by setting it in a casino and not in a park according to the text. From this the story was developed to its dramatic climaxes. This neither harms the work nor throws up any new questions. It works well and is entertaining. Daniel Barenboim led the Staatskapelle in an orgy of sound, which never crossed into cheap pathos. There were excellent solo moments in the orchestra and the dramatic action of the score always came first. It was a convincing reading of Tchaikovsky's music, modern in the mixture of different orchestral voices, giving the music an almost slender character. Ukrainian tenor Victor Lutsiuk had a very good evening as Hermann. With his hefty middle voice he was capable of expressing dramatic outbursts as well as lyrical moments. His Hermann was a desperate and restless character from the very beginning. Lisa was sung by Angela Denoke, awarded singer of the year by Opernwelt magazine in 1999. I have heard her several times in recent years, but have never seen a really convincing performance. Her voice has nothing personal, she sings Tchaikovsky in the same style as Beethoven, Wagner, Strauss or Janacek. Perhaps she has done too much during the last few years, as her high voice has become insecure and shrill, her intonation more than problematic. The two baritones, Hanno Müller-Brachmann as Tomski and Roman Trekel as Jeletzki, did much better. The latter was particularly impressive in his Act II aria. Ute Trekel-Burckhardt, a long time favourite of the Berlin audience, gave an impressive Countess with wonderful piano singing. This production is surely an asset to the repertoire of the Berlin Houses. Konwitschny has understood an important thing: the opera is about seduction, but not the seduction of women, it's the seduction of a whole society and its values. The myth of Don Giovanni is that of an outcast, who is different, refusing to integrate himself into the norm. There are two climaxes in this production: the two finales. In the first, the Don has seduced everyone (!) to his unconventional life style, illustrated by a sort of orgy. In the second finale, there is no theatrical inferno for the Don, instead he is punished by social re-integration, to life bound by the rules of society. This is the real hell. In the meantime the characters experience extreme situations: from sexual transformations to death or even expulsion from the plot of the opera. Scenes and actions are played to their logical conclusions, sometimes leaving the rules of a logical story. But it is these experiences which show the characters (and the audience) that the world of this opera is built on constraints and values that should be questioned. The singing was excellent. The Komische Oper has an ensemble of (mostly) young singers of high quality. It would be unfair to highlight any single singer from the splendid ensemble, but Ingrid Kaiserfeld's Donna Anna and Gabriel Suovanen's Don Giovanni should be noted. I am sure both have great career prospects. However Markus Schäfer (Don Ottavio), Christiane Oertel (Donna Elvira), Jens Larsen (Leporello), Florian Plock (Masetto) and Maria Bentsson (Zerlina) were also memorable performers. The excellent orchestra was lead by Jin Wang, who always had his finger on the pulse. This was a model opera performance: terrifically entertaining dramatically, intellectually and musically. © Uwe Schneider, 3 January 2004 Uwe Schneider is a lecturer in German Literature at the University of Dresden. He was born in Munich in 1965, and from an early age was a regular visitor to the Bavarian State Opera. He is now working on a new edition of Wedekind. His interests in the humanities are reflected in a wide range of publications on literature and culture. He is a collector of live opera recordings, and a specialist in sound restoration and editing. See also Letters from Berlin 2004 |
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