Rossini’s William Tell (Guillaume Tell), 1829, his last opera, broke new ground, a drama based on Friedrich Schiller’s Wilhelm Tell, written (1804) and inspired by the French Revolution, a study in political repression and heroism. Rossini used his genius for melody and rhythm, but in the French Grand Opera tradition. So the role of the Hapsburg princess Mathilde is built into a key character, in her identification with the freedom fighters, and through her love affair with Swiss Arnold Melcthal. And although the opera is named after the revolutionary leader, arguably, the people as chorus are in the centre of the drama.
As Rossini’s opera and Schiller’s play are about ‘revolutionary ideals’, human rights against political tyranny, does it have to be set in the 19th century? The William Tell story is about Swiss freedom fighters; based on late 13th century history, yet legendary and timeless.
So here we are at Theater an der Wien (Vienna’s oldest opera house,) Vienna once the capital of Tell’s Hapsburg oppressors. And director Torsten Fischer sets Rossini’s opera in the here and now…
On a snow-covered stage, men in white t-shirts are fighting, one, William Tell (Christopher Pohl) kills the other with an arrow. There’s a white-on-red cross (representing the Swiss) front of stage. Stylised, dramatic, the background to the famous overture, played incisively by a pared-down, period-instrument sized Wiener Symphoniker under Diego Matheuz. The rebels emerge from under the snow as if resurrected. Tell (Christopher Pohl) embraces his son Jemmy (Anita Rosati), remarkably enacted and beautifully sung. Overhead, projected onto the rear video screen, snow planes. To the rousing William Tell March (the Overture’s Finale) snow-sweepers advance forward with their brooms and shovels. All hands on deck! Very young looking and very hardworking, the Arnold Schoenberg Choir.

For the wedding celebration, the girls in white lace are pushed on their high-roped swings by the men in top hats and tails. Tell is dressed by his wife (Marie-Claude Chappins), Pohl in a waistcoat and hat: very wild-west. While Arnold (John Osborn’s) splendid tenor appeals to the women, Tell, Pohl’s expressive baritone, sings of his fears. What a burden is life: they have no country, their life is beset with danger.
The Austrian Princess Mathilde (Jane Archibald) in an elegant blue gown- blue the colour of the Hapsburg oppressors – descends the staircase into the people below. The man in the sharp blue suit is Gesler the Austrian Commander, bass Ante Jerkunica, every inch a tyrant.
The pastor Melcthal (Jérôme Varnier) blesses the newly weds, urging them, and the community, to continue the battle for their endangered liberty. Tell passionately exhorts the people to break their chains of slavery. The enemy tyrants from the upper gallery escort Mathilde back, but -oh dear!- they’re wearing fatigues like a modern army corps.
Must he, Arnold, give her up? They appeal to his comradeship, loyalty to friends, the cause: La patrie his country. (A rehearsal of the moral dilemma Tell will have to face.) He, Arnold, must do the right thing but, Osborn sings passionately, heaven knows how much he loves her!
A shepherd rushes in, blood-covered, having killed one of Gesler’s soldiers attempting rape. The pastor Melcthal is arrested and killed as a reprisal. But the Pastor is Arnold’s brother, which heightens the dramatic conflict. He’s having an affair with the enemy.

Mathilde- Archibald’s soprano powerfully sung, sensitively enacted – sings of the dense woods where her heart finds peace. In modern black-nylon coat, she confronts rifle-carrying Arnold in fatigues, wearing a bullet-proof vest, apparently an (Austrian) guard on border patrol. How relentless is his suffering. And hers. Their illicit affair, merciless. In their duet, Oui, vous l’arrachez á mon âme, Osborn’s lyrical tenor is supple and melodious, Archibald is beautifully sung. >But physically, she blonde, lithe,curvaceous, looms over him, he a slight, stocky, if muscular, figure. She tries to persuade him to continue fighting (with the Hapsburgs.) Do you know what it’s like to love your country, la patrie, he retorts.
Tell appears with Fürst, another partisan ,Edwin Crossley-Mercer- sleek, white-haired, quietly authoritative- who’s deemed eventually to be leader. They confront Arnold about his affair with Mathilde. Using the trump card: that Gesler has had his brother killed. Arnold swears revenge. We see the body shrouded beneath a wreath of white and yellow flowers.
Pohl’s Tell is a wholly credible, heroic figure – blonde, ruggedly good-looking, his baritone exuding passionate authority. Bonheur! Freedom fighters appear from the back of the stage – their hands bloodied- and take position front-stage. They sing, only this god-forsaken, lonely place will know their pain. Avenge the death of his brother! Arnold sings appealing to their patriotism. Reflected on the screen behind them are fighter planes – a video recording- which may seem curious; but meant to universalise these partisans’ struggle. But are the planes the oppressors, or their allies?
Act III opens with a stage in shining aluminium, Arnold in black , Mathilde still in blue. Osborn sings of how his brother was killed: from now on he’ll fight for his country. Archibald attains thrilling coloratura in her aria Mon âme , pleading with him to escape with her: live for life.
Then, back of stage, the occupying army in blue surge forward onto the stage. (But what about the aircraft on the video screen?) Storm troopers terrorise groups of civilians; a commando unit burst into a school. In a horrid exhibition of military abuse, one woman is grabbed, manhandled, and tossed between the soldiers. Gesler, resplendent in military uniform, demands, they must be suppressed. The country wants a sign of loyalty. They have to bow to his hat to prove their obedience. Tell of course refuses. And charged, must shoot an arrow on his son’s head.
Terrible fate; my son, my only hope! Gesler has no mercy. Jemmy, however, will die in his father’s arms. My place is by him, he sings.
Gesler, in his armchair, louche, fingers an apple – big, red – and sniffs it. People sit, men and women divided into two groups. Tell is known as an expert shot, Gesler sings, his face alight with sadistic glee.
There is a God, Tell sings, reflecting on his duty. He pleads to Gesler on his knees. But his son takes the apple, and promises to stand absolutely still. Tell, fears allayed, is inspired by his son’s steadfastness . He will die free, Jemmy sings, (his father’s hand still trembling). Mon fils, accompanied by a plaintive cello, (wonderfully played), Pray to God, only he can save him. Jemmy, think of your mother. The shot- at the back of the stage, over so quickly- the boy unharmed. But Tell had a second arrow -meant for Gesler. He and Jemmy are arrested. But Mathilde intercedes; she will protect him.
The crowd held back by a line of soldiers. Storm troopers threaten, their guns loaded. Gesler will throw him to the reptiles in Lake Lucerne .
The Swiss in uproar revolt, Tell now a popular hero. In Fischer’s expurgated version, Tell confronts Gesler, drives him out, swearing to kill anyone who supports him.
Tell and Gesler wrestle on the revolving stage; in a replay of the opening, Tell kills him with an arrow. Their land is free. Yet, symbolically, Fürst, Crossley-Mercer, puts on Gesler’s military jacket: as if the mastermind, the ruler apparent. The back of the stage has slogans, exhorting Peace and Goodwill. The Chorus of Swiss fighters sing Liberté redescends again from the heavens.
The whole experience has been overwhelming. Performances of Guillaume Tell are relatively rare, the staging challenging. Yet Theater an der Wien succeeded with tight resources. That’s if you’re not phased by this modern take with its cuts; not obtrusive, intelligently thought out. The cast were rightly enthusiastically applauded. © P.R.21.10.2018
Photos: Christoph Pohl (Guillaume Tell), Anita Rosati (Jemmy); Marie-Claude Chappuis (Hedwige), Christoph Pohl, Edwin Crossley-Mercer(Furst); Jérôme Varnier (Melcthal), John Osborn (Arnold); Jane Archibald (Mathilde), John Osborn (Arnold); Gesler (Ante Jerkunika)
Photos © Moritz Schell

Volksoper’s new Czardas Princess, produced by Peter Lund (Axel at Heaven’s Door), promised something glamorous and exotic. Emmerich Kálmán’s Die Czárdásfürstin premiered in war-torn Vienna, was meant as escapist entertainment. And more. Lund focuses on the social context, discreetly referring to the war, rather as does Downton Abbey. And Lund’s design captures glamorous turn-of-century Vienna, the title role in a daring see-through art nouveau gown, uncannily like an iconic Klimt portrait.
Newsreel footage of pre-war Vienna, with trams as well as horses: the historical context to Kálmán’s (1915) Die Czárdásfürstin . Then curtain-up on an austere library in what looks like a (Downton) country house. Countess Stasi (Johanna Arrouas) is playing the organ, wearily: Edwin Prince Lippert (Szabolcs Brickner), bored, is reading a book. They’re wide apart, opposite ends of the stage. Edwin, do you know how much I love you: soo much. Then Edwin’s parents, Prince Leopold (Wolfgang Gratschmaier) and Anhilte his wife, redoubtable, legendary Sigrid Hauser. She loved his father that much too! God, she’s glad he’s rescued from the Sodom and Gomorrah of Budapest. Rescued? Now he can sit in that library for an eternity.
The stage set crumbles, disintegrates like a surrealist dream sequence in a Salvador Dali film. To reveal the temptress Sylva Varescu (Ursula Pfitzner). We’re in that seedy night-club in Budapest. Sylva, on the raised stage, she the centre of a pyramid of marionettes. It’s all in black, white, and silver: an early silent film, or dream sequence.

She, Pfitzner, pulls a man from one of the side tables, who crawls to her on his knees. The dancing girls cavort like harlequins, in white tights, silver-spangled black tops, with huge white nipples, and wearing peaked hats. Three of them are swinging on the huge letters spelling ORPHEUM.
The men, Sylva’s admirers, include Count Boni (Michael Havlicek), Edwin’s friend- a hit in duets with Joanna Arrouas- and the older Feri, who’s forever reminiscing of his own Czarda’s princess…
And she’s leaving for New York. Poor Sylva all alone in America! The girl dance troupe projected in a film come alive. There’s a room of dressing tables, used as props for erotic acrobatics; then a line-up front of stage in a can-can routine. Fabulous choreography. (Hang on, isn’t the one in the middle, with suspenders, in drag?)
In the next fast-moving scenes, Sylva and Edwin are in bed, and appearing to have very passionate sex. He’s been away for two months. Sylva, I want only you, he sings. But why her? A cue for one of the classic numbers: Lovely girls all around, (he only has eyes for one). Now he’s on his knees pleading in his shirt and not-so-long johns: definitely not in his trousers. There’s no doubt about the nature of their relationship, they’re back in bed.
Boni and his uncle Feri, a little jealous, creep in on the lovers. Then a telegram; demanding Edwin’s return. Ewin’s been called up – not even his mother could pull that trick, to stop him marrying a vaudeville girl! I love you, he pleads. Then all the better I’m leaving.
In the farewell party, their duet Love will come to you, is a highlight. Then the Hungarian gypsy spectacular: Pfitzner blasts, She’s a devil of a woman, a devil in disguise. Kálmán’s Sylva character is a feisty red-head, very much her own woman, defying convention and hypocrisy. But regarded as dangerous (sexually) and socially subversive. Pfitzner has a very pleasant soprano, and the role, lots of dialogue, demands some considerable actress. She performs well with Brickner, a solid (operatic) tenor, against her, inevitably a little colourless.
In the middle of a hot dance sequence, Edwin’s cousin Rohnsdorff (Christian Graff, the stiff-automat in uniform, with a hint of camp) presents Edwin’s call-up orders. Edwin, in the wild party atmosphere, summons a notary and promises Sylva he’ll marry her within eight weeks. No matter what fate may bring, you defy my everything, they sing. (Edwin leaves, unaware that Edwin’s parents have officially announced his engagement to Stasi.)
Sylva learns straight off the press. She’d always known she didn’t fit in with his family’s class. Embittered defiant, Pfitzner reprises ‘she’s devil of a woman’, (who has you heart and soul.) A massive liner is projected backstage. She’s been tricked; she’ll go to America after all.
Act 2 opens with more newsreels, now of Sylva Varescu, who’s been making quite a name for herself on Broadway- according to the neon signs.
Meanwhile, back at the Lippert’s, Stasi is still asking Edwin, Do you still still love me . But now, don’t pretend. Es ist aus. It’s over. But only three-quarters – he’s sent her hundreds of telegrams and no reply. Shockingly- if they got married- he could get killed, or have his legs shot off. (if the latter, she’d look after him.) So ‘Let’s be like swallows and build ourselves a nest’, they duet. But Brickner’s Edwin sings aloud, he dreamed of her last night. He hardly dares reveal ‘the way I pictured you in my sleep.’ Only a dream.
The stuffy guests for the engagement ball sit lined-up like a portrait for some obscure mid-European royal family. Then the bright colours of the lively, youthful Vienna State Ballet dancers.
Sylva arrives accompanied by Boni (who agrees to be) her ‘husband’, so she can get to see Edwin. Pfitzner with that red, fuzzy hair, and in a brilliant emerald green dress. Sylva introduces Stasi, and that’s it – love at first sight- for Boni. Anhilte, Edwin’s mother, nostalgises, when love had her under it’s magic spell. In the comedy, Edwin and Sylva are back in love, and have to hide under the sofa – what a sofa! -as Boni and Stasi also get close.
Boni (Havlicek) and Arroua’s Stasi, after their romantic duet, had the audience spontaneously clapping in their dance sequence, landing in a heap on stage. Meanwhile, the hit tune, ‘Lovely girls allowed’, is reprised, as Edwin proposes all over again. As a Countess she can marry him. And if she were Sylva Varescu?
But Sylva blows it; won’t put up with the hypocrisy, and announces – to the whole stuffy party- she’s not married to Boni, but the ‘Gypsy Princess’. And to emphasise the bombshell, a blow-up of cabaret star Sylva Varescu towers over them. Pfitzner tears up Edwin’s original marriage contract and storms out.

More newsreel footage opening Act 3- the Sarajevo Assassination, Belgrade falls… War has broken out, Edwin sent to the front. Things get serious. But Sylva is back in the Orpheum, with Feri and Boni. Society is würscht, rubbish, Pfitzner sings, swigging a bottle of wine, take your fate in your hands, gypsy. ‘Who knows how long the world will go on turning. Tomorrow may be too late’, they sing. Terrific ensemble.
Stasi, Arrouas now in an alluring soft-pink coat, has come to fetch Edwin, who’s deserted. She’s arrived with Anhilte, Hauser fearsome, all in black, like a Lady Bracknell, she will prevail over her son: You don’t marry a man for love. She should know. The high-point is when Feri recognises Anhilte- once his great love- who deserted to marry a Count. Kupfa-Hilda, no one’s called her that for years. They dance and she wantonly casts-off layers of clothes- Hauser showing her legs- chased across the stage by Feri. Anhilte! exclaims the Prince, catching them in a passionate clinch.(It’s not what you think!) Two cabaret singers in one family; his world is falling apart. (He can’t stop Sylva’s marrying Edwin.) Liebe -das Glück wohnt überall . Love is all around in the gorgeous happy ending, the stage glowing in a pink sunset.
Volksoper, orchestra conducted by Alfred Eschwé, is world-renowned in operetta. Lund has given Czárdásfürstin the big stage treatment: using 21st century stage technology to reach new audiences. Yet it worked triumphantly, Volksoper’s audience – mainly traditional Viennese – loved it, with tumultuous applause. © PR 18.09.2018
Photos: Elissa Huber (Sylva Varescu) from the alternative cast © Johannes Ifkovits/ Volksoper Wien
Other Photos: Ursula Pfitzner (Sylva Varescu); Ursula Pfitzner, Szabolcs Brickner (Edwin), Nicolas Hagg; Ursula Pfitzner (Sylva) and Szabolcs Brickner (Edwin)
© Barbara Pállfy/ Volksoper Wien

‘I’m thinking of you, dark-haired Ninetta’, sings the handsome stranger in his first appearance in Millöcker’s operetta. But ‘Ninetta’ never actually appears. It’s the beautiful Countess Carlotta – love at first sight – who eventually gets the dark-red roses dunkle roten Rosen.
Carl Millöcker’s operetta, is set in Sicily, Gasparone apparently the head of a band of smugglers who, like a mafiosi, holds Trapani in its grip: the innkeeper Benozzo a front for a booming smuggling business, people kidnapped and money extorted. (In the comedy, it’s the Countess who’s ransomed, in a scam involving the Mayor, who wants Sindulfo his son to ‘rescue’ and so marry Carlotta.)
Millöcker’s 1884 operetta was re-worked, textually and musically, for its jazz-influenced 1931 Berlin revival by Ernst Steffan and Paul Knepler: the basis for this new Vienna Volksoper production. Volksoper’s programme notes differentiate operetta from opera as ‘work in progress’, adapting to changing times and audiences; operetta has ‘an ironic, subversive twist’.
But this is no excuse for director Oliver Tambosi’s awful excesses, opening with a white t-shirted link-man flippantly ad-libbing introducing us the plot. Christian Graf (as Luigi in the text) does a tour of the main characters, lying in their beds on the revolving stage. From the Mayor, Sindulfo his son, Benozzo the innkeeper, to Carlotta the target of the scam. The hilly, undulating, stage turns out to be, not a map of Sicily as I’d imagined, but a patchwork of oriental rugs. This (Andreas Wilkens’) was the scruffiest set I’ve seen here in ages, and most of the other scenes are loud and kitschy.
But it’s worth staying for the music, classic Viennese operetta, and some outstanding performances, with Vienna Volksoper Orchestra under Andreas Schüller scintillating and classy.
Sebastian Geyer, as ‘the Stranger’ appears in red cloak and black riding boots: like one of the Musketeers on a mission. Geyer’s baritone is impressive, the rich sonority you hope for in the best traditional operetta. (Geyer also sings the serious stuff for Opera Frankfurt.) Geyer’s red roses aria, the hit tune, is the high point, but also a preview of Millöcker’s musical gems. Even if Dunkel Rosen bringe ich schöne Frau was not in Millöcker’s premier (Theater-an-der-Wien), but re-discovered from later Millöcker, and added on by Steffan and Kepler.
Now four bandits are playing cards – lusty, vigorous singing, authentic wienerisch accents – telling of how the police are chasing the phantom bandit Gasparone, and of their plan to kidnap Carlotta. The bandits sing of sugar and coffee smuggling as “the one true profession”. Ja, die Liebe der Banditen ist Gold, das Gold nur allein! The bandit’s only love is gold; what a glorious life it is to be a robber! So the mystery stranger feeds the Gasparone myth. The Mayor Nasoni (Gerhard Ernst) is taken in and swears he’ll get that damned Gasparone: ‘I’ll tear him apart when I catch him.’ Ernst, mellow experienced bass, and a real character actor, offers 10.000 lira for Gasparone’s head. And then Carlotta is kidnapped.
Julia Koci ‘s Carlotta is outstanding, her heavenly soprano another reason to stay seated through the scenic mess. ‘To be alone in the forest, wonderful but dangerous!’ she sings. Geyer, now posing as Erminio, sings if only he were a bandit he’d demand a ransom (so they couldn’t pay it.)
Geyer and Koci are sitting on a bed in absolute silence! For seemingly an eternity. Infuriating! Then she asks, do you want to sing in a duet with me? How glad I am to see you here! In their duet – Whenever I think of you- Koci is super, and Geyer, aroused and inspired by her. If he had to risk his life again, he’d do it gladly! This sometimes tatty production is worth enduring for this nightingale. And Millöcker’s music, here at its best, is pure magic.
But there follows a crass, but colourful number with Sindulfo (David Sitka), the Mayor’s son – intended to marry Carlotta – but out on a night on the town with the girls. Sindulfo is a fun character, gutsily sung by Sitka , who’s surrounded by scantily-clad chorus girls in bright red. There follows a seaside beach fantasy, imagining how the Mayor would spend his million from the Countess’s dowry. Way over-the-top and trashy.
By contrast Geyer sings to Carlotta in Liebe erhellt die ganze Welt to beware of false promises; love is the safer bet. Then there’s an exotic dance sequence- a tarantella- the orchestra’s trumpets blazing, tremendous brass against pizzicato strings. Geyer sings, in his solo, this woman has captured his heart: the mayor’s engagement cannot be!

Act 2 begins with a highlight, a cabaret-like performance from Gerhard Ernst’s Mayor. Unexpectedly, a tour-de-force reminiscing, those were the days. He was a young man once, though you’d never think it; his slim figure was renowned. Ernst looks uncannily like Vienna’s former Mayor Michael Haupl – genial, witty, a little corpulent. He sings, he was never one for maths, but always good at addition: he had three or four at a time! (Operetta is all about wine, women and song: not to our 21st century standards.) Then he receives a letter, his son has been kidnapped.
The other highlight reprises Rote Rosen bringe ich , I bring you dark-red roses red roses: now sung to CarIotta. Like an Interflora jingle- ‘We say with flowers what we cannot say in words’- but what a gem. In the disguise of Erminio, Geyer climbs in to the Countess’s room. (He will eventually offer her the proceeds from the Mayor’s scam.) Anyway Carlotta gets the message, ‘Gasparone’ and Erminio are the same. Any excuse for their gorgeous duet, say three words. The magic sound of his voice makes her lose her senses; they’re transported heaven-bound. ‘Silver Age’ Viennese operetta.
In the bizarre plot Benozzo hoodwinks the Mayor, absconds with the 10,000 lira. There’s a super dance routine with Marco di Sapia as Benozzo , and his wife Sora (Johanna Arrouas), neglected nights through Benozzo’s escapades . She’s from Sevilia, he’s from Sicilia, Di Sapia and Arrouas get very close and physical in a very stylish tango.
Meanwhile Benozzo is relating – to a table of listeners- of ‘the dark night when he lost the ransom at the Vampire Inn.’ (A likely story.) He’s driven out by the Mayor, leading a terrific Chorus Trara-Trara– to catch Gasparone.

Geyer’s Gasparone, now in a sexy black catsuit, appears out of a moonlit dream sequence imagined by Carlotta, Koci asleep side of stage. He’s a robber, he sings, ‘I only want gold and diamonds’. The glorious life of a bandit anthem is repeated, but this time the sentiment is ironic. Sweet dreams! He brings a silver case containing the Mayor’s one million cut, thus scuppering the Mayor’s plans to marry off his son.
I couldn’t possibly reveal ‘Gasparone’s identity; maybe the stranger was on an undercover mission? Anyway, Geyer and Koci’s reprise their Liebe duet, love should guide and accompany us. Never fail when you listen to your heart.( Or something like that.) The poetry is in Millöcker’s melodies.
More Millöcker, please, but not this production, which was reprieved by wonderful singers, and Volksoper orchestra and Chorus on top form. Also stunning choreography from Vienna State Opera dancers. At least Volksoper are now encouraging an English-speaking audience with English sub-titles. P.R. 10.09.2018
Photos: Sebastian Geyer (Gasparone, the Stranger); Gerhard Ernst (Mayor), Johanna Arrouas (Sora), Mara Mastalir (Carlotta); Sebastian Geyer (Gasparone) Mara Mastalir (Carlotta); Marco di Sappia (Benozzo) Featured image Gunter Haumer, Julia Koci
(c) Barbara Palffy / Volksoper Wien

For Vienna State Opera’s new (2016) production of Verdi’s Falstaff, David McVicar has recreated an Elizabethan tavern for the Garter Inn where Sir John Falstaff lives. Falstaff (Ambrogio Maestri) sits surrounded by the innkeeper’s family, the bustle of children playing, his ‘retinue’ Bardolfo (Herwig Pecora), Pistola (Ryan Speedo Green), and the odd prostitute flitting through. It’s recreating the energy and rude excitement of the time, as did Shakespeare in Love. Charles Wood’s handsome oak-effect stage construction, with its overhead gallery, serves Verdi’s and librettist Boito’s opera, within the complex plotting the men listening in on their female counterparts intriguing on the lower stage. And with Verdi’s famous ensembles perfected, different voices on different levels sing from different sheets. The costumes are stunning in their detail, sumptuous, richly colourful, the historical authenticity exemplified by a portrait of Elizabeth 1 (as if, they were mass-produced!), and a suspended galleon.
Ambrogio Maestri’s Falstaff, unruly grey hair and goatee beard, holds court, wearing a jacquard-patterned house coat over a white smock: dissolute, he could be a Fagin in a den of thieves. Steal with style and at the right time, he sings.’Not a penny left’, so his dossers will have to go.
Maestri, his glorious baritone even more complexly characterised has, as it were, grown into the role since I last saw him in Marelli’s (2011) production. Maestri’s Falstaff is a world-renowned phenomenon. Expansive like an oriental potentate, he points to his stomach, and sings, This is my Kingdom, I plan to expand it. “Mighty Falstaff”, his sycophants reply. Yet convinced he’s God’s gift to women, he writes love letters to the wealthy wives of Windsor, Anne Ford and Meg Page. Imagining their assent, “I am yours”, Sir John Falstaff- Maestri’s voice breaks into a falsetto. In the burlesque, the trio of them shall be his ‘Gold Coast’. After all, he is still in his Indian summer.
Earlier Dr. Caius (Benedikt Kobel) complained of being robbed by Bardolpho and Pistola. In Falstaff’s great aria Honore, he first castigates these low-life poltroons. Honour, a fine word: but impractical. Can a dead man feel honour? Nothing but an empty word. This is the once-honourable knight- the cowardly cheat – exposed in Shakespeare’s Henry IV), and exiled by the new King. But Shakespeare’s Merry Wives of Windsor is comedy, rather than tragedy, and in librettist Boito’s reworking, Verdi’s only comic opera.
The stage curtain raised between the scenes shows an elaborate genealogy of the Falstaff family – like a blown-up Elizabethan manuscript- literally a family tree. It looks authentic, but it’s meant to mock Falstaff’s inflated self-importance, and his fall from grace.
Scene 2, outside Ford’s house. There’s washing on the line. The Ladies of Windsor meet to exchange gossip. Alice Ford (Olga Beszmertna), in emerald-green silk, announces she’s soon to be a noblewoman. She’s received a letter from a Knight – but so has Meg (Margaret Plummer) – the wording identical. Radiant Alice. Radiant Meg. Just tell me I love you! A pair in love: a beautiful lady with a man of substance, Beszmertna’s Alice ravishingly sung. ( A maid staggers overhead carrying bed linen.) So the women resolve to make a fool of Falstaff, “that whale, that king of bellies, wine vat, monster and scoundrel.” It smacks rather of #MeToo revenge, (hundreds of) years before a Studio Mogul’s serial abuse.

Overlooking the Wives of Windsor, ‘Four people are talking at once’. Bardolfo and Pistola- dismissed by Falstaff – warn Ford, the monster Falstaff plans to enter your house; written a note to Alice Ford. (Falstaff is ‘always making eyes at the gods’). Ford (star English baritone Christopher Maltman), sings, he’ll protect ‘what’s his from the eyes of others,’ (Women and wives seen as property, not just in these Shakespearean times.)
Enter Nannetta, his daughter( Hila Fahima) and her suitor Fenton, (Jinxu Xiahou), who’s being blanked by Ford. Ford will have his daughter married to his crony, the miserable Dr.Caius (Benedikt Kobel): a brokered marriage of financial and social advantage.
Fenton’s aria (Xiahou’s fabulous tenor) is lyrically sung, a non-European underlining his outsider status; but love will prevail over patriarchal interests. Fenton closes up to Nannetta. Kissed lips do not lose their sheen, Fahima quite enchanting as Nannetta; Xiahou’s Fenton, sings, in his heart there’s only room for love, their innocence contrasts with their elders’ intriguing.
The women determined on vengeance, Alice orders Mrs. Quickly to invite Falstaff to visit her at home. “Man returns to his vices like a cat to his cream”, sings Falstaff, (opening Act 2). But Mrs. Quickly has the better of him. Monica Bohinec’s is shrewdly characterised, her supple mezzo capable of a deep lower range (as she ventriloquizes her master’s voice.) She flatters him with the message Alice is madly in love with him: Poor soul, you are a great seducer! Quickly’s deference is a little exaggerated, but Falstaff is taken in. Yet Verdi’s tender orchestration builds this into a romantic scene, hinting at perhaps a longtime affair. He almost caresses her as she leaves.
Falstaff, congratulates himself on his still potent attractions, and declares, woman are cunning by nature. Maestri, swaggers lewdly, Good old John, suddenly your body helps you to pleasure.
But Ford has set a trap for Falstaff. ‘Senor Fontana’ (Maltman) in a red scarlet coat and breeches- one who spends money as it pleases him- come to ask Falstaff’s help wooing a lady in Windsor, an Alice Ford. Falstaff boasts he’s meeting her between 2 and 3, when ‘the fool who is her husband is always out.’ Maestri preens himself, while Ford’s jealously worried. Maltman, always impressive, agonises in Ford’s aria, am I dreaming, is it true? Mr Ford, wake up! They say you cannot take a jealous husband seriously. Marriage is a hell. Woman, a demon! (More misogyny.)
Now Falstaff, Maestri in a splendid gold satin outfit, prepares for his date with Alice. Quickly’s account of how she duped Falstaff, sung by Bohinec with awesome low notes, parodying his voice, accented by piquant flute playing. The Merry Wives vow, We’ll show him! It depends on us! As if these women would be taken in by his ploys. So Alice plays him along. Maestri sings,oh, radiant flower, I am here to pluck you! She remonstrates, a poor lady, knows nothing of flattering ways. She pushes away the chair that separates them, retreating to the back of the room. He uses force. Suddenly he has her over the table. Saved in time by the arrival of the Ladies. Warning Falstaff to escape in haste: of Ford, in a blind fury, raging like a tempest.
The famous laundry basket scene is a masterpiece in comic timing. Guards in black, perhaps from the Tower of London, fearsomely armed, block the way out. Maestri is pushed into the king-size laundry basket. Ford gleefully points his sword. Danger adds spice to the game, sings Alice. Maestri held down in that basket, comes up for air looking desperate. They keep adding more dirty Laundry. Somehow they move the laundry basket – a giant hamper containing Maestri – off stage. Plump! into the Thames.
Maestri triumphs in Falstaff’s aria, singing of a bad, pitiful world of trickery. ‘All gone to the dogs.’ I’m getting too fat, he admits, going grey. Heaven help me! But, defiantly, he’ll ‘add some more wine to Thames water.’ He emerges from a tub, swathed in white linen sheets.
The ‘Chimes of Midnight’ scene is such spectacle, an event in itself, almost detracting from the darker purpose: the abjection of Falstaff, his humiliation his penitence, even. Silver moon, an oak tree, a clock set at midnight. Xiahou’s Fenton sings exquisitely of true love, first love, and how love sours with physical decay.
Maestri, in a fur coat, antlers protruding from his head, sings even Jove had to change into a bull to seduce Europa. Now magical child dancers – Vienna Ballet Academy, the fairies in a supernatural pageant; a Fairie Queen; black, masked phantoms. Poor Falstaff, pinched by devils, poked by fairies. ‘Gnats and mosquitoes bite him till he burst.’ Revenge! Liar, Parasite, Fatso. Say you are sorry! Make him virtuous. -But spare my belly, protests Maestri’s Falstaff. (Then he recognises Pistola.)
Did he believe two women could be so simple, they sing. Yet Falstaff accepts the situation gracefully, and somehow turns it around. (Ford taunts him, who looks the fool now. But, in the reconciliation, Ford has to give Nannetta and Fenton his blessing.)
I am both witty myself and inspire wit in others, Falstaff boasts. And center-stage, Maestri holds court, leading the cast into a fugue. Everything in the world is a jest. Tutto del mondo è buria. But he who laughs last, laughs loudest.
Verdi’s last opera, his apotheosis, is to be relished. McVicar’s production is a joy, the opera performed as if in a Shakespearean theatre, which Verdi and Boito would have admired. Vienna State Opera Orchestra and Chorus were conducted with brio by James Conlon. © P.R. 30.06.2018
Photos: Ambrogio Maestri (Falstaff); Olga Bezsmertna (Alice Ford), Monika Bohinec (Mrs.Quickly), Margaret Plummer (Meg Page); Christopher Maltman (Ford)
© Wiener Staatsoper/ Ashley Taylor; Featured image: Ambrogio Maestri and Carmen Giannattasio © Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn

The opera is based on Friedrich Dürrenmatt’s stage play Der Besuch der alten Dame, an international success, filmed (1963) with Ingrid Bergman in the title role. The Visit of the Old Lady is a modern morality tale of small-town greed and hypocrisy- that resonates as well today. The teenage Claire Z, made pregnant by a small businessman, is abandoned and driven out as a whore in Güllen, a town without pity. She returns 50 years later- immensely rich through various marriages. She’s back for revenge, blood money; and meanwhile Gullen has fallen on hard times.
Gottfried von Einem’s opera, with Dürrenmatt’s own libretto, premiered in 1971 at Vienna State Opera, with Christa Ludwig, to triumphant acclaim. Einem’s music is ‘eclectic, varied, rhythmic’ – pushes ‘tonality’ to its limits- but it’s still accessible. I’ve seen the play, heard the ‘soundtrack’, a radio broadcast, and now eagerly anticipated the opera, Theater an der Wien’s new production- celebrating von Einem’s centenary. Well, even though Dürrenmatt collaborated on the libretto, it’s hard to imagine he’d approve of this (Keith Warner) production.
The opening set- monotone greys- consists of cut-out facades of civic buildings, decrepit, faded grandeur. Lined up are the very respectable inhabitants, all dressed in grey- hateful, smug and self-important. Then we see a poster (cleverly) advertising a puppet show: ‘Der Besuch der alten Dame’. Posters and placards are used for scene changes: next at a railway station, (expecting a train from Stockholm), they’re all waiting feverishly for a VIP.
So far, musically it’s impressive. RSO Wien under Michael Boder, points up the brass section, the shrill wind instruments, and the very prominent drums. It is very well sung, Arnold Schoenberg Choir providing the chorus.
One of the problems is with Warner’s conception. Dürrenmatt’s text is implicitly social critique, but Warner sees it as rabid satire, the Old Lady as a caricature figure. He describes Claire Zachanassian as ‘creepier than the witch in Hansel and Gretel; the embodiment of crass materialism. But this is a misreading. Katarina Karnéus’s Claire is not a sympathetic figure. Yet the Lady is the victim of an amoral, and patriarchal, society. In Dürrenmatt’s parable, she returns to put these censorious bigots to the test; they’ll do anything for money.
Karnéus’s character forfeits our sympathy. She’s so loud; gross like a Dame Edna Everage über creation, a larger than life drag queen (no disrespect!) Karneus’s magnificent mezzo copes nevertheless with the extreme vocal demands. She staggers on in a garish leopard- print coat, brilliant red hair. From baby-blue girls dresses, tied with pink ribbons, her wardrobe goes to new extremes with every scene. And the entourage. Is the black panther, on a leash, for real? And wearing a diamonte necklace. Koby (Antonio Gonzalez) and Loby (Alexander Linner)- both bald with glasses- are said to have been castrated (Claire’s ‘false witnesses’, now her eunuchs.) Roby and Toby carry her sedan chair. And she has ‘a coffin which might come in handy.’

The billboard advertises KONRADSWEIL, the date 1955 – 55 years ago when she met Albert III (Canadian tenor Russell Braun), powerfully sung, and sympathetically enacted, Braun’s a dignified, heartfelt performance. He’s married a shop owner called Mathilde (Cornelia Horak) has a son and daughter by her; now he’s trying to charm Claire into investing her money. So he turns on the charm, recalling their romantic times together. Karnéus and Braun’s scenes – especially their duet in Act III – are outstanding, von Einem’s score sounding lyrical, the lush strings recalling Richard Strauss. Braun’s Alfred gets physical, but the Lady – so it seems – isn’t all flesh: has too many other parts.
In Güllen she’s staying in the Golden Apostle Hotel, where there’s a reception of the town’s bigwigs. As the Burgermeister, Raymond Very’s tenor is richly melodious in his welcome. Now, in a dazzling silver outfit, Karnéus’s aria reminds her audience of how she was bullied and humiliated at school; of the paternity suit filed against her; of the witnesses bribed to free Alfred to marry Mathilde. Now she will donate a million to Güllen: but subject to one condition. Justice for what she suffered; one of them must kill Alfred.
In Warner’s version, it’s all about consumerism. But Dürrenmatt’s plays, like The Physicists, are about moral dilemmas; here the conflict is in the sacrifice of human decency for the ‘Golden Calf’. A million to buy justice. Strident clarinets, fierce trombones: hers is the devil’s pact. They must pay their debt.
Act II opens with a mart (Braun’s) offering expensive items on a one-day-only offer. They’re buying the expensive stuff, and buying it on credit: they’ll bankrupt him. The Priest Alfred goes to (Markus Butter’s tremendous bass baritone) advises him to flee. Braun’s Alfred, grey-suited, carrying a suitcase, is intercepted at the station, trying to catch a train.
The staging in Act III is really all too much unless it’s farce you’re into. Except for Karnéus in her contemplative moments. She sings poignantly, it was winter when she left ; she’s come back for just one more time.
Against a Year 2000, Super-Saving-Event poster (price-tags in Swiss francs?), Braun and Karnéus’s scene is affectingly warm – the scoring, gushing strings, and Straussian. Braun sings, he and Mathilde have a child now.
After the gaudy, trashy sets, the finale ‘Goldene Dusche‘- a festival of bling – is appropriately effective. The neon sign suggests the apocryphal gold raining from heaven: also a golden shower (in S and M terms). Here are plush velvet armchairs , braided in gold. Everyone’s wearing brilliantly coloured designer clothing. ‘Wealth is only justified when it’s foundations are just’… but these upright citizens are deciding whether to accept the golden pay-out.
Braun, dressed in a modest suit, ‘will end a senseless life’. Karnéus sings of a sweeping blue panorama. Your love has been dead for years; her love -she’s just married another husband – is constantly being renewed. Nothing more remains of him than a dead lover- a ghost in a destroyed home. Adieu Alfred.
Braun is escorted from his armchair by a spookily Nazified head of police to a room at the back of the stage. We can barely glimpse the the physical beating. He’s carried out: a heart attack, overdosed on pleasure. Now, finally, the silver coffin at the front of the stage is opened up to take in three black body bags. Adieu Alfred. She, Karnéus, is dressed in black- in a Versace take on a Salvation Army uniform- like an avenging angel.
This Warner production doesn’t help us, give us any insight into the moral compass of the opera. It’s more like a show, a ‘Mormon’ entertainment. His production- Warner explains in the programme interview- is his instant reaction to the contemporary world in moral crisis- the world of Trump Towers, Brexit, Merkel-land. No wonder my neighbour, Viennese, a subscriber- an opera Liebhaber who knows about opera – admitted she didn’t really understand the opera. © PR.18.03.2018
Photos: Katarina Karnéus (Claire Zachanassian), Ernest Allan Hausman (Moby), Mark Milhofer (Boby Butler); Adrian Eröd (Teacher), Markus Butter (Priest), Raymond Very (Bürgermeister), Katerina Karnéus (Claire Z); Russell Braun (Alfred III; Carolina Lippo
© Werner Kmetitsch

The ‘musical’, I would argue, is the American version of the European operetta: re-located to America with the Jazz-Age 1920’s, especially with ‘talking pictures’, transferring stage musicals to the silver screen. Talented musicians and songwriters from German-speaking lands were forced out with the rise of the Nazis, especially many Jewish. America, now the hub of popular music was were the action was. Thus Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Carousel – adapted from Ferenc Molnar’s Liliom– moved the plot from Budapest’s woods to America’s New England coast.
From their first collaboration, the triumphantly successful Oklahoma, Rodgers and Hammerstein raised the musical to a new level: ‘depicting serious dramatic conflict, elevating dance from mere entertainment to carrying the plot forward.’ The legendary Agnes de Mille choreographed Oklahoma, and Carousel (used in this Henry Mason Volksoper production.) As in Oklahoma , there’s a ‘seamless transition from spoken to sung text.’
So it’s fittingly ironic that Rodgers and Hammerstein’s hit of the 1940’s is being revived in Vienna, the home of operetta, with the hit songs sung mainly in German. Great music knows no barriers.
The Carousel Waltz blends the Overture into the opening scene, for maximum musical and dramatic impact, (Volksopera Orchestra conducted by Josef R. Olefirowicz.) Volksoper’s stage (Jan Mercer), dominated by a carousel, is like a circus, with jugglers, clowns, even a bearded lady on a plinth. Costumes are early 20th century , and the crier Billy Bigelow, (Daniel Schmutzhard) wearing pin-stripes and boater hat, catches the eye of Julie, the beautiful blonde Mara Mastalir in a long blue dress, a mill worker out with her friend Carrie.
In the plot the Carousel owner, the jealous Mrs Mullin, forbids Julie from taking another ride. Billy sides with Julie, derides Mullin, (Regula Rosin’s redhead in an emerald-green dress), and is fired. After all she’s done for him! The back story is important in Rodgers and Hammerstein, whose musicals are dramas with ‘social realism.’ Not just vehicles for hit songs, although there’s no shortage, with Carousel’s ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ (a hit for Frank Sinatra in 1946.)
The two gals are sitting, waiting for Billy, Carrie (Johanna Arrouas ) tells Julie about her engagement, and warns her, Mill owner Bascombe (Nicolaus Haag) won’t tolerate girls staying out late. They’re on a park bench; a lilac tree, an island of artificial lawn, in an expanse of bare boards. Not that glamorous, but there are some spectacular sets in the second half.
Barsombe strolls past with a uniformed cop, warns Julie about Billy- who’s been in prison, for robbery- and offers to take her home. She’s stubborn, decides to stay, and , like Billy, is fired.
They’re alone, talking about life, not quite admitting they’re falling in love. In their duet, the evergreen ‘If I loved you’ (sung in German, remember), they’re a natural together. Schmutzhard’s baritone has an impressively deep timbre. She, Mastalir, has a certain naive charm about her: but can she sing? Here, only an average soprano ; this isn’t high opera! But she compensates with magnetic stage presence, and has relatively few numbers. Schmutzhard, who dominates the show, now he has something- gloriously resonant, an authoritative presence. He’s a born ‘musical’ artist, and a lot more: (a Wagner Meistersänger in Bayreuth.)
She’s standing behind him as he extols her love for her. At last they look each other in the eyes and kiss. Passionately.
An all-American outdoor party – sung in German?- but Volksoper Chorus, and Youth and Children’s choruses, are quite something. Beyond the resources of any theatre. It seems that Julie and Billy have married, and moved in with Julie’s cousin Hettie (Atala Schöck), standing out in her emerald-green frock. Schöck, a hefty mezzo soprano, is superb, and brings distinction to the cast. There’s fabulous choreography (Francesc Abos) for the ensemble ‘June is busting out all over’, another R&H classic. Vienna State Ballet performers are breathtaking.
Also notable is Johann Arrouas as Carrie, bubbly, vivacious, a natural. She’s marrying the rather dour Enoch Snow (Jeffrey Treganza), hence the showstopper ‘When I marry Mr Snow’, and the infectiously catchy hit tune ‘When the children are asleep’. Carrie’s also being chased by the villainous Jigger (the cool Christian Graff), who, in a later scene, gets very physical, supposedly teaching her self-defense. Or so she tries to explain to the humourless Snow, who, unconvinced, looks on horrified.
Billy’s crewe- a male chorus in seamans outfits- they’re from a whaling ship- perform some stunning dance movements, using crates of beer for props. This is a prelude for Jigger’s proposition ‘a Dirty Job’, planning to rob rich Bascombe. Or should he accept Mrs. Mullan’s – she’s offering him a stake in the carousel, and more, a ‘hands-on’ job.
Julie tells him she’s pregnant; his initial reaction is violent, pushing a table over. Then the realization sets in motion a fantasy sequence- the ‘Soliloquy’/aria (You’ve got to be a father to a girl). Billy imagines they’re having children: first, a teenage splitting-image of Billy, then a little girl walks on. (As in Oklahoma’s nightmare sequence, R and H were pushing the boundaries of musical theatre.)
Act 2 opens with the beach party after the ‘real nice clambake’ . They’re all crashed out on the beach- indicated by a few strategically placed rocks. And they gradually couple, bursting into the ‘clambake’ dance routine.
R and H cleverly counterbalance the festivities against the dark plot Jigger’s forcing Billy into. ‘We’re a team: You can do anything by force.’ Jigger’s attempted seduction of Carrie shows his ruthlessness. Christian Graf hardly sings, but his lank figure -long blond hair, wearing a black waistcoat – is well characterized. Snow dumps Carrie. The girls comfort her, but Julie sings- Billy in mind- He’s your fellow and you love him (‘What’s the use of wond’rin.’) Malastir is plaintive; she has charm and sensitivity. She’s sensing something is up, trying to stop the robbery.
The robbery heist -in a dockyard, on the look-out for a ship- is very well staged. The sharp realism is not what you’d expect for a musical: the violent attempted murder, the suspenseful aborted escape. Billy is eventually caught, held at gunpoint, but escapes to stab himself rather than face twenty years’ jail.
And the dying man is discovered by Julie, at first frigid with shock: all the more poignant as stragglers from the party walk by. Malastir begins to sing, then collapses over the corpse, and it’s Nettie, Schöck’s magnificent mezzo, who sings, with unadorned conviction, Billy’s epitaph: he was impatient and unlucky. The scene is high drama, there’s dead silence, as she sings
When you walk through a storm …
You’ll never walk alone.

And, just when you thought it’s over, an extended ‘epilogue.’ Bigelow, in purgatory, is reprieved for one day to visit his daughter, now 15. Any sentimentality is eschewed by the comic touches when Billy is taken to the ‘Starkeeper’. Then, the appearance of a girl, blonde, in a red dress, Mila Schmidt as Louise Bigelow, who holds the stage in an extended ballet sequence: the loner standing out from the other ‘respectable’ children , who, (including her boyfriend), shun her because of her father. Billy visits Julie – there’s a reprise of If I loved you– and attends his daughter’s prize-giving. Then, the surprise, the Finale: the Chorus sing ‘You’ll never walk alone’ (in English) with such purity and simplicity, untainted, that I could hardly hold back my emotion.
Volksoper Orchestra – raised out of the ‘pit’ opening Act 2 – sounded luxuriantly Hollywood. Conductor Olefrowicz, young, bald, a big boy, was really enjoying himself. Of course this R and H masterpiece- rated by Time Magazine ‘Best Musical of the 20th Century’- should be performed in English. But if it has to be in German, then surely an (international) audience are entitled to English sub-titles. P.R. ©
Photos : Daniel Shmutzhard (Billy Bigelow); Mara Mastalir (Julie) and Daniel Schmutzhard (Billy); Daniel Schmutzhard and ensemble; Daniel Schmutzhard, Mila Schmidt (Louise Bigelow) and Vienna State Ballet
© Volksoper Wien/ Barbara Pálffy

You see a great performance and you think it’s definitive. (That was Verdi’s Otello at Vienna State Opera in 2014, with Jose Cura, Dmitri Hvorostovski, and Anja Harteros). But with the same gloomy, minimalist set – Christine Mielitz’s production re-tweaked- a different cast offer an unexpectedly powerful experience, throwing new light on Verdi’s late masterpiece.
Roberto Alagna sings Otello, that golden tenor now more mellow, but Alagna enacts his characters, enters into a role physically, like a method actor. And, of course, he’s not black, but burnished ; as there are surely blonde, lighter-haired north Africans, Moors. ‘Race’ isn’t what Verdi’s Otello is about: rather envy, avarice (Jago’s), and obsessive jealousy (Otello’s). Otello, returning from victory, appears passionately in love with Desdemona, sung by soprano Alexandra Kurzak, in a triumphant debut. Her love duets with Alagna are passionate, physical and convincing, ( as in Già nella notte densa.)
So Jago exploits Otello’s most treasurable and humanly vulnerable asset to wreak his revenge on Otello. (He’s been passed over for promotion in favour of Cassio: a case of power-thwarted ambition.)
Dalibor Jenis’s Jago is, physically, unexpected: not Shakespeare’s subtle ‘lean and hungry’ plotter you’d imagined. Jenis, in black leather, is a big man not to be messed with. Jenis, endowed with a superbly timbered baritone, seems to dominate the first Acts. Firstly, after the boogieing shindig welcoming Otello home – Esultate, super chorus! – he stirs up Roderigo (Leonardo Navarro) against Cassio (Antonio Poli’s tenor especially beautifully sung). He gets his rival Cassio so drunk and disorderly that Otello intervenes, and demotes him.
Now Jago’s scheming works on Cassio, suggesting he get Desdemona to intercede with Otello on his behalf; and thus plant the seeds of Otello’s mistrust. The word of a woman is not to be trusted, he sings to Cassio.
Although he defers to the Moor, he hates and abhors him. ‘If I were the Moor, I would be on my guard.’ Yes, there is a hint of racism. A sensational Jago – if not the sophistry and guile of Hvorostovsky’s I was privileged to hear. But Jago’s highlight aria is viscerally exciting, Jenis’s vocal power supple, world-experienced, with a tremendous register. In Jago’s Credo in un Dio crudel , he proclaims his defiance of fate. He believes in a cruel God who created him from his own image. Man is the plaything of an evil fate. And after so much misery comes death. And then… Death is a void. Boito’s libretto actually develops a Shakespeare-like soliloquy, Verdi’s score does the rest. (In the late operas, Verdi’s ever more skillful orchestral scoring sounds surprisingly modern.)
Jago’s conspiracy unfolds, Satan-like, poisoning their love. Playing on Desdemona’s naive gullibility- innocently ‘protecting’ Casio, while fueling Otello’s jealousy- Otello a soldier, remember, inexperienced in social intrigues: ‘savage passion beneath a veneer of Mediterranean civility.’ Hence (in Act 2), caught in Jago’s web, Desdemona (Kurzak) begs her husband to forgive Cassio, while Otello keeps insisting on seeing the handkerchief, which she’s ‘lost’. (In fact, Jago’s stolen it from Desdemona’s maid, and planted it on Cassio to insinuate Desdemona’s infidelity.)
Alagna’s Otello falls into a rage. Alagna is masterful in suggesting how obsession – first over petty things- leads insidiously into madness. The handkerchief (from his mother) has special powers, he sings to her; threatening if she loses it, it could omen very bad luck.
Then Jago further intrigues for Otello to listen in on a staged conversation between Cassio and himself: incriminating fragments, in which Cassio enthuses over his own mistress; and with Cassio all the while holding up the handkerchief he’d inadvertently found.
So by the time the Venetian ambassador arrives, Otello is losing his mind. The scene, on a multi-leveled extended stage, is spectacular, although the set is minimal. Lodovico (Alexandra Mossau), greeting Otello, has come to recall him to Venice. And to appoint Cassio- who Otello demoted – in his stead. (There’s wonderful Verdian ensemble singing – the Chorus, Venetian envoys, Desdemona and Otello – all singing on different levels.)
Now, again, Desdemona tragically intercedes for Cassio. Otello pushes her to the floor. He just loses it. Alagna, who has to be the most physical of Otellos, falls back and collapses onto the stage. Surely dangerous. The envoy Lodovico is horrified, and comforts the abused wife.

Desdemona senses the worst, and summons her maid Emilia (Ilseyar Khayrullova) to prepare her. And sings the ‘Willow Song’, sung by her mother’s maid Barbara after her man had left her. After hearing Harteros, and Kristine Opolais (both wonderful in their way), Alexandra Kurzak, new to the role, was yet a revelation. Her heart-felt rendering stunned the audience into near-complete silence. Sung with consummate, unaffected artistry and irradiating humanity. Then, she kneels to sing Ave Maria, pleading to the Virgin Mary. Kurzak’s extended aria, beautifully and sensitively accompanied by Vienna State Opera Orchestra under Graeme Jenkins, was very special. After such a cri-de-coeur, applause seemed inappropriate. So Jenkins wisely moves on: menacing choppy chords, double basses, forbode the storm.
This, Verdi’s Desdemona, may appear just too innocent- but she’s saintly. Too good for the real world. Pure virtue -born under an evil sign, so Otello later describes her. We see Kurzak, huddled, in brilliant white- a crumpled heap of humanity- beneath the enormous ‘bed’ (covered in some kind of tarpaulin, like a boxing ring), dominating the stage. Alagna, whose Otello is at the very extreme, out of control, taunts her, misinterpreting her religious devotion as misplaced guilt for her infidelity; still certain of her adultery with Cassio. Dio! mi poteri scagliar. Did it please heaven to try him with affliction. Verdi’s Otello – foul-mouthed, calling her whore- is far from the more taciturn Othello of Shakespeare. But this is red-blooded (19th century) Romantic Italian opera.
Alagna, in a hooded gold iridescent parka- like an angel of death- strangles her. Cast as you were in life; ascended to heaven. Then, realising his dastardly deed, sings, tries to kiss her: A kiss, one more kiss. The truth will out, Emilia her maid tells of how Jago bullied her for the handkerchief, revealing the scale of the intrigue; and of Otello’s tragedy. She’s now ‘lying in the darkness in which I sail’ – the blackness of his mental breakdown. Alagna reaches for his sword- the act physically explicit- to salvage him some honour. Nun mi terma .
Tremendous singing from Vienna State Opera Chorus throughout; now including children from Vienna State Opera School in ghostly hoods rear stage. There are some incomprehensibly weird effects in Christian Floeren’s stage set in Mielitz’s production. Nevertheless the use of cages to suggest the claustrophobia of Otello’s mental torment is simplistic, but effective.
Altogether a performance to treasure of Otello, the pinnacle of Verdi’s art, and, arguably, the tradition of Italian opera.© PR. 12.03.2018
Photos: Alexandra Kurzak (Desdemona), Roberto Alagna (Otello); Dalibor Jenis (Jago); Alexandra Kurzak (Desdemona); Roberto Alagna and Alexandra Kurzak; Featured Image: Dalibor Jenis (Jago)
© Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn

In David McVicar’s production for Vienna State Opera, the sets are minimalist, functional rather than designer chic. The castle ramparts, the walls sliding screens, have elaborately pointed brickwork, always interesting. Costumes are 18th century , but updated in an intelligent mix. And the orchestra in the pit is William Christie’s Les Arts Florissants playing on period instruments.
Sarah Connolly’s Ariodante is surprisingly masculine, short auburn hair, wearing a timeless, military-inspired tan leather outfit. Chen Reiss’s Ginevra , in a white lace gown, sings how jewellery and perfume will make her more desirable to her beloved; Reiss is at her toilette, three mirrors in place for her dressing room. Dalinda (Hila Fahima) sings , are you in love my lady. Both sopranos are physically similar- in the plot, Dalinda is unwittingly used by Ariodante’s rival Polinesso: she’s dressed up as Ginevra, flirting with another man. Fahima’s Dalinda, not to confuse us, is cast in black.
Polinesso (countertenor Christophe Dumaux), menacingly creeps up on Reiss, almost touching her neck with his sword. I can no longer live apart from your beautiful eyes, he sings . She: You are loathsome. No murderer is uglier than you. (Actually, Dumaux, fashionably bearded, is rather desirable.) And what a sensational voice, Handel’s contralto roles, in their astonishing virtuosity, the equivalent of (20th century) black singers’ sexy falsettos.
In Polinesso’s aria, Cupid played a terrible game. He is inflamed; she is cold to him. Loathsome, she repeats. But Dumaux seems very physical, bullying, short of physically molesting her. What an arrogant beauty, he complains, while he goes around with a whip, he’s constantly flexing. Dumaux, sings of his odious deception elaborately disguised in fine garb.
Meanwhile Fahima’s Dalinda, pleads, in her aria – Open your eyes! Someone longs for you. She’s in love with him, and he, apparently, unaware of it.
The scene changes to a royal banqueting table. Very handsome sets, oak-engraved bookcases recessed. Connolly, in Ariodante’s aria, sings the stream and the trees all speak to my amorous heart of love. And, to Ginevra, one who controls my heart cannot be my humble subject. In their duet, they sing, their passion is inextinguishable.
At the centre of the plot are the lovers Ariodante and Ginevra, she, the daughter of the Scottish king and Ariodante, his favourite. The King, bass Wilhelm Schwinghammer, wearing a long cloak over plaid, blesses the couple. (Let boundless joy fill your hearts.) He offers Ariodante a gift: the heart of his daughter, and the throne. (Chenn Reiss is indeed ravishing.) Then, a Ballet (Vienna State Ballet). Prepare a feast for these loving hearts. The servants bring on what looks like a crate of beer; (rather anachronistic.) Dramatically, this idyllic scene is to be shattered: by jealousy and intrigue.
By promising her marriage, Polinesso persuades Dalinda to disguise herself as Ginevra, and so admit him to her room. Fahima sings, she hopes that his wounds will be healed by her charms. But Dumaux, in his aria, sings with phenomenal coloratura, it’s for her (Ginevra) he will give all his love. It is for her beautiful eyes… That such an earthy, brutal sod- Dumaux in black leather- can sing so sublimely! Then to Dalinda, ‘his only hope’, Oh the flame she radiates is the light of his life. Sensational!
Meanwhile, at the wedding gig, Reiss sings of the first flames of love burning so bright, never to be extinguished. Stunning high notes, breath-taking. Handel’s Chorus (Gustav Mahler Choir) sing, rejoice in your love, beautiful hearts. Those at the table enact an elaborate, ecstatic mime; now a ballet performed before the royal banquet. Then a whoop! as the stage erupts into a Scottish gig; the ladies pirouetting; and the chorus, rejoice in your love, for it is your devotion that makes you happy. ( The sheer beauty of Handel’s music cannot be adequately described.)
Opening Act 2 , Ariodante sings, he’s so full of joy, he can hardly sleep. The night will be his. On the grey-bricked stage, in the castle turrets, a light appears out of a high aperture. A man with Ginevra? He challenges Polinesso, prepare to die if you are lying. But, if my beloved has been untrue to me, I shall die of despair. Dumaux looks truly villainous, in his black leather, almost piratical. This straight betrayal of love calls for punishment, sings Ariodante’s brother, Lurcanio (Rainer Trost). Goodness, it’s a sword fight!
Ariodante’s protracted aria Scherza infida , one of the opera’s most memorable. To a mandolin accompaniment, O faithless one, exult in the embrace of my rival! Thanks to her deceit, he contemplates death. Connolly stands, barely moving, in lament; now kneeling, pleading in despair. Connolly’s mezzo has a classical purity, but passionate: unforgettably moving in the closing high notes, O faithless one, endlessly repeated. The stage is subsumed in a white mist.
The plot hits its target! From now on Polinesso will get a joyful reception, he sings. So Reiss greets the once hateful Polinesso. How dear you will be to my heart. Dumaux’s Polinesso congratulates himself, If my treachery has proven effective, I shall despise love forever! Dumaux’s coloratura has us gasping with delight. Audience bravos!
The King hears that his favourite Ariodante is dead: it’s announced, he jumped from the cliff in despair. Jealous, cruel fate, sings the king.
Reiss’s un-adulterated pure soprano sings, My heart is a flutter, and I know not how to stop it. She sings accused of infedelity: that last night, she’d opened the gate for a secret lover. The King’s love for his daughter conflicts with his obligation to punish her.
Reiss’s powerfully delivers in Ginevra’s aria. Am I a shameless harlot? She calls on the gods, am I still alive? Reiss is in white- fragile, vulnerable. Where are you death? Why can’t she die. Pitiful, pleading: unembellished, from the heart. (And to think she played Janacek’s Cunning Little Vixen here.)
A masque is performed in slow motion: Reiss like a puppet- her head in a white cage- is closely embraced by an elderly man; almost groped. The stage is dominated by a stag’s head, suspended. Dancers dressed as impish, devilish spirits. She sings of her dream.

In the third part, Connolly and Reiss again excel in their respective arias. In Ariodante’s aria, O gods, you sent me a thousand deaths; I have been betrayed. Then Dalinda confesses, she was deceived by Polinesso. Ariodante gets it: the woman betraying him was not Ginevra. Cieca notte: Dark night, deceitful glances, ill-fated, disguised. Connolly sweeps all away in her sheer conviction, mining the reserves of human emotion.
The King, Schwinghammer’s huge form cowering, asks for his daughter back: enough of playing father and king. In a heartrending reunion, you are dear to me, she sings, but unjust. In her aria, Reiss sings movingly, O, merciful heaven, take pity on my royal honour. We see her, now in her dressing room, the mirrors daubed in red graffiti, IMPURA.
Ariodante appears as an unknown knight to defend Ginevra’s honour, knowing of her innocence. Yes, after the dark light, the sun shines brighter, filling the earth with joy, Connolly sings. Musically faultless, but- dramatically-I’d imagined darker colours, a lower range? But Connolly’s expressive mezzo represents modern Handellian tradition, in a castrato role.
If I had a thousand lives, a thousand hearts, I would dedicate them all to you! they sing. The castle walls are moved away -under brilliant light- to reveal a boundless seascape. Let everyone praise fair virtue, which prevails in joy, sing the chorus. And another ballet sequence to close.
Under William Christie’s Les Arts Florissants, Handel has never sounded more seductive. The period instrument band were spritely, rhythmic, virtuosic-the motor driving this (4 hour) journey of musical delights.© PR 8.3.2018
Photos: Sarah Connolly (Ariodante); Chen Reiss (Ginevra) and Christophe Dumaux (Polinesso); Sarah Connolly, Chen Reiss, Wilhelm Schwinghammer (King of Scotland); Sarah Connolly (Ariodante); Featured image: Christophe Dumaux (Polinesso)
© Wiener Staatsoper / Michael Pöhn

The stage set for Vienna Volksoper’s Marriage of Figaro (Die Hochzeit des Figaro) is – surprise!- a triumph of moderation and good taste. The walls of Almaviva’s palace comprise a baroque fresco – continuing on sliding screens and the circular back stage . Marc Arturo Marelli’s (2012) design is based on two baroque paintings: it’s stylish, classically simple, and endlessly fascinating. Directed by Dirk Kaftan, even over 3 hours, the lively pace never flags, choreographed like clockwork. And Volksoper Orchestra, conducted authoritatively by Anja Bihlmaier, maintained a buoyant tempo, with witty accompaniment on harpsichord (Felix Lempe).
Figaro is actually painting the walls of the marital bedroom- even a dust-sheet hanging down- Peter Kellner’s Figaro, young, cute, with mousey-blonde hair, wearing skinny black pants, and bright-red top. But he’s a very masculine bass. Rebecca Nelsen’s Susanna sings excitedly, she’s only two steps away from her mistress. But also in reach of the Count, who’d promised to waive his (pre-nuptial) feudal rights. Bravo my lord, he sings. Cultivated, posing as ‘enlightened’, Almaviva’s just returned from London. But he’ll fight him in every corner, Figaro’s determined on an immediate wedding. Kellner’s Figaro seems very serious: not the Latin intriguer.
In the complex plotting, Almaviva is assisted by Dr.Bartolo (Andreas Mitschke) and Marcellina (Regula Rosin), his housekeeper, who Figaro once jilted. In Figaro , even the smaller parts are important, there’s a balance between all the characters.
So Cherubino, the Count’s page, is having love-affairs all over the castle. Dismissed by the Count for seducing Barbarina, Susanna’s sister, he’s forever turning up, indestructible, like a cartoon character. Julia Koci, auburn-haired, cross-dressed in a stunning gold outfit, sings to Susanna of his troubles: every woman would destroy him . Talk to me of love, he pines, Koci’s mezzo is splendid. He jumps under the bed as the Count comes in to seduce Susanna.
Günter Hauser’s Almaviva is youthful, slim, well-built,-wearing a moire-silk dressing gown, showing off his bare chest. Soon shirtless. No doubts about his intentions, he gets her onto the bed; Nelsen’s Susanna, has to fight him off. It’s literally a bedroom farce, with Cherubino’s head peaking under the bed which is centre-stage. Then Basilio (Jeffrey Treganza), the music teacher bursts in , and the Count himself has to hide. Until Basilo tells of Cherubino’s passion for the Countess. Furious, Almaviva breaks cover, to describe how he’d found him with Barbarina. Haumer’s is an impressive baritone- mature, with dark hints, like a fine wine. Cherubino- not again! -reappears, like a bad penny, and again banished.
The wedding cortege- peasants/servants in black- troupe in and ceremoniously cover the marital bed with a white sheet, scattering herbs and flowers. ‘The right’ exists no longer, Figaro sings, seeking reassurance. The peasants mockingly praise the Count for abandoning the ius primae noctis.
Cue Figaro’s signature aria- he’s known and respected everywhere, has fingers in everything: a man of all talents. Kellner, who looks fresh and inexperienced, lacks brio ; but not bad.
Opening Act 2, the Contessa (Kristiane Kaiser), blonde hair lavishly coiffed, lies on a bed under a pool of golden light. She sings movingly, Give me my love back, or send me death; she appeals to Amor with her song of sorrow. Kaiser’s is a lyrical, light soprano; not so powerful, but she compensates with conviction.
In the plotting and counter-plotting, Figaro passes on a letter to the Count proposing a meeting with an alleged lover, but involving Cherubino.
The scene with Susanna and the Countess is affecting, with Kaiser singing with enormous feeling. The Countess’s melancholy is counterbalanced by the farce of Cherubino dressed in Susanna’s clothes. Until Almaviva arrives, to find the door locked, suspecting the Countess of hiding Cherubino, (who escapes by jumping out of a window, while Susanna emerges triumphantly from the closet.)

Count Almaviva is like a ‘Basil Fawlty’ (John Clees) character, his castle resembling a ramshackle hotel, with everything out of control. So in Act 3 we see Haumer’s Almaviva put on a ruby cloak with ermine, singing of the misery of his feudal role. Susanna – why does she shy away from him – agrees to meet him in the garden. Then, overhearing her telling Figaro ‘their case is won’, he feels he’s been tricked. Save the lies! he sings, in his aria, venting his fury on Figaro.- He will pay: everything serves his plan, he’ll get even with his servant. Haumer is good, but hasn’t the depths of pathos, (perhaps that come with bitter experience.) He does look suitably non-plussed presiding as Judge when Marcelina and Bartolo attempt to hold Figaro to his marriage contract – when it transpires Figaro is their lost son. Nelsen’s Susanna gives Figaro such a smack! – she’d suspected an affair with Marcelina.
The Countess’s aria (Act 3) is a plaintive cry of the deceived, much-maligned wife. Where are the moments of our love and tenderness; she only hopes his heart will listen to her plea. One of the opera’s sublime moments, poignantly sung by Kaiser.
Also impressive, the Countess’s duet with Susanna, when the Countess takes the initiative to win back her husband. They plan to change cloaks: the Count’s rendezvous to take place with Susanna dressed as the Countess. They sing of the evening breezes, of a soft summer wind blowing. Dear Countess, accept these roses; the chorus of ladies’ offer of their respects is enchanting.
The staging for the (Act 4) meeting in the garden is inspired. It’s as if we are in a maze, with blocks of closely-cropped bushes. Figaro becomes jealous -all about a pin attached to Susanna’s letter to the Count. His aria, another highlight, compellingly sung by Kellner, rages about how women really are- witches, like thorns in roses, never true. For us, a 21st century audience, it’s a tirade of misogyny. But Susanna sings to him an emollient aria of love.
In the game of amorous confusion, Figaro makes love to the Countess- dressed as Susanna, to annoy the Count. But it turns out that the ‘Susanna’ Almaviva has seduced is his own wife. And he is compelled to accept defeat, and beg on is knees for his wife’s forgiveness. Contessa, Perdono! Love excuses you, forgives, reconciles, she sings. And all is happiness in the end. (Ja, alle sind glücklich, soll’es Ende zu sein.) The chorus sing, let’s hasten to the festivities. In Marelli’s festive ending, they all unite around a table of lit candles. Da Ponte (and Beaumarchais’) happy ending is, however, problematic, a little cynical.
This Vienna Volksoper Marriage – even without the big stars- is an illuminating experience: hugely enjoyable, it gets to the heart of the opera. Marelli’s sets are exemplary: beautiful, yet simple, in some ways preferable to Martinoty’s post-modern pastiche at Vienna State Opera (Le Nozze di Figaro). But this is the German version: please, Volksoper, why are there no subtitles in English? P.R. 5.1.2018
Photos: Rebecca Nelsen (Susanna) and Yasushi Hirano (Figaro); Julia Koci (Cherubino) and Anita Götz(Susanna); Günter Hauser (Count Almaviva) and David Steffens (Figaro); Featured Image Volksoper ensemble
(c) Barbara Palffy/ Volksoper Wien

Die Fledermaus has been a staple of Vienna State Opera repertory since 1900 . Its enduring popularity has everything to do with the quality of Johann Strauss’s music, its rich melodies: but also the cleverly scripted comedy, a social satire on late 19th century Viennese society.
This truly classic Otto Schenk production premiered in 1979, and, newly interpreted in 2011, is sheer extravagance: an abundance of expensive furnishings and costumes to reflect the high society portrayed.
The Die Fledermaus overture, a Strauss songbook, is an entity in itself. There’s beautiful phrasing from Cornelius Meister’s Vienna State Opera Orchestra. Authentically articulated, it swings with that Viennese lilt: gemütlich, warmth and charm. Such a sense of anticipation!

Then a drawing room, with a staircase centre stage, all in beige, cream and gold tones. Adele sings the letter from her sister, ‘miles away’ in a villa . If you can, borrow a gown from your mistress, or come as you are (to the ball.) If only she knew how, sings Maria Nazarova, petite, blonde and gorgeous. She sings to Rosalinde about her aunt’s illness, feigning her upset. Rosalinde, the fiery, auburn-haired Laura Aikin, won’t buy it. In Adele’s comedic aria, why did her mother make her, Nazarova is light-hearted but affecting.
Meanwhile, Alfred , an old flame of Rosalinde’s creeps in. Benjamin Bruns, ‘the tenor’ -he’s some tenor- but imagine being crooned to all the time. If only he wouldn’t sing, his voice drives me to distraction, complains Rosalinde.
Eisenstein, Rosalinde’s husband arrives. Michael Schade is moustachioed, slightly paunchy, with a middle-age spread, but what a voice. Their duet about Schuld (guilt) is sensational stuff. He’s been sentenced to a week in prison for insulting an official . She’s outwardly all sympathy- how can she bear it ; but, she sings to us, he could appeal but he’d only make a fool of himself.
Eisenstein hears Adele crying again. ‘Not on his account’, he sings. (Is he having an affair?) Anyway, he saw her, Adele’s sick aunt, out-and-about, in an inn.
Dr.Falke (Clemens Unterreiner) is the mastermind of the plot- a revenge scam against Eisenstein, who’d humiliated him at a masque ball: Falke locked-out dressed as a bat. Unterreiner, hirsute, attractively bearded, a gloriously lyrical baritone, invites his ‘friend’ Eisenstein to a party at Orlofsky’s- this young Russian, who spends money like there’s no tomorrow, (and who’s complicit in Falke’s plot.) Stop worrying about prison!
Wie werde ich ertragen , the husband and wife duet – eight days apart, how will they stand it- is another highlight. They hypocritically exaggerate their feelings while they’re both scheming. Es gibt ein Wiedersehen: they’ll see each other again. She too has other plans. (Men! He’s sure to have fun in prison.)
Alfred offers her a little support, Bruns now in his host’s dressing gown, is already planning breakfast. Bruns, forever bursting into another aria, is delightfully over-played. Cue another of Strauss’s iconic duets. Glücklich ist, wer vergisst… Bruns’ tenor is magical, meltingly seductive, Liebchen, he sings. But also a comic turn. He thinks he’s got her; Rosalinde otherwise.
And then the prison governor Frank (Jochen Schmeckenbecher) arrives to arrest Eisenstein. Alfred, in disguise, sees the funny side and he and Frank share a toast. He’s not Eisenstein, but his ‘wife’ sees a way of getting rid of him. Bored and sleepy, he’s like any husband! She tenderly kisses him; the deal is sealed.
In the Ball at Orlofsky’s (Act 2) stunning stage set, the reception area has mountains of flowers, gold-embossed wallpaper, gilded mirrors everywhere. Prince Orlofsky has millions, and everything bores him! Actually it’s mezzo Stephanie Houtzeel- a show-stopper-in a role she’s made her own. Slim, tall, in a black tuxedo, with slicked-back hair, singing in a broken Russo-German, so camp! A comic tour-de-force. As also his handsome butler (Jaruslav Pehal), in a green velvet tunic, so outre. Orlofsky, to the Marquis (Schade’s Eisenstein), Are you a man of honour? Then drink with me to your moral code. So to Orlofsky’s signature ‘Ich lade gerne meine Gäste…‘ , but what goes for himself, he doesn’t allow his guests. If any guest is bored, he’ll throw him out. Das ist bei mir so sitte. It’s his custom. He wants his guests as drunk as him; woe betide anyone who can’t keep up!
The ‘Marquise’ spots the maid. (Eisenstein to Adele) ‘Have you always been Fraulein Olga?’. – What a chamber maid! Suddenly the chorus erupts from whisper to crescendo ‘This is most amusing.’ You see this dainty lady: the Marquise takes her for a chambermaid. My dear Marquis , a man should know better. Die Hand ist so fein -she has dainty hands, a refined accent -, qualities you never find in a Lady’s maid.. The whole scene is a remarkable satire on class, a fingers-up to ‘society’.
Adele’s rebuke to her ex-master Ja, sehr komisch ist die Sache, is charmingly, feistily sung by the petite Nazarova. ‘We are all ladies together.’ Huge applause.
Schade’s Marquis excuses himself , unashamedly. Then gets involved in another farcical scene with the aptly named Chevalier Chardin– actually Frank, the prison governor. He puts on a French accent- they can’t understand a word- but they vie to outdo each other with all the French words they can adlib: Lyon, Toulouse, Moulin Rouge, Can-Can . This is far and away the funniest production I’ve ever seen.
Falke , the diabolic mastermind, introduces his special guest-a Hungarian Princess. Aikin appears, in a shimmering white ball gown, and matching white mask. She confers with Falke- the power keg will explode tomorrow.
Falke’s scheme, the Bat’s Revenge, is to expose all those who humiliated him; in so doing the target is the social hypocrisy of haute societé. No wonder the Viennese censor tried to vet the piece.
Marquis and Princess, in their disguises, meet. Eisenstein becomes obsessively interested. Do not touch me! she insists, as he tries to unmask her. How he lusts after me, she sings. Schon meldet die Liebe. Love second-time-around? She steals his wallet in her game plan. Ah, ich bin blamiert, he sings. He feels such a fool.
She not Hungarian? Cue her emblematic aria Klange der Heimat, the sounds of homeland bring tears to her eyes. She longs for Hungary. Aikin, a very accomplished soprano, singing of Hungary filling her soul, somehow lacks the élan – even on a high note.
The stage revolves to the banqueting room, tables in a crescent. And the heart of the opera, the Story of King Champagne. Unterreiner’s Falke opens, Bruderlein und Schwesterlein, let us be brothers and sisters for all time (a Viennese Auld Lang Syne?).Truly affecting. Heutzel’s intro is picked up by an endearing chorus. We see the room is that of a palace, the balconies bedecked with exotic flowers and palm trees. The Donner und Blitz Polka reminds us that this Johann Strauss II is also the Waltz King. The whole stage erupts with couples (Vienna State Ballet) doing the polka, and forming circles of dancers; then collapsing in a heap; and on their feet again for the Fledermaus Walz. If life were always as festive as today!
Midnight. It could have ended here, but the operetta is cleverly contrived comedy, the plot tightly wound-up like the watch Eisenstein has lost.
And if you left before Act 3, you’d miss the star turn, the jailor scene, and Frosch, traditionally a guest actor- for years played by Peter Simonischeck, now an Oscar nominee.
Frosch (Frog) is always pissed. The repartee is an ad-lib snipe at the current political scene. Always new jokes. The sound of Alfred’s (Bruns) tenor echoes from one of the cells. (Give him to a count of three to shut up!) The set comprises filing cabinets overflowing ; a staircase for all the characters who gradually find their way here. The Governor Frank staggers in and tries to sober up – full of sardonic digs at everyone. ‘Olga’ (Nazarova) and Ida arrive and Adele auditions fore Frank. She can play any role, she’ll even play the innocent , she sings. W e all applauded, Nazarova a hit.. Alfred is released . Where are you singing, Frosch asks. Vienna State Opera? (He is.) Then ,in the farce, Eisenstein arrives, dressed as a lawyer to interrogate Rosalinde. ‘The situation requires discretion’, they sing. My husband is a monster, but she won’t let him get away with it! And she has his watch to prove his infidelity. Oh! Fledermaus , release your victim! The ball guests have entered the prison, still in their black costumes, drinking champagne of course. Eisenstein begs forgiveness on his knees. It was only the champagne.
In Schenk’s magnificent staging, the success of this classiest of productions is that of the cast -a surfeit of top singers. © PR 3.1.2018
Photos; Laura Aikin (Rosalinde) and Michael Schade (Eisenstein); Maria Nazarova (Adele) ; Benjamin Bruns (Alfred) and Laura Aikin (Rosalinde); Stephanie Houtzeel(Prince Orlofsky); Featured Image, surprise guest Lidia Baich
© Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn

You think you know everything about The Magic Flute, but Mozart’s masterpiece works on so many different levels. Superficially, it is a fairy tale entertainment, Schikaneder, Mozart’s friend and the librettist, a theatrical impresario. In this adult pantomime, Prince Tamino, who first slays a dragon, is put to the test to win Pamina, the daughter of ‘the Queen of the Night’. But in a classic struggle of good versus evil, the apparent villain Sarastro is priest of a religious order. In Mozart’s morality tale, he represents Enlightenment against the dark forces; and Sarastro’s brotherhood could be Mozart’s own Freemasons.
But why bother with the plot when most audiences go for the beguiling music? Well the opera, obviously musical theatre, its magic is only fully revealed in performance. You cannot ignore the sets and staging.

We’re in Vienna, where Die Zauberflöte premiered in 1791- in a popular theatre – tonight at Vienna State Opera, in a production by Moshe Leiser and Patrice Caurier. The giant serpent which Tamino has slain – in two pathetic halves- made the American behind me laugh. Tamino, who’s fainted, is revived by the ‘three ladies’. Tenor Jörg Schneider sings sublimely, but is he too overweight for the part. ‘What would I give to make him move’; the ladies are captivated by this ‘handsome young man’. They’re like party dames in fabulous, frilly red party gowns and slinky stockings. Costumes, a mix of ‘period’ and modern, are at least colourful.
But the back of the stage looks like…the back of a stage! Black walls, scuffed with wear, shabby, just bare floor boards; side of stage, exposed, the hoisting machinery. An expensive ‘concept’, designed by Christian Fenouillat.
Papageno, (bass-baritone Thomas Tatzl) is more the thing, dark-haired, rustic in a mustard traditional Austrian suit, with floral shirt, carrying a bird cage (with live doves). He sings in a heavy Styrian brogue. Essen und trinken; his pleasures are simple, eating and drinking and a woman to keep. He’s the country yokel, supplying the Queen with birds (the avian kind). Trouble is, Papageno’s simpleton gets involved in the main plot’s cosmic power struggle. So the Queen’s ladies muzzle him for boasting that he killed the dragon; and he has to undergo the same initiation trials as Tamino. Tatzl is a hit with the audience. But Tatzl’s Papageno, in the comic sub-plot, sometimes upstages the main plot.
Blonde-haired Jörg Schneider’s Tamino, wearing a green top, and cummerbund over billowing beige pants, looks a squat figure. But his aria Das Bildnis ist bezaubernd schön- how this image of a goddess enchants his heart- almost justifies the trip. Ja, die Liebe ist es allein. And she will be his forever. Sympathetic accompaniment from Vienna State Opera Orchestra, arranged as if on period instruments, expertly conducted by Adam Fischer.
The Queen plots on Tamino’s assistance- along with Papageno- to enter Sarastro’s kingdom to free Pamina from ‘the tyrant’. Hence the magic flute and bells with transformative powers. She will stop at nothing to win back her daughter. But Hila Fahima is too angelic for this witch in disguise. Fahima’s slender dark brunette appears in a long, scarlet silk gown. Her exquisite soprano doesn’t quite have the power required. There’s no suggestion of night, and her satanic powers; but her bird-like cuckooing attains surprising high notes.

We see (Viennese tenor) Benedikt Kobel as the Moor Monostatus in a modern black suit, braided lapels, pursuing Pamina (Olga Bezsmertna) in a white dress. In the plot Monostatus furtively approaches her to abuse her. Here Kobel is trying to hide behind the stage curtain in his underpants. It’s comic – the audience laughed – but this was attempted rape! Kobel’s Monostatus sings (in the German libretto) ‘There are blackbirds in the world, why not black men.’ Yet Kobel has been ‘blackened up’ by the make-up department. Bad.
Papageno brings Pamina the good news she is to be freed by Tamino. Their joy-filled duet about the power of love is a highlight. It is a woman’s duty to give man a loving heart, sings Pamina; rather anachronistic, but Bezsmertna sings with a classical purity. Mann und Weib,, they sing of a paradigm of married bliss.
Die Drei Knaben, (three Boys from Vienna Boys Choir), who lead Tamino to Sarastro’s kingdom, look cute – like Dickensian street urchins- admonish him to be steadfast, and patient. Schneider sings affectingly of his concern for Pamina – is she still alive?- and of unseen voices. Tamino, reassured by Sarastro’s priest Pamina was taken away ‘for just reasons’ , plays on his magic flute and lures wild beats to him. Now some grotesque ‘apes’ prowl around while Schneider is singing, ‘Only Pamina will keep him from melancholy’; but then he’s interrupted by this silly circus. A prehistoric dinosaur’s head, glaring its teeth; some giant ostrich. From the sublime to the ridiculous. The audience were in cahoots.
Polizei! A troupe of American cops in black uniforms, like LAPD, line up. Then they expose themselves in frilly knickers. Security guards announcing Sarastro’s arrival? Some of the audience couldn’t resist getting out their cameras and smartphones. Strictly verboten; but this was risible. Bad.
Pamina confesses her escape, justified by the Moor’s threatening behaviour. Bezsmertna sings to Sarastro, My lord, I am the transgressor. ‘The wicked Moor demanded love and I ran away!’ (But to a modern audience she’s the victim in a shockingly sexist and misogynistic world.)
Yet Sarastro (René Pape) is a sympathetic figure; he ‘knows she loves another deeply.’ Dignity at last! Pape’s Sarastro is tall and commanding, wearing a long grey coat, gold braided. It is her duty to follow her mother, pleads Pamina. But she, the Queen, is in his power, he retorts. A very proud woman!
We note brilliant white cubes , illuminating the stage- symbolising the (18th Century) Enlightenment. They, the initiates, Tamino and Papageno, must be purified.

Act II. Men in black coats and hats, sombre, greet each other. Pape looks contemplative. This is more like it. They form a circle (like Freemasons?) ‘Fellow servants gathered in the temple of wisdom.’
Monostatus – trying to kiss the sleeping Pamina- is disturbed by the Queen of the Night. (Again, in this production, he makes a racial issue of it. Is it because he’s black she doesn’t want him?)
In the Queen’s iconic aria, Der hölle Rache, she tells her daughter of occult secrets given to Sarastro’s order. She will be avenged, and gives Pamina a dagger; but Pamina rejects her. She curses her daughter. Betrayed! She will never see her again. Outcast forever, abandoned, destroyed. But Fatima is more pre-occupied in getting those chirpy notes right. Yet sings, Hear gods of vengeance. But where’s the rage?
But revenge isn’t Sarastro thing; driving Monostatus away from Pamina, Pape sings vengeance is not the way in our sacred hall.
The surreal absurdity of the sub-plot is light relief from the serious ‘allegorical’ stuff. ‘Papagena’ is just ridiculous- a sci-fi construction with feathers – meant to be a haggard old woman, admitting to eighteen. Papageno’s alternative to loneliness turns into (Ileana Tonca’s) Papagana.
This last Act is just too dark and gloomy, the protagonists only visible under spotlights. But there’s distinguished singing in the famous arias. Bezsmertna, stonewalled by Tamino sworn to silence, feels that all is at end. Never shall beauty and delight find her heart again. In the dagger scene, she’s prevented from taking her life by the three Knaben. They rescue her, and in a cute, Mary Poppins moment, they all rise up into the heavens (on stage wiring.)
And Tamino and Pamina travel through their arduous trials guided by the Zauberflöte. Oh let your sound be our protection, they sing. Bezsmertna and Schneider are superb in their duet.
Tatzl’s Papageno’s is seen strung up on a scaffold – his suicidal thoughts ironically mirroring Pamina’s separation. Good night false world- he won’t live without Mädchen oder Weibchen to share his life. Then Papagena (Tonca), opposite stage, joins him and they’re both strung-up like puppets, and transported heaven-bound.
Drive out the night, Vertrieben die Nacht. The Queen of the Night’s alternative court pledge vengeance- but a magic storm buries them under a tarpaulin, and they disappear below stage. The good have triumphed and are rewarded with eternal wisdom. But unless you’re in a privileged seat, you won’t see the sun rising rear of the stage.
Die Zauberflöte, unconventional, but great opera, requires imaginative staging, and demands a high-calibre cast – here sadly let down by this gloomy production. © PR. 29.12.17
Photos: Jörg Schneider (Tamino) with Caroline Wenborne (First Lady), Ulrike Helzel (Second Lady) and Bongiwe Nakani (Third Lady); Thomas Tazl (Papageno); Hila Fatima (Queen of the Night); Olga Bezsmertna (Pamina); Featured Image: Ileana Tonca (Pagagena),Thomas Tatzl (Papageno)
© Wiener Staatsoper /Michael Pöhn

Posters for the Vienna Volksoper premier show dark silhouettes in black of the three key players, like male models for a photo-shoot. Fortunately Alexander Schulin’s production isn’t a modern update. Verdi’s opera on Schiller’s Die Räuber is set in I8th century Germany; costumes are a mix of baroque and Revolutionary . Only the names are changed for the German version of Verdi’s I masnadieri.
For the prelude, a cello player sits in a narrow room on a tableau-like stage, and plays a hauntingly beautiful solo. About him sit three ‘children’, Karl, Franz and Amalia : the triangle on which the drama hinges. A family tragedy of two rival brothers, the younger Franz who plots against Karl, the Count’s favourite son ; and Amalia, Karl’s betrothed , the victim of the men’s rivalry.
Long live freedom! Karl’s aria is a plea to live in a world without pain and suffering. Mehrzad Montazeri, as the Count’s firstborn in exile, long-haired, dissolute, dressed in frock coat and brocaded waistcoat, has befriended rough company. He’s written his father a letter begging forgiveness, hoping to be allowed back. Montazeri- who alternates in the role with Vincent Schirrmacher- is rather short, but a refined tenor with a good middle range. But Franz (Boaz Daniel), the embittered, ambitious younger brother, has intercepted the letter, to ensure his father’s rejection. False humanity! Karl, deeply disillusioned, in his aria, shows signs of the despair that brings on an inner disintegration. He becomes the leader of a bunch of outlaws.
At the end of the first Act, Count Maximilian (Kurt Rydl) is brought news that his once beloved Karl has died in battle. (Franz’s conspiracy is to disinherit his older brother and kill his father with the shock.) Rydl staggers around as if afflicted with severe back pain- I know the symptoms- and collapses as if dying.
For Act 2, against a white stage (design Bettina Meyer), there’s a huge black cube – a stage within a stage- with a built in tableau. Franz is celebrating his coup with a riotous feast. Meanwhile Amalia (soprano Anja-Nina Bahrmann) is pining for her lover Karl, the fiancée she believes she’s lost. The villain Franz exploits the situation, pleading his love, and urging her to marry him. Yet it’s a little dull, in spite of terrific singing from Bahrmann, in a dark blue silk gown, and Daniel’s distinguished (Vienna Staatsoper) baritone. She refuses him; he threatens her with rape; and she defends herself with a knife. The whole scene rather palls. Maybe it’s the oppressive, cramped, boxed-in set, with its dark colours.
But it’s Verdi, and the Act reverts to form with the outlaws and the return of the captured Roller (Thomas Sigwald), who’s rescued from the gallows by Karl. (Problematically, we see a group of women – bruised , beaten, clothes torn – apparently escaping from a fire, their homes burnt.)
The ensemble chorus (lustily sung by Volksoper Chorus) is pure Verdi. Their anthem sings, they fight for freedom, the downtrodden against their rich oppressors: we support the poor, and murder the rich. Stirring, inspiring. (So they are not ‘robbers’, but outlaws fighting for justice?) Yet Montazeri’s Karl sings, shocked by man’s debauchery, and with self-remorse; he’s tormented by thoughts of Amalia.
Amalia, escaped form Franz, but lost; Bahrmann sings movingly, she’s tired and depressed. Then we hear the outlaws’ anthem.
At first, she doesn’t recognise him, Karl. Their duet, their joy at seeing each other again, is a highlight. Only death can separate them, they sing, prophetically. The sun will drive away their storms. But she wonders why he’s so sad: he can’t tell her he’s an outlaw. These two, Montazeri and Bahrmann, are one good reason for your visit.
But also the Verdi choruses. Behind them- exciting stagecraft- the cube opens up to a become a tableau of robbers, dressed in ‘fur’ coats, like wild west outlaws. At first with their backs to us, then lined-up, they belt out their credo, Freedom is our passion: we rob , murder, torture. Yet, ironically, Verdi’s jaunty blood and death anthem has the lilt of a ( Viennese) waltz. They raise their rifles defiantly. Fabulous!
As often in Verdi, the swing is from the crowd scenes to the solitary aria: Karl in his melancholy, sings there’s peace only in sleep. Montazeri holds his pistol as if signalling suicide; but retracts, he’s no coward!
We hear the voice of Rydl from a deep recess back of stage: the Count locked away in a tower by the vengeful Franz. His own son, Oh, eternal chaos! Rydl, in Count Maximilian’s aria, is broken up with pain, abused by his own flesh and blood. ‘You can rot, you’ve lived long enough;’ taunts Franz. One thinks inevitably of Shakespeare’s King Lear, abused by his children. Rydl, bedraggled, unruly white hair, is a Lear-like figure, in a night gown, ragged, as if out of bedlam. Rydl’s powerful, but poignant, world-weary bass is another reason to be here. Karl swears his brigands to holy revenge, their battle cry anticipating later Verdi (Don Carlo).
Daniel excels in Franz’s aria – now finally tortured by guilt, and remorse. Can it be the dead rise from their graves. In his dream appears a garden; suddenly all disappears , goes up in flames; each gives up its dead, he sings, Daniel’s baritone rich and dark-toned.
In Karl’s reconciliation with his father, he asks for his father’s blessing without revealing who he is. Maximilian fears nothing: name the sins he has committed. (My Karl , where are you .- I’m guilty, forgive thy father- take my blessing.) The outlaws storm the palace and virtually disband the stage-set, the ‘cube’, plank by plank.

© barbara pálffy / volksoper

Photos: Vincent Schirrmacher (Karl), Kurt Rydl (Count Maximilian), Boaz Daniel (Franz); Kurt Rydl (Maximilian) and Boaz Daniel (Franz); Sofia Soloviy (Amalia) and Boaz Daniel (Franz); Mehrzad Montazeri Karl), Anja-Nina Bahrmann as Amalia; Featured image Mehrzad Montazeri, Thomas Sigwald and Volksoper Chorus
© Barbara Pálffy /Volksoper Wien