Lulu, Welsh National Opera, Cardiff, February 2013

Alban Berg’s Lulu, mostly written in 1934, was only performed in a complete version for the first time in 1979. Berg died in 1935, and after his widow could not get Schoenberg, nor Webern or Zemlinsky, to write an orchestration of Act III she refused any attempt at completion, and so it remained until she died more than forty years after her husband.

Lulu and Countess Geschwitz, all images WNO/ Clive Barda

Complete productions are much to be desired because in Berg’s unique musical language the three acts hang together, and David Pountney has done us the great service of staying true to the composer’s vision, and indeed that of Frank Wedekind, who wrote the two plays on which it is based. If you saw the Covent Garden production by Christof Loy in 2009, a coldly unrealistic concert-like performance, be assured this is utterly different. Colourful, yet capable of huge coldness towards the end, courtesy of Mark Jonathan’s clever lighting, this production allows us to see Lulu’s abject amorality and the fascination she exerts on those around her.

Schön and Lulu

Johan Engels’ set recalls the circus of the prologue, perhaps even the meta-human achievements of the 2012 Olympics, and the animal heads used in Marie-Jeanne Lecca’s costumes recall the convergence of humanity and inhumanity in The Story of O. The bowler hats represent the world outside, as do the umbrellas in the final scene, where Lulu meets her end in a dreary post-Dickensian London.

After each of her three husbands dies earlier in the opera he is hung on the set and lifted high up, remaining there until the end when each returns in a different guise. This helps exhibit the symmetry of Berg’s opera, centred as it is on the incarceration of Lulu after the death of her husband, Dr. Schön. She kills him herself and he returns as Jack the Ripper. Heady stuff, with Lulu as nemesis to the desire and fascination she evokes, the earth spirit in the first part of Wedekind’s drama.

Lulu, Act I sc.3

Marie Arnet did a superb job of bringing this Erdgeist to stage, secure in voice and sure in characterization under David Pountney’s direction. Here is something far more than a femme fatale. She is a creature of the spirit world that lurks in our unconscious, befitting the deeply intellectual milieu that produced Freud and the music of the Second Viennese School. Some excellent singing too from others in the cast, with Natascha Petrinsky particularly notable as Lulu’s lesbian lover and admirer, the Countess Geschwitz. Ashley Holland gave a sound performance as Dr. Schön, with Peter Hoare giving a brilliantly incisive portrayal as Lulu’s lover and Schön’s son Alwa. Richard Angas came over very well as the animal tamer and Schigolch, as did Mark LeBrocq as the Artist in Act I reincarnated as the Negro in Act III, Patricia Orr as the schoolboy and other roles, Julian Close as the Acrobat, and Alan Oke was superb as Prince, Manservant and Marquis in the three acts.

Conducting by Lothar Koenigs brought out the full range and value of Berg’s extraordinary score, and in Pountney’s hands this was a production to savour. When Lulu is incarcerated after the death of Schön, her Freiheit removed like Freia in Wagner’s Ring, there was a similar lassitude that could only be relieved by her escape. And talking of the Ring, the patch over Schigolch’s eye, and his appearance at the end, reminded me of Wagner’s Wanderer in Siegfried.

This was a rip-roaring success for WNO, and if you don’t know the story of the opera, read it up first and buy a programme for the excellent essays it contains.

Performances at the Wales Millennium Centre continue until February 23, after which it tours to: The Birmingham Hippodrome, 5 Mar; Venue Cymru, Llandudno, 12 Mar; The Mayflower, Southampton, 19 Mar; Milton Keynes Theatre, 26 Mar; Theatre Royal, Plymouth, 2 Apr — for details click here.

The Damnation of Faust, English National Opera, ENO, London Coliseum, May 2011

This is ostensibly a French opera sung in English, though it’s not really an opera but a légende dramatique by Hector Berlioz — a musical and vocal canvas on which a clever director can paint his own picture. And this is exactly what Terry Gilliam does by turning the whole thing into a history about the rise of Nazism in Germany from World War I to its expression in the violent anti-Semitism of 1930s and eventually the death camps of World War II.

Faust and Mephistopheles in the cube, all images Tristram Kenton

It all starts with a spoken prologue by Mephistopheles in which he talks about the desire to unlock the secrets of life saying, “there will always be a Faust”. Referring to a struggle, he then intones “My struggle translates in German as Mein Kampf“. This obvious reference to Hitler out of the way, he then seats himself stage left as Faust with his spiky orange hair hikes in the mountains carrying a massive cubical burden from which he opens out a large chalk-board replete with mathematical mumbo jumbo. He then meets Teutonic figures from German myth, but this is all just prologue, and as we watch Gilliam’s story unfold we are presented with one clever stage idea after another. For example towards the end, when Faust and Mephistopheles ride off on black horses to save Marguerite — who in this production has been transported to one of the death camps — they ride a World War II motorbike and sidecar, appearing to race across the front of the stage as the night-time scenery flashes past behind them. In the meantime we have been presented with high and low points from German history in the 1930s: the callous brutality of the brown shirts, the 1936 Olympic Games in Berlin with Leni Reifenstahl’s wonderful moving images of divers, the yellow stars for Jews, the horror of Kristallnacht in November 1938, and the transportation of Jews to concentration camps.

The journey to save Marguerite

In case this all seems too much, Gilliam dilutes it with comedy and choreographic invention worthy of a musical, as the blond athletes move in formation and sing in Latin, and the brown shirts perform at one point as if in an operetta. Peter Hoare’s Faust, with his high tenor voice, is costumed as one of them, but always with that frightful orange hair, looking rather like the dog-man he portrayed so well in the ENO’s Dog’s Heart late last year. Christopher Purves by contrast was a commanding Mephistopheles with his sonorous baritone and superb stage presence, and Christine Rice was a beautifully voiced Marguerite. The relatively small part of the student Brander, another brown shirt, was well sung by Nicholas Folwell. Musically this was wonderful, with inspired playing by the orchestra under the direction of Edward Gardner.

The sets by Hildgard Bechtler ranged from open air romanticism of a style to suit Der Freischütz, to utilitarian buildings and their interiors, all superbly lit by Peter Mumford. Good costumes by Katrina Lindsay and clever video designs by Finn Ross helped make this a remarkable staging, yet I feel discomforted by the huge range of production ideas, and wonder if it isn’t all a bit self-indulgent.

Faust and Marguerite fearing crowds outside

Of course, as a musical creation by Berlioz this is not exactly an opera, but more like a cantata, and it failed at the Opéra-Comique in Paris in 1846 during its first performances. Only in 1893 was it successfully staged in Monte Carlo, and now Terry Gilliam has created it anew, using Berlioz’s wonderful music to tell the story of where German Romanticism and idealism took a badly wrong turn, leading to one of the great tragedies of the twentieth century.

Performances continue until June 7 — for more details click here.

A Dog’s Heart, English National Opera, ENO at the London Coliseum, November 2010

It’s 113 pages in my translation — Bulgakov’s novel I mean — and I wondered how it would convert to an opera. But it did, and it works, brilliantly.

The Dog in the Apartment, all photos by Stephen Cummiskey

A Dog’s Heart is a striking exposé of the massive Soviet experiment instigated by Lenin and Trotsky. Bulgakov tells of a senior physician, eminent for rejuvenating the bodily functions of his patients, who picks up a stray dog. The animal, woefully undernourished and mistreated, is ready to die of hunger in the winter snow, but the medical professor takes him back to his apartment and treats him well. When a young man dies in an accident, they harvest his pituitary gland and testicles, and implant them in the dog. The result is a new man, a rude, aggressive, dishonest man who creates havoc. The good and peaceful dog has become a menace to a society that welcomed him but unwisely tried to turn him into something else. It was an experiment with results that its creator had not been prepared for. His life has been turned upside down, and there appears to be no solution.

Professor and Dog

It may sound an unpromising subject for an opera, and I wondered whether the result would convey all the bizarre aspects of the story. But it did! The composer, Alexander Raskatov has created a multi-faceted ‘polystylistic’ score that does justice to the serious nature of the professor, the wild nature of the dog/man, and the insidiously destructive nature of the new regime. Raskatov has not previously been a well-known composer, having spent several years reconstructing Schnittke’s ninth symphony after that composer’s death in 1998, but this opera — his first — will surely put him on the map. It was first produced earlier this year at the Dutch National Opera, and will apparently move to the Mariinsky in St. Petersburg next year. The libretto in Russian by Cesare Mazzonis hews closely to Bulgakov’s original story, and is heard here in translation by Martin Pickard.

The production by Simon McBurney — a collaboration between Complicite, Dutch National, and the ENO — is riveting. There is perpetual action and movement without in any way detracting or distracting from the music, and the puppetry by the Blind Summit Theatre is excellent. The dog comes to life and elicits our sympathy, and the set designs by Michael Levine give just the right atmosphere, helped by Paul Anderson’s lighting and the costumes by Christina Cunningham. I loved the operation on the dog being done by silhouettes, the wacky dance movements by Zina the maid, and the projection designs by Finn Ross. This is McBurney’s first opera direction and I hope he does more.

The new man (left) creates havoc

For those who want to read something other than a mere synopsis of Bulgakov’s magical satire — which was written in 1925 but banned by the Soviet authorities until 1987 — the programme contains an excellent essay by James Meek. He refers to Bulgakov’s ability to shift the narrative perspective, which I think is well reflected in Raskatov’s polystylism, and he gives an excellent summing up of the hubris in the great Soviet experiment, and its comparison to the medical experiment carried out by the professor and his assistant Dr. Bormanthal. As the professor says, “These hands have turned a harmless friendly dog into a monster”. A monster who shouts about his ‘rights’, like a yobbo taunting a respected teacher, and comes out with Soviet expressions such as ‘bourgeois filth’ when referring to cats. What can the professor do about it all? If you haven’t read the book I won’t spoil it, but as the professor says, almost at the end, “Animals revert to their own nature”.

Man becomes Dog again

The music was beautifully conducted by Garry Walker, and the singing was excellent from the whole cast. It was a team effort, and I find it difficult to single out individuals, but Steven Page as the professor carried the role off to perfection. Dr. Bormenthal was well portrayed by Leigh Melrose, Zina the maid by Nancy Allen Lundy, Sharikov the awful man/dog brilliantly played by Peter Hoare, and the dog’s voice was shared by counter-tenor Andrew Watts and soprano Elena Vassilieva, who also sang the cook.

If you want something a little spicier than Covent Garden’s new production of an opera they have not produced for over a hundred years — I refer to Adriana Lecouvreur — then go to this new ENO production. Instead of the violets in Cilea’s plot for Adriana — a late romantic device that doesn’t convince — we have a scientific experiment that serves as a great metaphor for all pseudo-scientific attempts to create a brave new society, and in that sense carries a timeless message. This is the type of production that the English National Opera does very well indeed, and they have excelled themselves. Congratulations.

Further performances are scheduled for Nov. 24, 26, 30 and Dec. 2, 4 — for details click here.

The Makropulos Case, English National Opera, ENO at the London Coliseum, September 2010

Emilia Marty, Ellian MacGregor, Eugenia Montez, Elsa Müller, Ekatěrina Myškin, all E.M., just like her original name Elina Makropulos. This beautiful woman, born in Crete to Hieronymos Makropulos, is now 339 years old but has not aged since she was 39. A secret formula invented by her father, court physician to Emperor Rudolf II, keeps her alive for 300 years, and it is now time to renew the dose. But the formula is locked inside a desk drawer in the house of Jaroslav Prus, whose family has been engaged in a one hundred year legal battle against the family of Albert Gregor.

This Janaček opera, based on a contemporary comedy by Karel Čapek, has a serious philosophical side, and as Janaček says in a letter to his muse Kamila Stösslova, “We are happy because we know our life isn’t too long. So it’s necessary to make use of every moment, to use it properly. It’s all hurry in our life — and longing”. For Elina Makropulos, in her present incarnation as the beautiful opera singer Emilia Marty, the urgency is to recover the formula, but after finally acquiring it, she gives up. Emilia Marty is the key to this opera, and Amanda Roocroft gave us a stunning portrayal. Her voice was strong and sure, she looked terrific, and she played the part of an alluring woman to perfection. The whole cast gave her excellent support and I particularly liked the singing of Peter Hoare as Albert Gregor, whom she called Bertiku (she was after all his multi-great grandmother in a previous incarnation). I was also very taken with Laura Mitchell as the attractive young opera singer Kristina.

Amanda Roocroft as Emilia Marty, photos by Neil Libbert

The production by Christopher Alden — a co-production with the National Theatre, Prague — has been restaged to perfection in this revival that was dedicated to Charles Mackerras, the man who really put Janaček on the map in Britain. The set designs by Charles Edwards, in steel-and-glass deco, are based on a real scene in Prague and work extremely well. The same set serves for all three Acts: the law offices, the opera house, and finally the hotel room, a metaphor for the transience of mortal life. I’m not always a great fan of opera in English, but in this case it is very effective, and I loved the use of Greek when Emilia sings of her father being iatros kaisaros Rudolphou (physician to the Emperor Rudolf). At the beginning, when the legal case is the focus, people in the lawyer’s office write a plan of the relationships on a blackboard at the rear of the stage, and this is recaptured at the end when the focus is the secret medical formula, but unfortunately they then cover the blackboard with quasi-mathematical gobbledygook. Medical mumbo jumbo would be more appropriate, but that’s my only complaint — it’s a great production.

Musically it was brilliantly performed under the direction of Richard Armstrong. He’s an expert on Janaček’s music, and was once awarded the Czech government’s Janaček medal during his time as music director of the Welsh National Opera. You will not easily find a better production or performance of Makropulos, nor a better singer of the main role, and if you want to choose between this and Faust, which is on at the same time, I wouldn’t hesitate. This is the one to go for.

Performances continue on September 24, 26, October 1 and 5. Only five performances in total so don’t wait too long.

Le Nozze di Figaro, Royal Opera, Covent Garden, May 2010

This production by David McVicar, with designs by Tanya McCallin, contrasts the spaciousness of Count Almaviva’s house with the dingy servants’ bedroom to be inhabited by his valet Figaro and the Countess’s maid Susanna, after their marriage, and the effect works very well. The stage is made to look enormous, helped by the widening of the proscenium arch, and the sets are fully visible from the front of the Amphitheatre — a welcome change from some productions I could name! But it’s the performance that really counts, and we were lucky to have two superb men: Erwin Schrott as Figaro, and Mariusz Kwiecien as the Count. Along with Eri Nakamura as Susanna, their flawless singing and fine acting was a delight. Schrott has excellent comic timing and an extraordinary ability to sing as if he is simply talking, and it’s remarkable that Ms. Nakamura is still in the Jette Parker young artists’ programme.

In the servants' bedroom, Susanna and Cherubino, with Figaro, the Count and Basilio, photo by Clive Barda

These three were very well aided by Annette Dasch as a statuesque Countess who, after an uncertain start, showed wit and suitable concern at her husband’s philandering. She was a head taller than Susanna, which was a slight disadvantage for the confusion of identities in Act IV, but Susanna stood on a box when she pretended to be the Countess, which worked well. Robert Lloyd and Marie McLaughlin were entirely convincing as Bartolo and Marcellina, Peter Hoare was hilariously precious as Don Basilio, and Amanda Forsythe sang very well as Barbarina. Jurgita Adamonyte sang Cherubino, but I was disappointed by her somewhat ungainly stage presence, and in Act IV she behaved like an over-the-top Baron Ochs. These quibbles aside it was a fine cast, and I congratulate the Royal Opera for acquiring the services of Schrott and Kwiecien. In the orchestra pit, Colin Davis drew a rich sound from the orchestra, though I felt the music became somewhat sluggish in the final Act.

Performances of this production continue until July 3, with David Syrus taking over from Colin Davis on June 20, and Soile Isokoski taking over from Annette Dasch. And for the last two performances Jacques Imbrailo, who is singing an excellent Billy Budd at Glyndebourne, takes over from Mariusz Kwiecien.

Glyndebourne 75th Anniversary Concert, Glyndebourne, June 2009

Fireworks after the concert

This lovely concert, celebrating 75 years since the founding of the Glyndebourne Opera in 1934, featured several singers who are performing this season, mainly in Falstaff, but also in Rusalka, The Fairy Queen and Giulio Cesare. It also featured others with a strong Glyndebourne connection, such as Gerald Finley, Sarah Connolly, Emma Bell, and Kate Royal, who were all in the Glyndebourne chorus at one time, along with such luminaries as Thomas Allen, Sergei Leiferkus, Felicity Lott, and Anne Sofie von Otter. The orchestra played stirringly under the baton of music director Vladimir Jurowski, and I particularly liked the performances of Thomas Allen as Figaro in Act I of Rossini’s Barber, of Gerald Finley as Wolfram in Act III of Tannhäuser, of Sergei Leiferkus as the eponymous character in Rachmaninov’s Aleko, of Anne Sofie von Otter singing the habañera from Carmen, of Felicity Lott and Thomas Allen singing the delightful duet between Hanna and Danilo at the end of Lehar’s Merry Widow, plus Felicity Lott, Anne Sofie von Otter, and Lucy Crowe in the final trio from Rosenkavalier. A list of what was performed is given below — unfortunately Brandon Jovanovich was unable to sing, so his excerpt from Werther and his presence as Otello in the first item were cancelled. Apart from this the only disappointment was Danielle de Niese as Norina in Act I of Don Pasquale, whose voice seemed somewhat screechy in a cavatina that lacked the charm and subtlety it ought to have had.

Otello: Paolo Battaglia as Montano, Gerald Finley as Iago, Alasdair Elliott as Roderigo and Peter Hoare as Cassio sang the beginning of Act I before the entry of Otello.

Il Barbiere di Siviglia: Thomas Allen sang Largo al facotum, Figaro’s description of his own occupation in Act I. This was delightful and really got the evening going.

L’italiana in Algeri: Marie-Nicole Lemieux went from suffering to scheming in Isabella’s Cruda sorte! from Act I.

Don Pasquale: Danielle de Niese sang Norina’s Quel guardo il cavaliere, but seemed to be trying too hard.

La clemenza di Tito: Sarah Connolly sang Sesto’s Act I aria Parto, parto ma tu, ben mio to his beloved Vittelia.

Idomeneo: Emma Bell as Elletra joined the Glyndebourne chorus singing Placido è il mar, evoking a calm sea and the prospect of a prosperous voyage, before the onset of a terrifying storm at the end of Act II.

Die Meistersinger: the orchestral prelude to Act III.

Tannhäuser: Gerald Finley sang Wolfram’s melancholy farewell to Elisabeth, O du mein holder Abendstern, addressed to the evening star.

Khovanshchina: Larissa Diadkova gave a powerful rendering of Martha’s prophecy to Prince Golitsyn in Act II, predicting his disgrace and exile.

Aleko: Sergei Leiferkus sang a cavatina by the eponymous character in this Rachmaninov opera. He sang superbly, with excellent diction.

Carmen: Anne Sofie von Otter sang the habañera, her body, arm and hand movements conveying Carmen’s cavalier attitude to love.

Manon: Kate Royal sang Adieu notre petite table from Act II, as she prepares to deceive Des Grieux and leave the home she has shared with him.

Die lustige Witwe: Felicity Lott and Thomas Allen sang that wonderful duet Lippen schweigen between Hanna and Danilo at the end of the opera.

La Boheme: Ana Maria Martinez sang Mimi’s charming Si, mi chiamano Mimi from Act I.

Der Rosenkavalier: Felicity Lott as the Marschallin, Anne Sofie von Otter as Octavian, and Lucy Crowe as Sophie in the trio at the end of the opera, starting with the Marschallin’s Hab’mir’s gelobt.

Le nozze di Figaro: The finale of the opera with Kate Royal as the Countess, Gerald Finley as the Count, Jennifer Holloway as Cherubino, Danielle de Niese as Susanna, and Matthew Rose as Figaro.