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

First Tudor Queen Down – Two More To Go

Donizetti’s Anna Bolena

Metropolitan Opera

October 9, 2015

Queen Anna Bolena unleashes her rage
Photo credit: New York Times

Lei: As bel canto lovers, we are always over the moon when we get to see an opera from Donizetti’s “Tudor trilogy.” In this series the incredibly beautiful and virtuosic singing also serves the purpose of expressing a range of dramatic emotions that runs the gamut, particularly for the regal title roles. Each of these works features a most complex female lead, a queen who rules, loves, rages, suffers, fights, avenges and melts (not necessarily in that order). The singing here is so challenging that there are very few artists able to tackle it. So, when the Met announced that it was going to present all three of the “Donizetti Queens” in the same season, with the title role sang each time by one of the most exciting sopranos around, Sondra Radvanovsky, we started jumping up and down, giddy with excitement and anticipation. Drama! Vocal fireworks! Thundering yet tender but crazy queens!

The Queen cannot believe she's fallen into Henry VIII's trap
Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met

Lui: Donizetti’s Anna Bolena is a rare gem. Despite or perhaps due to the musical supremacy of its score and the vocal extravagance it demands of its singers, the first of Donizetti’s three queens only appears all too infrequently. In fact, this season the Met is one of the only two opera houses staging it around the world (the other being Bergamo) – how lucky for us! The role of its heroine comprises an odyssey of musical moods and emotional tones that is among the most dynamic in the repertoire. With its forbidding vocal demands and its broad range that spans the whole spectrum of human emotions from somber sadness to raw feminine heroism, Donizetti’s Anna Bolena is one of the great soprano assoluta roles par excellence, up there with Bellini’s Norma and Donizetti’s third queen, the Elizabeth of Roberto Devereux, who will be making her Met debut later this season.

This was Sondra Radvanovsky’s night in every way. From the very start, she rendered the reflective, nostalgic mood of her opening aria, Come, innocente giovane through lyrical low-lying phrases and intricately delicate coloratura juxtaposed to flexible high notes with several flights into the uppermost registers.

Regal dignity
Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met

Lei: In this early aria, the forlorn queen ruminates on her estranged husband and her difficult life at court as a queen who fails to produce male heirs (though she did give birth to Elizabeth but that’s for another opera…). Things heat up shortly thereafter, with Anna’s private, ill-fated encounter with her ex-lover Percy and her subsequent arrest by Henry for adultery (though she was not really adultering – evil skirt-chasing Henry is just making up excuses to get rid of her and marry his new lover, Giovanna Seymour).  

Queen Anna, Queen-to-be Elizabeth and the lusty page Smeaton
Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met

In terms of the story and score, Anna Bolena’s initial trajectory presents a powerful woman who is steadfast in her convictions as she withstands the temptation of seeing Percy again. Here Radvanovsky demonstrated great feats of coloratura flexibility and a truly resolute, stouthearted tone. In the concluding Ah, segnata è la mia sorte, Radvanovsky gave us the full power of her dramatic sound. The full heroic strength of a true soprano assoluta was on display.

The treacherous Giovanna pleads with Anna
Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met

Lui: Incredibly moving was her forgiveness of Giovanna Seymour in the beginning of Act II. The two women share a dramatically charged moment in which Bolena realizes that her rival for the affection of the king is none other than her closest confidant and friend Giovanna Seymour. After an initial moment of surprised growing rage, Radvanovsky’s soaring vocal lines in her recognition that Seymour is as much a victim as she is in this moment of human tenderness and understanding were so transcendent that they sent tingles through my body. The dark dusky hues in her voice that shone through were just so human. 

Lei: This Act II opener really caught me off guard in its surprising human and moving twist. One would expect Bolena to unleash all sorts of insults on her double faced friend who’s sleeping with her husband, but the queen here actually forgives her as she’s been in her same shoes before (when she was the king’s lover causing him to dump his then queen) and so she understands the lure of Henry VIII and the power that comes with him (è reo soltanto / chi tal fiamma accese in te). On the other hand, though, Anna’s forgiveness has the effect of further punishing Giovanna who just cannot bear the guilt of having betrayed the trust of her amazingly gracious queen (ah! peggiore è il tuo perdono / dello sdegno ch’io temea).

The Queen suspects her husband's fidelity
Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met

Lui: Dauntless during her trial, Anna expresses regret in haunting, pathetic phrases, ever somber but understated. Radvanovsky’s vocal agility was sensational. Her encyclopedic singing was simply breathtaking. And if you were weren’t satisfied with all of the ground she covered by the end of Act I, she really pulled out all the stops in Act II.

Lei: Her performance was extraordinary throughout the first two thirds of the evening. But by the time she got her grandiose finale that climaxes with the famous “mad scene” in her prison cell and subsequent execution, it was like she was only pacing herself in the lead up to this phenomenal passage of music.

Coppia iniqua!
Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met

Lui: For her last scene, Donizetti gives us a panorama of her emotional existence. Radvanovsky’s voice masterfully embodied every contour of her heroine’s psychic landscape with resilience and stamina. Her vocal technique ranged across the spectrum – the melancholy piano pianissimo of her sad and somber reminiscence back to happier times (Al dolce guidami), the hurt (Cielo, a’ miei lunghi spasimi), the heroic (Coppia iniqua). It’s an emotional storm. And Radvanovsky was mind blowing. The way her voice got all friable and frail, almost like dry parchment, during the most delicate moment of her big climax in the mad scene, ranks up there with some of the great Met performances of my humble experience. It’s just a shame that the rest of the cast was rarely at her level.

Serial husband Henry VIII
Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met

Lei: Ildar Abdrazakov, who is usually reliable, had his moments but from time to time tonight just couldn’t get there. His voice seemed to drop off and was almost inaudible. Which is only made more conspicuous by the sheer force of his extraordinary female lead. I hate to say it but his heart just didn’t seem to be in it. Taylor Strayton as Percy was a mediocre tenor at best, though he has shown signs of improvement since the last time we saw him in Bellini's La Sonnambula a few years back. Milijana Nikolic in her Met debut as Giovanna Seymour was solid, though I found her sound to be muddled, almost milky. Her enunciation of the Italian wasn’t as crystal clear and cutting as Radvanovsky’s.  

Smeaton pours his heart out.
Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met

Lui: The court singer, Smeaton, sung with romantic agility by one of my favorite bel canto mezzo sopranos, Tamara Mumford was perhaps the highlight of the supporting cast. She has great stage presence and really embodies the lovelorn longing of the young Cherubino-esque farfallone amoroso, who flies a little too close to the flame with tragic results for all involved.

Anna falls into the trap
Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met

I also came to a greater appreciation of Sir David McVicar’s production this time. I was a little underwhelmed by the starkness of Robert Jones’s sets when we saw this production at its debut back on opening night in 2011. But tonight they really struck me as almost painterly in their attention to period details like the cavernous space of the early modern royal castle and palace. The modular design makes for fluid set changes that keep the action flowing almost oneirically. And Jenny Tiramani’s costumes are just spectacular. So plush in their florid Renaissance flair. Many scenes looks like a Holbein or a Bronzino painting. With the light flooding into the vast interiors of the palace through high gothic windows and the pencil thin trees that populate the wasteland that lies just outside the castle walls, the set design is starkly expressionistic in its minimalist efficacy.

The sets for the big Anna/Giovanna confrontation scene
Photo credit: Met

A more defiant Anna by Netrebko in 2011
Photo credit: Met

Lei: Interestingly, in this run of the production they switched things up for the last “mad scene.” Back in 2011, when Anna Netrebko sung the title role, she wore a fitted black gown and, after attacking the raging aria Coppia iniqua, she lifted her long hair to bare her neck for the executioner’s ax and marched resolutely towards her death, with a feisty defiance that was exciting to see. Radvanovsky, on the other hand, was wearing a loose white tunic, almost like an under garment or the smock of an in-patient at a mental hospital, and, after her ladies in waiting cut her hair to a short bob, she was blindfolded and guided gropingly towards the executioner. While Radvanosky’s singing was sublime (and, in my opinion, superior and more convincing than the Russian’s soprano), her acting was of a terrified madwoman, quite a change from Netrebko’s dramatic and proud interpretation of that same scene. One thing did not change though, the blood-red silk curtain swishing down the scene immediately after the sight of the scary executioner and his ax – that’s what I call a powerful finale!

- Lui & Lei

Radvanovsky's Anna loses it before the executioner
Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met

Netrebko's Queen is regal till the end
Photo credit: Met

Dream Meets Reality

Bellini’s La Sonnambula

Met - April 1, 2014

I have never seen Bellini’s La Sonnambula performed “straight,” that is to say, in a traditional way, but I suspect I may find it flat after having discovered this opera through Mary Zimmerman’s production when it premiered in 2009. This was my third time seeing it and I continue to like it quite a lot, especially since it fleshes out and refreshes an otherwise pretty linear and not particularly exciting or dynamic story, all while expanding on its themes.

Diana Damrau stars as the star of the show
Photo credit: Marty Sohl 

The plot is very simple: village boy and girl are about to get married. Girl happens to be a sleepwalker and ends up in the bed of another man. Boy throws a jealous fit and calls off the wedding. Girl is heartbroken because she did not do anything wrong and really, really loves boy. Once the sleepwalking misunderstanding is cleared up everybody returns to their lovey-dovey selves again and all ends well.

The dreamer on set at rehearsal
Photo credit: Marty Sohl 

Zimmerman stages Bellini’s work in the rehearsal room of an opera company preparing a La Sonnambula performance. The production notes tell us that the story, actions and characters of the village are all coincident with those of the rehearsal room. This blurred line between reality and art (that is itself double faced – “rehearsal” vs. “Met” performance) raises questions of what is art and how life is influenced by it and vice versa. Since there is no distinct difference between the two, the viewer is kept wondering if she is seeing the opera or “real life.” This riffs on other contrasting themes of the original opera, such as the different perceptions of the same reality by the “awake” and the “sleepwalker” and the tension between what you see and what you believe. In many ways, the public of Zimmerman’s production experiences the same doubts and confusion of the opera’s characters, not knowing whether to fully believe what it sees is part of the show or part of the characters’ reality.

The chorus rebels
Photo credit: Richard Perry, NYTimes

Among the several hilariously entertaining bits, I particularly liked the anarchic frenzy at the end of act one when the chorus members/villagers think Amina has been spending the night with the count. They all give up on the rehearsal and start trashing costumes and destroying scores, even trying to pull the prompter’s (and the prompter himself) out of the hole, as if to say “if this is the way things are going we don’t like it and we don’t want to be a part of it anymore! We want chaste virtuous Adina, not this double-faced trollop!”

Diana Damrau dreams 
Photo credit: The Metropolitan Opera

Diana Damrau carried the show, being there and having fun, showcasing great acting and sense of humor – she even cartwheeled in the finale and at curtain call! Her singing was sensational, with light trills, piercing pure sound, ranging from the sweetest tone to the more cheerful energetic bel canto – just they way a coloratura soprano should be (though she can also do Verdi pretty wonderfully too).

Tenor Taylor Stayton was disappointing, even more so because the 2 prior times I saw this opera Alvino was played by Juan Diego Florez (who is perfect for this type of role). Stayton’s Alvino was shrill, lacked warmth and expressiveness and even his acting was bland – really showing that bel canto should either be done right or not at all.

Michele Pertusi and Rachelle Durkin share an intimate moment
Photo credit: The Metropolitan Opera

Baritone Michele Pertusi as Count Rodolfo was solid, with commanding acting and a warm, deep sound. Soprano Rachelle Durkin was an awkward and goofy Lisa but her slapstick acting worked with the character and all in all sang well.

La Sonnambula showcases the chorus way more than other bel canto operas and the Met chorus really shined, not only with great singing, but also having fun with Zimmerman’s production and playing a key role in emphasizing the theater within the theater side of it.

Damrau dances a joyful jig 
Photo credit: Jonathan Tichler / The Metropolitan Opera 

The finale is an uplifting celebration of all the confusion that has just transpired. Everybody ends up in costume as though they’ve finally stepped out of the rehearsal room onto the “real” Met stage to perform the show they’ve been preparing for. Except, in the very moment that all the different realities are meant to collide, the scenery breaks up and the illusion of the rehearsal room and the Met stage is laid bare. All is dream, all is reality.

– Lei & Lui

Evvivan gli sposi!
Photo credit: Jonathan Tichler / The Metropolitan Opera