A Shoddy New Rusalka

Dvořák’s Rusalka

Metropolitan Opera

February 17, 2017

Rusalka reunites with the lover of her dreams
Photo credit: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

Lui: I had a unique experience with Rusalka at the Met. Settling into the opening bars of the overture, Mark Elders’ subdued rendition of Dvořák’s score lulled me into a state of relax in which the outside world slowly faded into the background. Although I was really ready for a darker, more uncanny take on this rather visceral and often folkloristic soundscape that is as leavened with joy as it is laden with portentous foreboding, nevertheless I found myself immersed in a parallel musical universe. No passage embodies these dynamic dichotomies more than the prancing chorus of water nymphs with their refrain of “Ho, ho ho!” that is both appealing and strange. In any case, the peaceful salve of the luscious music hit the spot.

I wish I could say the same thing for the staging as it proceeded to set the tone for the story. Mary Zimmerman’s new production really left me lukewarm in the First Act. Rather than a naturalistic set, Daniel Ostling’s design presents the woodland grove of the water nymphs as a claustrophobic rectangular room with the sky and trees painted on the walls. The hardwood flooring did nothing to suggest an outdoor environment and the lake of the water sprite was nothing more than a rectangular opening in the floor. The only even semi-realistic detail is the tree in the middle of the stage on which Rusalka will perch during her Song to the Moon. The blatant staginess of the overall design made this lone naturalistic detail seem out of place.

I see a starkness
Photo credit: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

Lei: Zimmerman’s production looked like the Met ran out of money from the get go. The first act is all about the setting in the woods, lakes and rivers. While I do not necessarily need something overly naturalistic, plopping a tree in the middle of a hardwood floor with an uneven hole and scattering a bunch of round plastic water lilies came across as a glorified rehearsal, with hand me down props.

The Natural world housed in a room
Photo credit: Ken Howard

Water is such an important plot element. Rusalka is a nymph made of water and falls in love with the Prince while he’s swimming the lake she inhabits. In this production, we need to believe that the lake is that spot where a handful of floorboards came off. To make things worse, when the Water Sprite comes out of the “lake,” poor Eric Owens had to jump awkwardly on those plastic leaves and then roll himself on the ground back to the hole in the floor. Again, it looked like a rehearsal in a run down theater, really painful to watch. Hardwood floor scattered with yellow plastic flowers was also all we got for the supposedly romantic encounter between the newly transformed Rusalka and the Prince. I’m not against minimalism, but this one seemed to lack any concept.  

Rusalka invokes the moon
Photo credit: Sara Krulwich

Lui: One of the clever touches, though, was the dress Rusalka wears when we first encounter her. Before she makes a deal with the witch Jezibaba to get her legs, she is burdened by a long trailing “aquatic” dress covered in water lilies that she struggles to move in. And indeed she is forced to swing it around ponderously until her transformation occurs.

I really only began to give the production the benefit of the doubt in Act II, when the ideas behind certain conceits revealed themselves. The action has now moved to the Prince’s palace. The same rectangular space including the same wide wide beam hardwood floors, that once “housed” the natural setting, now redressed, stands for a modest princely parlor.

They are still skimping on the flourishes of grandeur, but the parallel shape of the space seems significant. In one corner is a heaping mound of deer and antelope skulls all with glorious antlers that stand like a neglected pile of hunting trophies, denoting an abusive human attitude toward nature. The thematic tensions begin to emerge. In Zimmerman’s take this seems to be a story about the relationship between human society and the natural world.

Lei: It is true that the Act II sets looked a bit more together and engaged more the eye but I don’t see how they conveyed any strong vision. I did not necessarily got the man vs. nature theme, seems like a lot to ask from a pile of antlers.

Rusalka is out of her element in the human world
Photo credit: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

Lui: Having gained a human form but having lost her voice in the process, Rusalka is now out of her element amidst the humans. Austin McCormick choreographed an extended dance scene that plays out during the ballet interlude in which we see Rusalka struggling to find her place in this new world. She wavers between fascination and terror as she takes in the opulent display of a dozen or so male and female dancers decked out in elegant evening wear who enact all the rituals of human courtship with its formal introductions, posing and posturing, seductions, and being swept off your feet by the consummation of love. Rusalka has a hard time finding her footing in the machine-like rapture of the social system that drives the human world, which the choreography beautifully enacted through movement and dance.

The water nymph has trouble fitting in
Photo credit: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

I finally warmed up to an interpretation of the idea behind the production as a whole in the Third Act, which I found most moving of all. Although I wouldn't call it terribly compelling theater in terms of spectacle, I nevertheless came to appreciate the subtle ways it posed an interpretative problem with which to engage.

All is askew and in tatters by the end
Photo credit: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

We now return to the woodland glade that has been disfigured almost beyond recognition. The set, which have been reduced to nothing more than a set, is now intentionally crooked. The walls with their painted forest scene have been shredded revealing the raw two-by-fours of the set’s skeleton, an intentional metatheatrical nod to the fictiveness of the space of the stage dressed with the simplest of sets.

The suggestion is that the destruction of the sets reflect Rusalka’s subjective perception of the world she once called home. Everything has changed now since she has been disabused of her illusions. In fact, in retrospect, in Egan to think that her subjective understanding was projected onto the natural world from the very beginning. When she sang to the moon in Act I she conjured the grand lunar body in the sky with a wave of her hand and she could even stop it temporarily in its slow march across the backdrop as she sang. However, at the same time, we find out from the Water Sprite in Act III that the damage was caused by a human. The Met’s supertitles render his explanation to the nymphs: “A human has spoiled our waters.” This is what I picked up on to explain Zimmerman’s transformation of the opera into a subtle commentary on the human ability to sully nature and bring ourselves down in the process.

Natural decline and the demise of humankind
Photo credit: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

Following the touching demise of the prince who dies in the arms of his beloved nature goddess, I couldn't help but think of the timeliness of the message for the world today. So much for the escapist pleasures I experienced when the opera began. I was suddenly confronted with one of the most pressing issues we face.

There is only one way to break the curse
Photo credit: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

Lei: I found the Third Act sets as the most irritating at all. The sets here were just utterly trashed and dimly lit, as if they got abandoned or vandalized. Seems a little bit of a stretch to me to put so much emphasis on the line about humans spoiling waters, frankly. The idea there is that the Prince spoiled Rusalka (who used to be a nymph made of water). Other than Rusalka being distraught, the plot does not really justify a trashing of the sets. I usually like it when the production demands some extra thinking from the audience, unraveling interesting interpretations of a work. Take, for example, Zimmerman’s take on Sonnambula, which I personally love.

The problem with this Rusalka production is that it seemed to have some metatheatrical ambitions that were never fully realized or fleshed out with any sort of conviction. The result was a half-baked, cheap-looking staging. What a waste!

Lui: As one of the divas whom the Met is currently pushing, Kristine Opolais is a stunningly beautiful singing-actress. She is a pleasure to watch. After seeing her in several roles over the last couple of seasons, however, she hasn't showed me that she a voice suited for the grand hall of the house. It may very well be that she can vocally captivate an audience in some of the smaller European houses that are more intimate in scale. I have yet to be wowed by her sound here. She tackled the famous Song to the Moon modestly well but it wasn't transporting, as is often the case with the other roles in her repertory at the Met. As an actress she is more compelling. The way she played the final death scene here was as moving as I have ever seen her. It plays out much like the conclusion of the Manon Lescaut we saw her in last season, only here I found her performance more emotionally riveting.  

The irresistible charms of the Foreign Princess
Photo credit: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

Lei: Agree. I don’t see the fuss around Kristine Opolais. She is definitely stunning but voice-wise she yet has to convince me. In this case, however, it didn't hurt that she had a strong leading man to play off against. Tenor Brandon Jovanovich as the Prince was excellent. He carried the longing of this man who gets drawn into an unusual relationship with ardor and vigor from beginning to end, but also convincingly showing other colors. This Prince is also fickle and quick to change his passions when they don’t go how he expects, falling for the easier to understand “Foreign Princess.” He represents the human race as unreliable and untrustworthy. But, he also comes back strong with heartfelt desperation as he realizes his true love and dies in Rusalka’s arms. Soprano Katarina Dalayman as the Foreign Princess was impressive, exceedingly loud in the face of Rusalka’s silence, she displayed an exuberant larger-than-life vocal performance, with fire and aggression that were a pleasure to hear.

Jezibaba conjures cures and curses
Photo credit: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

Lui: Another impressive singer was mezzo Jamie Barton in the role of the witch Jezibaba. This lady has a sound that is luscious, enveloping and rich and this role seems to be written for her voice, menacing yet so melodic. She also seemed to embody the harsh witch with gusto and panache and just stole the show every time she was on stage.

The Water Sprite holds court in the woodland glade
Photo credit: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

As the Water Sprite, bass-baritone Eric Owens was thundering and authoritative, but suffered from poor costume choices, as he was sporting a frog-like outfit that came across as a caricature, at odds with the seriousness of his role.

The Met's previous production had a lushness this one lacks
Photo credit: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

Lei: Mary Zimmerman’s production is decidedly minimalist when compared to the lush Otto Schenk production it rather unnecessarily replaces. It seems like a shame to have retired it. Was it worn out or did that one belong to Renee Fleming, for whom it served as a vehicle to her own notoriety as the great reviver of this otherwise neglected masterpiece? In order to launch a new generation of rising stars is perhaps explains why we needed something new, just not this one.

– Lei & Lui

Jezibaba goes steampunk
Photo credit: Ken Howard

Patriotism Goes Biblical at the Met

Verdi’s Nabucco

Metropolitan Opera

December 16, 2016

Grand opera at the Met.
Photo credit: MetOpera

The revival of Elijah Moshinsky’s production of Verdi’s Nabucco brought us pleasurably back to grand, grand opera at the Met. For works like this one, where the historical context plays such a central role in the plot, sticking to traditional sets (especially those as spectacular as the Met’s here) is a necessary choice. I’m all for modernizing and streamlining productions, but for certain operas, dazzling historical pomp is just what it takes. Once we saw a minimalist Aida with an alien-futuristic take by Fura dels Baus and it was beyond grotesque. But back to Nabucco: not only did this production that debuted in 2001 prove itself a timeless classic with stunning temples and gorgeous costumes but we were also lucky to assist a remarkable star-studded cast bring the whole thing to life with none other than the inimitable James Levine at the helm.

Abigail moves in for the kill.
Photo credit: MetOpera

Mezzo Jamie Barton played Fenena, Nabucco’s daughter. I always jump at the opportunity to her her sing especially since I was completely blown away by her Adalgisa in Norma last year in Los Angeles. But after hearing Barton in Nabucco it became clear to me that Bellini’s writing for Adalgisa just suits her voice in a whole other way. Here it was like listening to another artist, a perfectly fine singer, just not as transfixing. The same goes for tenor Russell Thomas as Ismaele, nephew of the King of Jerusalem. We were bowled over by him in that same L.A. Norma. Here he was good, just not as extraordinary as when we first got to know him. True that both Fenena and Ismaele are not as meaty when compared to other roles in Nabucco.

Soprano Liudmyla Monastyrska as Abigaille, Nabucco’s eldest daughter who discovers she’s of slave descent, was a force of nature to be reckoned with. Her sound is incredibly powerful though her Italian was often a bit muddled. From the beginning, however, she came across musically and theatrically as a woman on a mission, a power hungry animal in pursuit, a rebel with a cause.

Bass Sava Vemić as the high priest of Baal, an evil character pushing Abigaille to power, was making his Met debut. We first encountered this young singer in a Roberto Devereux where he played the most minor role but was the best and most powerful singer on stage after Mariella Devia. It was great to see him again. He sounded good but not quite as forceful as we remember him that late winter day. His voice came across a bit too young for the role, perhaps he still needs to figure out the Met’s acoustic. On the other hand, baritone Dmitry Belosselskiy as Zaccaria, high priest of the Hebrews, was a discovery, which is a testament to just how solid this cast was overall.

Tenor turned baritone steals the show.
Photo credit: Marty Sohl

Which brings us to the highlight of the night. The legendary Placido Domingo was strikingly expressive as Nabucco. I’m not sure that what we heard was necessarily a baritone, but he sounded full and raw, and played the emotional core of the opera like an open wound. Still going strong at his age, Domingo exceeded my expectations on every level. While some say that Placido should just stop pretending to be a baritone, after hearing him here, I cannot but disagree with them since, at least here, in a way, his lyrical expressivity as a life-long tenor translated very well into the baritonal role. No other singer on stage conveyed character as effectively as Domingo. He portrayed the journey of the hubristic king who falls into madness only to subsequently convert and become an enlightened ruler with a heart-wrenching humanity that found me tears more than once over the course of the evening.

Father-daughter dynamics turned on its head.
Photo credit: Marty Sohl

At the center of Nabucco is a father-daughter drama, around which revolves a series of satellite dilemmas that help to motivate and shape things the larger story of the captive Hebrew population and their desire for freedom. This is one of those rare operas in which the role of the villain is played not by an alpha male of one kind or another, but rather by a jealous, vindictive, power hungry woman. Who said that the history of opera was only populated by stories of men doing awful things to women?

And it all comes to a head in Act III. The individual threads come colliding together when Nabucco, the now disenfranchised father descends into his deepest darkest cave. Having lost his throne and his position as the patriarch of his people, he makes an incredibly moving reflective prayer-like plea. Having hit rock bottom, he touches a kind of madness that I can only liken to that of Shakespeare’s King Lear who suffers a similar fate at the hands of two of his daughters. Then of course, all of this is followed by Verdi’s big show-stopping patriotic choral interlude Va’ pensiero. Beautifully executed, it is staged in a golden halo of transcendent light that is as uplifting and gilded as the melody the terrific Met chorus gently sings. It is truly gorgeous stuff and perhaps the most stunning ode to nationalistic longing in the history of opera.

Biblical patriotism comes suffused in a warm halo of light.
Photo credit: MetOpera

In just the past few months we have encountered several of the most important and moving patriotic bits in the nineteenth-century Italian canon. Last October two of Rossini’s political hymns graced the stage in the same week in both L’italiana in Algeri (Isabella’s aria Pensa alla patria) and Guillaume Tell (the final chorus À nos accents religieux). In Macbeth, which LoftOpera so brilliantly brought to us in December, we got to hear Verdi’s breathtaking moment of collectively displaced reverie in Patria oppressa.

It has been a season rife with Risorgimento undertones, as all the great classics in the nationalist songbook were here. With the election cycle rattling away through it all in the background like an obnoxious New York radiator in the dead of winter, it has somehow felt fitting. If only today we were so lucky as to be blessed with a populism that sounded so melodious.

– Lui & Lei

 

The great king crumbles, moves us to tears.
Photo credit: MetOpera

Norma Takes Los Angeles

Bellini’s Norma

Los Angeles Opera

December 10, 2015

Norma has Pollione right where she wants him.
Photo credit: L.A. Opera

This holiday season we decided to pack in some extra opera travel. First up was a trip to California to catch Bellini’s Norma at L.A. Opera, starring the much raved about Meade-Barton duo (that we missed at the Met in 2013 as they were the second cast). Opera going in L.A. is a unique experience, especially for car-averse NYC residents. While we had a vehicle, we parked it 6 blocks away from the opera house so that we could grab dinner at one of the few inspiring restaurants within a decent distance from the venue (Little Sister – delicious). That was a bad decision as six L.A. blocks are definitely not as pedestrian friendly as the equivalent in New York, particularly if half of that is on a steep hill (and one of us is wearing jeweled high heels and it’s suddenly raining – isn’t California going through a drought?!?). But we could not afford to risk driving to the show, not find a parking spot nearby and miss the beginning of the opera! Once we got to the opera house, albeit flustered and soaked, we took in the spectacular setting as this particular stretch of North Grand Avenue is packed with majestic yet thrillingly modern buildings (the MOCA, the Walt Disney Concert Hall, the most recent fantastic-looking museum, The Broad, and, of course, L.A. Opera), lending this stretch the air of a grandiose canyon of culture.

Norma occupies a sacred place all her own.
Photo credit: L.A. Opera

Once inside where it was dry, the opening bars of the overture whisked us away to Bellini-land. Norma is truly one of the most complex and multi-faceted female characters. Throughout the narrative arc of the opera she navigates her issues in her role as a mother (almost kills her kids to spite her ex-lover), daughter (hides her relationship and kids from her father), priestess (breaches all vows to her gods), lover (humiliated by her man), mentor (betrayed by her naive mentee) and political leader (decides to wage war or not depending on the ups and downs of her private love interest). After all her mistakes, though, Norma’s final repentance and self-immolation in atonement redeem her and transform her journey into a most humanly cathartic and tragically empowering story. Opera rarely gets better than this.

Norma transitions into her domestic self.
Photo credit: L.A. Opera

The spectrum of emotions of Norma is so broad and the bel canto vocal demands to express them so challenging that there are very few singers in the world capable to tackle this soprano assoluta role. Soprano Angela Meade is one of them and she delivered a terrific performance, riding the emotional rollercoaster of the Druid priestess with control, agility and fire. While I was not blown away by her Casta Diva (accurate but lukewarm), Meade really rose to the challenge from Oh rimembranza onwards, i.e. when Norma discovers Pollione betrayed her with Adalgisa. From that moment on, her emotional temperature rose and kept rising throughout, Meade’s Norma shined best when she got angry and released her fury. Her singing was electric, expressing waves of rage and hurt that kept the audience on the edge of their seats. Meade’s ability to switch from swooningly tender to thunderously furious was impressive. This soprano perfectly embodied Norma’s conflict between private feelings and public power, which is the essence of Norma’s “soprano assoluta” character. I found Meade’s acting improved, too. This production did not have her move much but she mastered small expressive gestures with high impact (such as disdainfully refusing Adalgisa’s touch at the end of Act I or else throwing the child-murdering-dagger away in Act II).  

A little girl talk with her protégée Adalgisa (right).
Photo credit: L.A. Opera 

Mezzo Jamie Barton as Adalgisa was mesmerizing. I expected her to be great but the liquid velvet of her voice and her magnetic stage presence were quite extraordinary. When Adalgisa made her entrance with her first aria Sgombra è la selva, she embodied young naive love torn between pleasure and duty with a freshness and a bright eyed joy that was utterly moving. Not only are Barton’s vocal control and agility impressive (particularly when she switches swiftly from low to high register), but her acting chops are pretty serious too, from her facial expressions to her body language, she truly is a complete artist. Her charisma is special, she is one of those singers who manages to hook you right at the chest and draw you into the beautiful melody she’s singing, leaving you hypnotized and content. This mezzo’s sound is plush and seductive by itself, but when intertwined with Meade’s creamy soprano in the many Norma/Adalgisa duets, it was pure operatic bliss, the air vibrated and the result was insanely beautiful.

Adalgisa opens up space and time.
Photo credit: L.A. Opera

There were a couple of revelations tonight. Jamie Barton was definitely one of them. Finally seeing her live did not disappoint. Vocally the colors of her mezzo soprano are utterly unique. I wasn’t ready for her fresh, bright sound. It has a throaty fullness. She came across so clear and strong and her enunciation in Italian was always solid. But what really struck me was her singing stage presence. She really opened up certain moments with confidence the way she really slowed down, took her time in unfolding the story of her love affair with Pollione, really savoring the emotions of the moment musically. This is a transcendent quality for a singer of her young age to possess. It’s diva quality but she doesn’t exude any of the other haughty star qualities. She seems so down to earth.

Pollione in the moving finale.
Photo credit: L.A. Opera

Tenor Russell Thomas was another of the revelations of the night. Not only did he prove me wrong on my “tenor famine” theory but he also led me to see the Pollione character in a radical new light. Thomas’ sound is powerful and manly yet warm, ardent and desperate yet round with feeling, and he can hit his high notes with the heroic certainty of a Roman general. His performance during the final act, in particular, moved me to tears. When are you ever supposed to feel for Pollione? He is the perfect male jerk, shallow, fickle, always going for the younger woman, here today, gone tomorrow, faithless, in denial of his fatherhood. But when he is sung with feeling and pathos, the finale takes on another twist. His downfall suddenly becomes moving. When Pollione finally sees Norma’s greatness (she acknowledges her own hypocrisy, spares Adalgisa, saves her kids and faces bravely death by fire for her own mistakes), he falls in love with her all over again:

Ah! Troppo tardi t’ho conosciuta!
Sublime donna, io t’ho perduta!
Col mio rimorso è amor rinato,
Più disperato, furente egli è!
Moriamo insieme, ah, sì, moriamo!
L’estremo accento sarà ch’io t’amo.
Ma tu morendo, non m’abborrire,
Pria di morire, perdona a me!

The intensity of Thomas’ rendition of this particular moment was raw, desperate and heartwarming, changing forever the way I think about Pollione. When in the right hands, Bellini’s music really redeems him, too, at the end. When he comes around and recognizes again his love for Norma and they go hand in hand to their shared funeral pyre, they truly go down in a blaze of glory. It was all thanks to Thomas’s visceral embodiment of Pollione. He was just that moving.

Ite sul colle, o Druidi!
Photo credit: L.A. Opera

Oroveso was played by Bass Morris Robinson, a big man with a big thundering voice. I was particularly moved by his final duet with Norma when he switches from furious (she hid from him her relationship with the enemy not to mention her offspring) to moved (he’s a grandpa!).

Priestesses grace the stage.
Photo credit: L.A. Opera

When it comes to director Anne Bogart’s choices, however, I was not too impressed. The sets were dominated by a hilly hardwood floor, with a corporate-looking building on the right (symbolizing the Roman force of order and conquest) and a bunch of ill-arranged pieces of lumber vaguely recalling a forest of two-by-fours propping up the left wall (representing the fortress of the nature-loving Druids, I suppose, though looking more like an Ikea advertisement). In the middle there was a circular space used for the Casta Diva ritual and Norma’s family time with her kids. Nothing too exciting except for the use of lighting with the moon rising during the war chorus Guerra guerra! (chorus that, incidentally, lacked the necessary fire).

Costumes were uneven, with the two leading ladies wearing wonderful gowns with jeweled corsets but the rest of the Druids were really in rags. Also, why on earth Pollione was sporting a nineteenth-century military coat and his wingmen traditional Roman armor and red capes? Finally, quite some time was spent on choreographies by a group of lovely dancers, however the dance numbers did not really work with the rest of the staging, and looked more like an afterthought.

Invocation of the moon. Awaiting the war cry.
Photo credit: L.A. Opera

But, when the cast and the orchestra (lead by maestro James Colon) are so sensational, these production missteps are really minor flaws as they did not detract to an otherwise spectacular and all too rare performance of this Bellini masterpiece.

– Lui & Lei

Full moon on the rise.
Photo credit: L.A. Opera

________________________________

* Too late, too late

I have known you –

Sublime woman, I lost you,

With my remorse Love is reborn,

A madder, more desperate love.

Let us die together, yes, let us die:

My last word will be that I love you.

But you, in dying, must not hate me.

Before you die, forgive me.