Cecilia Bartoli, Ensemble © MarcoBorelli

Caesar (Cesare), counter-tenor Carlo Vistoli, sings ‘ Now every Egyptian land grant its palms to the victor!’ His countertenor (originally a castrato role), sounds slightly incongruous for the mighty Commander. Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar ‘bestride(s) the narrow world like a Colossus.’ But Vistoli’s technique is dazzling, his stage presence formidable. So get used to it! The Roman ruler, he’s come to quash any plots, warns Curio (Luca Vianello).

Cornelia, the slain Pompey’s widow, (alto Sara Mingardo), sings ‘Put an end to warfare! The virtue of a great ruler is forgiveness of offences.’ But General Achilla, (bass Peter Kalman), arrives carrying the head of Pompey. It’s meant as a gesture of friendliness to Caesar, ‘so that the people will love you.’ But this barbarity is misconstrued! Cornelia faints, Caesar suggests an urn (to convey Pompey.) Caesar, horrified by this (oriental) barbarism, ‘I will say that you are wicked! Out of my sight! You are cruelty.’ Cornelia sings, ‘bereft of any comfort, no hope of dying happy’. Mingardo, wearing a black shroud, is consumed with pain and suffering.
Her son Sextus, countertenor Kangmin Justin Kim, blonde, in a white suit, stirs himself to bitter vengeance. As if spooked by his father’s ghost- ‘there’s a shadow behind him’- expecting action.

We see Cleopatra in her apartment-hearing of Pompey’s death- seeking Caesar as an ally against brother Tolomeo (Ptolemy). ‘Faithful to me with courage’, Bartoli’s Cleopatra in teal-blue, is wearing a gold skirt, swishing a feather stole, and louchely holding a long cigarette holder. “Do not despair. Not lacking sovereignty, you will be in love.’ Bartoli, mezzo-soprano, is not only in good voice, but she virtually bounces off stage, leading her two ladies-in-waiting.

Achilla proposes to Ptolemy (Max-Emanuel Cencic), he will kill Caesar for Cornelia, ‘Once mighty Caesar, your haughty head will be sorry.’ As Ptolemy (Tolomeo), Cencic a sensational tenor, has physical presence, but also emotional depth, his lyrical outpouring beautiful.
Caesar muses on Pompey’s ashes, Viscoli’s aria a profound soliloquy on power. ‘Your trophies a shadow! Wretched life, followed by death. (Shades of Macbeth’s ‘This mortal life.’) Eerie wind soloists for the scene changes, Handel’s musical theatre is given another dimension by the Musicians of the Prince of Monaco on original instruments, (director Gianluca Capuana).

Curio announces Lydia (Cleopatra disguised as her servant), who asks for Caesar’s help against Ptolemy. Caesar is overwhelmed by her beauty. ‘Let him think he can have Egypt, without a degree of danger!’ Bartoli’s aria is accompanied by a brightly-timbred horn solo. Servants pick up rose-petals.

Achilla introduces Cornelia, her proclaimed desire to avenge Pompey, pre-empted by her son Sextus. Kim’s high-pitched counter-tenor, challenges the ‘perpetrator’ to single combat. Achilla, besotted with Cornelia offers to help them; looks in her eyes, expects her to pity his love. But his offer to help Cornelia is rejected. She’s sent to a harem, Sextus to prison!
Earlier, in a stand-out scene, Ptolemy welcomes Caesar with ceremonial pomp; but to Caesar’s mistrust. They do some totally original dance moves, a BAROQUE RUMBA, or raving rococo, led by Kalman’s Achilla.
By contrast, Cornelia’s pleads, ‘at least give me time to give my son a last kiss!’ Cornelia and Sextus, in Handel’s iconic duet, ‘I was born to weep, and will ever moan!’ Mingardo and Kim are both in white, centre-stage, she cradling him in her arms.

Cleopatra has arranged a party to seduce Caesar, (V’adoro pupille.) Is it a harem? Bartoli is in a shimmering, sparkling, see-through dress- a huge fan swaying over her. Behind, a video (DWOK) view of eastern Mediterranean. Vistoli’s Caesar is positively pouting, like a rock-star, Vistoli in a white jacket, slicked hair, caresses the mike, as if improvising, ‘It’s song sounds all the sweeter’.
Meanwhile, on another stage, Cencia’s Tolomeo virtually threatens to rape Cornelia. She will feel, yes, pitiless. The older woman arouses him. Sextus shoots a pistol to protect his mother. Behind them, a video view of the now frothy ‘Mediterranean’ waves.

Back to Caesar and Cleo. I adore you, your eyes arrows of love. (She’s come out as Cleopatra, no longer servant Lydia.) She’s carrying a mike, Bartoli now the rock diva. Your rays arouse my breasts, she croons. Now Caesar approaches. In Handel’s aria, he sings of a songbird. If in a pleasant, flowery meadow, a songbird sings…’
Meanwhile, Kim in a powerful display of coloratura, Sextus threatens, his anger will never rest until his father’s avenged, and Tolomeo’s blood spilled.
Bartoli’s Cleopatra is prancing around like a young girl. ‘Beautiful Venus, on me grant your grace…’ Stripped down to his waist – Vistoli in fantastic form for an opera singer- lies on Cleo’s disheveled bed. Curio enters, and warns ‘Caesar must die.’ Cleopatra lets slip her real identity, ‘I AM CLEOPATRA!’ Bartoli’s moving aria invokes the gods to preserve him, and pity her,(Se pieta di me non senti.)
And to the flashing of pyrotechnics, this warrior army will wreak vengeance! Behind, a spectacular video of angry waves, like an oil rig on a choppy North Sea!

In the confusing Act 3, Caesar and Curio escape, presumed drowned, Cleopatra sides with the Romans, Caesar is rescued; and Achilla mortally wounded, confesses to murdering Pompey. And Caesar, after grabbing Sextus’s seal, enters the Palace to kill tyrant Ptolemy!

He, Tolomeo, will tame her, see her humbled: she, like a rebellious Icarus, he’ll clip her wings. Cleopatra descends.’ If, just heaven, you feel no pity for me, give me peace, or I shall die…’ Plangero a la sorte mia. Against a bright red stage, Bartoli’s aria, (her superb artistry I need hardly mention.) Can I, in a single day, lose all my power and splendor?’ She kneels, pleading. She will lament with every breath in her body…But when I am dead, I shall haunt the tyrant night and day! We see back screen, a video of Ptolemy, Cenci’s face contorted, his body tormented by an invisible plague. (Cleopatra is led off-stage by her handmaidens.)

Caesar ponders, Vistoli in his aria, Aure, deh, per pieta, ‘Where shall I go? Where are my legions? You breeze, in pity, blow upon my breast’, sung to a melancholy recorder accompaniment. On the video above, the clouds seem to weep; very cleverly done. But ‘Cleopatra’s maidens weep in vain. They are hers no longer. Now see Cleopatra die’, sing Chorus.

Lots of flashing lights, and strobe effects, as Caesar enters the Palace- protected with Sextus’s pass- to rescue Cleopatra. Bartoli, when a ship comes out of a storm, sails safely to harbour, no more to be rendered. The voice is still a phenomenon.
Meanwhile, Sextus knifes Ptolemy with his father’s sword.(‘Now share joy as Pompey’s son avenges him.’) Caesar enters, sword-raised, to free Cleopatra. There they are, lined up. Caesar will grant Cleopatra dominion over Egypt. She will pay tribute to Rome. ‘More loveable beauty will never be found’, sing Chorus.

‘LET FAIR JOY AND PLEASURE NOW RETURN WITHIN YOUR HEARTS’, is sung by the full cast, an anthem, irresistible like (Messiah’s) Hallelujah chorus, resounding through the packed house. Monte-Carlo Opera’s cast was called back repeatedly, for over 15 minutes of ovations. PR. 8.07.2024 ©
Photos © : Featured image Cecilia Bartoli, Carlo Vistoli, Ensemble, Monte Carlo Opera; Cecilia Bartoli, Ensemble; Peter Kalman (Achilla), Sara Mingardo (Cornelia);; Max Emanuel Cencic (Tolomeo), Cecilia Bartoli (Cleopatra.) All photos © Marco Borelli

Roberta Mantegna (Pauline), John Osborn (Polyeucte) © Werner Kmetitsch

Yet musically, it’s very competent. The cast is solid, the principal roles are well sung. As Polyeucte, John Osborn impresses, a very fine tenor. In his opening aria, Give me back my bliss, he sings of the Pauline he rescued; sings of his religious conversion, how he was saved. From the clandestine ceremony, wearing the white robes for his secret baptism to Christianity, he never loses authority. Also Roberta Mantegna’s Pauline, in her royal red robes, is convincing dramatically as his wife. Now conflicted by the arrival of her ex-lover Severe, who’s ruthlessly committed to execute converted Christians. Unfortunately, Mattia Olivieri’s Sévere, though impressively sung, is marred by a face indelibly dyed in red!

The bizarre staging upsets the dramatic impact of the principal roles, however well sung. In the opening, two nymph-like figures in bright lurex, cavort, do acrobatics. They’re evil, killers, instruments of mass killings. These ‘glitter boys’, mischievous acrobats left stage; other side of stage, women in fluffy, red kaftans perform a ballet. Meanwhile, Osborn’s Polyeucte, distraught, sings, give me back my happiness. Nude men prance across the stage; it’s announced Sévere is to be the new Roman consul.

Now, opening Act 2, and more political messaging. ARMENIA 1915. Why have you forgotten us? While in the tyrant’s court, red glitter boys (are they a red guard?), pick up papers strewn by the tyrant Felix (Pauline’s father), sung by David Steffens’ splendid bass. He’s the Roman dictator, forever passing edicts, the bureaucracy of empire. ‘God of the Romans, I will serve your wrath!’ he pledges. Behind him priests in red cloaks, in those high hats, and servile, subjugated Armenians. But, oh, he’s wearing, gold satin boxers! The religious leaders in red stand in line behind him, shivering, waving, performing ridiculous dance movements, shaking it all about.
Then we see Felix, top-naked, on his massage couch, (he’s a Roman consul, after all.) Pauline takes over the massage, then joined by (Osborn’s) Polyeucte. Felix plans to pardon him, if he renounces his Christianity.
The Roman victory parade is like a gay pride march, with floats moving across the stage. There’s a warning to rebels who worship the Christian God. ‘It is not difficult to be merciful, when you’re happy, sings Felix, supported on all sides by very pretty boys. A (gay) couple are even making love, side of stage.
Then the ballet, a prerequisite of French grand opéra (19th century), but here maybe not what Donizetti envisaged. Very good choreography, very camp, outrageous young men.

But, on the other, darkened side of the stage, grey-dressed orderlies are building up a pyre of disembodied limbs. The dark side of power. Sévere sings, in his aria, how ‘my happiness depends on the woman he once loved’. Pauline, Mantegna, floats across the stage in a red-hooped dress. Very regal. But all the while corpses are being passed over the wall, as we observe in one instance.
Pauline’s aria- and her duet with Severe- are a reminder of Donizetti’s greatness, and his influence on the later Verdi. Mantegna’s powerful soprano sings, to you I entrust my fears. Visited by Sévere, she reflects on why she got married; when before, only death could have parted them. They reminisce, but will not continue their romance. She wants him, but is fearful…
Behind them, in one of the production’s few attractive scenes, men are weaving rugs; oriental, Turkish. They sing of their sweet dream of happiness. Mantegna on a resounding high note, affirms her love. A terrific diva moment.
While Sévere sings, he feels only death, all his time away from her. Farewell cruel woman! She sings, hopes he will find his deserved happiness. In a change of scene- in the love triangle- Osborn’s Polyeucte sings movingly, he loves her not as much as God, but more than himself. Malgré moi.
These beautifully rendered, tender moments are spoiled by absurd staging, disrupting this ‘grand opéra’. The costumes are a mix of pastiche antiquity, and a ‘Star Wars’ episode yet to be seen! And there’s some strange, disturbing violence being perpetrated by the ‘glitter boys’, (the Romans’ red guards.)

And shocking, yet inappropriate within the context of grand opéra, the intervention of the ‘genocide’ argument. Flaccid, white-skinned coloured bodies are being piled up, centre stage. These ‘corpses’ look like limp puppets.
Sévere, Olivieri’s Roman consul, is seen wearing a pink fish-scale outfit. Osborn’s Polyeucte is in a white, religious cassock. I soar up from this world, and defy death, he sings.
While on the same stage, the pile of dead bodies is rising, like lifeless puppets. Pauline begs her father Felix, appealing for his mercy for Polyeucte. There’s a preposterous pink octopus-like creature on stage; fearsome gods of heaven, or science-fiction fantasy.
Sévere, conflicted between ruler and lover, sings, in his aria, he would even pardon ‘the one who took his love from me’ (Polyeucte), but his duty forbids it.
Act 4’s staging, Geschmacklos! (tasteless), so an Austrian critic. In Donizetti, (Eugene Scribe’s libretto), Polyeucte will not renounce his faith. Pauline, who has a vision, decides to die as a martyr, and join her husband (in the lion’s arena.) High drama. But we’re distracted. The romantic, transcendental, love-in-death operatic moment is subverted. Upstaged by modern mercenaries paid to watch the 1915 Armenian massacre, charged as genocide. The red guard glitter boys carry the corpses like loading sacks. Then more agit prop theatre, ‘My name is Aurora’. The Martyrs, Mantegna and Osborn, are joined in a line of ‘modern day’ Armenian victims. Yet defiant, as if appealing to we audience.
But the pantomine we’ve seen on stage besmirches these tragic victims, and does Donizetti’s rarely performed opera no favours. © PR. 28.9.2023

Photos: John Osborn (Polyeucte); Mattia Olivieri (Sévère), Roberta Mantegna (Pauline); Featured image John Osborn (Polyeucte) © Werner Kmetitsch

Vera-Lotte Boecker (Daphne) © Michael Pöhn/Wiener Staatsoper

She sings of the dear tree planted in her childhood years, a brother to her, foreseeing the present…A dark figure, a silhouette, shadows her movements: LEUKIPPOS (Daniel Jens), her ‘brother’, who eventually abuses her trust. Jens’ light tenor, a memorable performance, appears in a white summer suit, face whitened, other worldly. She loved his flute like the silvery wind. But for her it’s all over, after he siezed her in a passion, Leukippos, ‘once her playmate’.

The stage glows in an orange light, sunrise. Noa Beinhart’s Gaia, her distiguished contralto, at first feint, is dressed in a rich ruby-red gown. My child, I sent you out as a young sappling. She (Daphne) is to bloom in anticipation of the feat. One day the god will lead her, ‘back to her place on earth.’
Peneios, Daphne’s father, arrives with his herdsmen, and sings the praises of Olympia. So, surprisingly, Gunther Groissbäck is wearing a black dinner suit. Are you shepherds all with me now, he sings. But Groissbäck’s formidable bass isn’t projecting as it should.
Out of a black, alien mound, through a gold aperture, appears Apollo, like some spaceman! David Butt-Philip, tall, black-bearded, an imposing figure, is beautifully sung, but his arrival frightens the mortals. We hear of a bull who chased at the cows: premonitions of unnatural death.

Daphne rises from her couch in the ‘salon’, front of lower stage. In the ‘plot’, (Ovid’s Metamorphosis), the sight of her, Daphne, reminds Apollo of his sister Artemis, and he’s aroused, siezed by a great affection for her. Daphne is suspicious, especially as the ‘stranger’ Apollo sings he knows her very well. But Daphne, trusting a kindred soul, lays her head on his chest. But as in Ovid’s classical myths of gods co-habiting with mere mortals, it’s for sex any-which-way. Apollo kisses her passionately, and she tries to escape.
Anyway, Apollo sings flowers will grow through her; and that is how she will be loved. This kiss, this embrace – but you call yourself a brother? Apollo sings, ‘I love you Daphne,’ as he he descends from the upper stage to the couch bed (the psychoanalysts studio.)

For the celebrations for Dionysus, the god of raves, it’s carnival time. We audience are treated to a spectacular ballet, (Vienna compaserie).There’s a giant god’s head – is it a mask?; there are greek vases, and a gold chalice, amongst other effects. A follie too far? But the figure who seems to Daphne like a sister is …LEUKIPPOS; disguised, in drag, to take advantage of her.
In the (Ovid) story, when Daphne tries to remove the stranger’s (Leukippos’) mask, he gets violent, and pushes her down, to rape her. Apollo sees through Leukiposs’s disguise, furious that he’s violated their festival with contempt. Apollo ‘hurls thunderbolts’, Strauss’ music is now discordant, back to the radical Strauss of the Salome and Elektra period (1905,1908). ‘The god has entered his soul. He offers Daphne his love again.’
Boecker had stepped in for Hanna-Elisabeth Mueller at very short notice. I had first wondered if she had the stamina to hold up for two hours. But she, Boecker, has an impressive range, her soprano securely grounded.
Daphne sings of Leukippos, as if he’s offering her all the love in the world. But she can’t understand him. Apollo comes in on a storm, and destroys Leukoppos by lightning. He dared to love her, Daphne, but was struck down by a god. Daphne’s ‘summon me to the other side’ is sung by Boecker on an extraordinarily high note. Strident brass instruments, surging strings; neurotic, at the extreme end of Romanticism.
Are we still gods, or weighed down by human hearts’, sings Apollo. The Greek gods manipulated, and abused their mortal inferiors, but envied them for their human qualities, the empathy they were incapable of.
He’s killed the most innocent…. Apollo, (not the god of hellfire!), reveals his identity, ‘I am Apollo, the god of the sun and daylight.’ Leukoppos curses him, for wooing Daphne in disguise, and is struck dead. Daphne mourns her erstwhile companion. She belonged to him, she sings. She rejects Apollo’s advances. In the mythology, Apollo begs the forgiveness of the gods for deceiving these mortals.
He sings, he will fulfill her dream, and she will blossom evergreen. He will transform her into a tree: bestow the greatest honour! Butt’s exceptional tenor is rich and authorative.

But Boecker is now sitting up; then, bemused, moves over to the stage with Apollo behind her. She stands upper stage against blue skies. A weird trunk shape, an abstract copper installation behind her, Daphne sings she’s coming home to her brother. How sweetly the sap of the earth flows through her. ‘Wind play with me! Birds of the air nest in me.’ She enters the burnished gold installation, which closes in on her. Her hand comes out stroking the trunk. We hear her voice, ethereal, Boecker’s wordless song fainting away.
The man is still sitting on the side of the stage. The couch is now empty. Truly a transformational experience. P.R. 18.9.2023
Photos: Daniel Jens (Leukippos), Vera-Lotte Boecker (Daphne); David Butt Philip (Apollo); Featured image: Ileana Tonca, Daniel Jenz, Alma Neuhaus © Michael Pöhn/ Wiener Staatsoper

Anna Lingenhel, Anett Fritsch, Stephanie Maitland, Monica Sandalescu © Barbara Pálffy

Volksoper wins us over in the beauty and ingenuity of the staging, and musically reminds us why Nicolai’s opera was once so popular. From the Overture, with its familiar melodies, sumptuously played by Volksoper Orchestra under Ben Glassberg. To the astounding opening scene of late-Victorian dressed women, rolling down a sloping lawn, spelling DIE LUSTIGEN WEIBER. A wonderful introduction for a tale of budding ‘femininism’, a women’s community ‘doing it for themselves.’ They strut their stuff . And unroll a red banner!
Whereas the men we see, especially rival suitors Dr Cajus (Alexander Fritze), and miserly Spärlich (Carsten Suss), act like a bunch of twerps.

And the artists’ studio (with men painting female nudes) shows a sexist man’s world. In a remarkable scene, the iconic Manet painting, Olympia ‘nude reclining’, comes to life! The heads of the opera’s two heroines Frau Reich (Stephanie Maitland), and Fluth (Anett Fritsch) look out through the painting. Fluth as the reclining woman on the couch, Reich as Cupid, mischevously peering into the male domain.
They show each other identically-worded love letters. Both have ‘loving eyes’, and love champagne: it’s John Falstaff! The wives will get their revenge on him!

Meeanwhile, we see around the stage, portraits of naked women; and front-stage, surreal, half-dressed women, as if trapped in their picture frames. Women in different stage of undress. Obviously this all about gender. And the men behind their easel) are a painterly demonstration of the ‘male gaze’ (potentially voyeuers and fetishists.)
Against their exploitation, Ms Reich and Fluch plot to entice Falstaff, and then let him loose – into the river. But the laundry basket looks ridiculously small!

The age-old patriarchal bartering for a daughter- for Reich’s Anna- has the miserly Spärlich favourite. What does he want with his daughter, Reich asks of Fenton, (who’s secretly having an affair with Anna.) Fenton, is sung by Junho You’s lyrical tenor. In his beautiful aria, Fenton admits he’s ‘not rich, but he’s in love’.

Ms Fluth is seen in an amazing drawing room, its gold wallpaper with heraldic pattern, and matching chaise longue. In her aria, she rails against her seducer. Anett Fritsch is a superb soprano ( dare I say for operetta.) The woman’s heart is weak, she sings, and of her knight, Froh, Sinn und Liebe, happiness, sense and love are the spice of life. (The neglected wife, she must be frustrated!)
At last Falstaff’s appearance. Martin Winkler’s a very deep bass for such a slight build, physically. He’s succeeded at last in approaching this Edelstein, precious stone. Winkler, in a copper-coloured suit (matching his hair colour), he’s not at all the embodiment of Falstaff we expect (from Shakespeare’s grossly over-weight, dissolute figure, on which it’s based.)
Don’t you also love Ms Reich, Fluch asks, alluding to the circular letters. He’s beginning to seduce her on that gold couch…But of course Fluth arrives unexpectedly, intending to catch Falstaff out. The women’s collective – to save Fluths reputation, and a woman’s honour- now have Falstaff at their mercy. They appear to push Winkler’s relatively slim Falstaff into the laundry box.

Ist das nicht ein Spass…A woman can have fun and be respectable , is what these free-spirited wives are about (in Spijker’s concept.) Whereas the men’s hunting posse are archetypal slobs. Falstaff’s entourage arrive to prove Ms Fluth’s infidelity. They appear literally coming out of the woodwork, their heads popping out of the gold-papered back-wall. Fitch’s rendering of the aria Eiffersucht (jealousy) is a real gem. Falstaff, of course, hidden with the laundry to escape, is ejected into the Thames.

Falstaff recuperates from his surprise ducking, in his local. He drank till he sank. The tavern is impressively furnished – betweeen an English pub and an Austrian Gasthaus. ‘Only when the glass is empty, out come the dice!’ Winkler is raising a glass, standing on one of the tables, when a letter arrives from Fluth, apologising, sorry for the mix-up! -but tempting him to another erotic encounter. (Earlier the wives having a picnic, plotting their next scam against Falstaff.)
Interestingly, of the bawdy company, many of the bearded men are women in drag. Winkler’s Falstaff is seen, apparently pissing into the ‘fountain’ outside- doing his flies up. That’s the kind of man he is.

Now a complete change of scene, a beach, brilliantly lit, multi-coloured, portmanteau cabins/changing rooms. Why? But it looks spectacular! Who comes out in a pink, red-spotted, one-piece swimsuit, but Carsten Süss (Spärlich). Then we look down on a swimming pool. In fact, it’s a glittering turqoise covering that’s extended, stretched; uncannily resembling water. Anna (Lauren Urquart)- against this idyllic background- sings movingly of her suffering. Fenton, you don’t love me, she pleads. Terrifically sung, to a plaintive violin solo. Behind her, three swimmers dive into the pool and do head-stands. Amazing choreography. MeanWhile Anna and Fenton- to that violin solo- now profess their love. True love won’t let them down, they sing (or similar, in German.)

By contrast, jealousy, Eiffersucht– how a man can totally misinterpret (a woman’s ) behaviour. In a shocking scene, Herr Fluth (Daniel Schmutzhard, one of Volksoper’s star tenors), throttles his wife, and knocks her to the ground. He actually brings out a rubber truncheon (not a sex toy). Where is he (Falstaff), he demands, and half strangles her. Whether this scene was in Nicolai’s opera, is disputable, but it fits Spijker’s agenda. How can men be so misguided to self-justify sexist abuse.

Falstaff is dragged on, disguised ridiculously as a chambermaid. In contrast to their scheming elders, Anna and Fenton represent true love. Both appear on bikes. Oh, süsser Mond, O holde Nacht With peace enthroned, love awaits. Enchantingly sung by two highlight performances.

Act 3 opens with a lecture on women’s rights. Anna and Fenton have secretly got married. Ms Reich and Fluth talk about the state of their marriages. And Fluth won’t divorce her man. Anna persuades the wives into a new scam against Falstaff.

For the mythical ‘Chimes of Midnight’, a driving-out evil spirits, a ballet scene ensues, with antlered figures: the revenge to be meted out to Falstaff. A large white moon is suspended backstage, Nicolai’s music, is light and spritely, the dance sequence performed by Vienna State Ballet. The bikes ridden on stage symbolise women’s emancipation, and the sufragettes.

In the stunning closing staging, red lanterns are suspended. A fantastical ballet is danced to music resembling Weber’s Freischutz, but here the spirits are benign. On walk Anna and her friends’s Women’s Rights banners for Wahlerecht the right to vote. Wir sind gnaden reich,richly fortunate, is the closing, affirmative chorus. It was a production rich in musical and visual highlights, with a splendid cast. © PR 19.5.2023
Photos: Lauren Urquart, ensemble; Martin Winkler (Falstaff), Anett Fritsch (Frau Fluth); Martin Winkler, Lauren Urquhart; featured image Stepanie Maitland, Anett Fritsch
All photos © Barbara Pálffy

Bernard Richter as Chevalier, Nicole Car as Blanche © Michael Pöhn/ Wiener Staatsoper

In the opening scene, Chevalier, Blanche’s brother, (tenor Benard Richter), sings lyrically of Revolutionary France in the throes of revolution; mobs stopping carriages, murder, and anarchy. His father, the Marquis, (Michael Kraus) is frightened for Blanche, given the horrifying circumstances of his wife’s death. But it’s not Blanche’s security but her mind that Chevalier is worried about. He sings of the terrible look of anxiety he sees on her face everyday. This ‘proud and noble young woman’ yet turns up at the Carmelite convent, telling the Mother Superior, Madame de Croissy, she wants to lead a ‘heroic life’: she’ll renounce everything if only God will restore her honour. Croissy (Michaela Schuster) caustically replies ‘a convent is where people come to pray‘; she’s forever listening to women ‘caught up in themselves.’ Blanche had illusions, but waiting to be relieved of them, asked for her religious name,
Sister Blanche of the Agony of Christ.
Schuster’s impressive mezzo – from Hansel and Gretel’s witch, to Lohengrin’s Ortrud- now unrecognisable, cropped, white-haired- is harrowing, as the Prioress in such pain, she has to beg for herbal remedies that no longer work. Yet humble, human, her chair is ‘no symbol of office.’
As Blanche, Nicole Car, recently the love-sick Tatanya in ‘Eugene Onegin’, pleads she has no refuge more. This Order is no refuge, Croissy counters. To a bleating cor-anglais solo, I am alone, Mother, without any consolation. Car, a wonderfully expressive soprano, excels in a convincing, heart-rending performance as the nun from a rich family, to which she’ll return, (but who finally dies for her faith.)
Meanwhile Croissy, who asks for Blanche by her religious name, has to beg for another palleative: she can’t bear to ‘face her daughters looking like this.’ Croissy later sings of her dream, in a vision, the Carmelite Order was destroyed. In the third Scene, sister Constance (the beautiful soprano Maria Nazarova) believes she and Blanche suffer the same fate. She sings, perhaps we die for each other.
The dying Croissy has entrusted her deputy Marie (Eve-Maud Hubeaux) to put Blanche under her care. Hubeaux’, another impressive performance, but the Order- not to be separated- sung and enacted, the cast is outstanding.

‘A man at the door on horseback’ insists on seeing Blanche, before he leaves the country. Car stands there speechless. Their father, knowing the Revolution is turning against religion, wants her to leave the convent. Her change shocks Chevalier. ‘Why is she speaking, so unnaturally, sounding forced.’ Car is perfect; becalmed, suppressed emotions. She sings, she’s not used to ‘the happiness of living without fear.’ Chevalier retorts, ‘ a lot of women would have envied what she had.’ – She, ‘do you really think it was fear that kept me hear? Where I am, nothing can hurt me.’ Poulenc’s score has a spiritual quietude. The conflict of belief is represented by shrill brass, drums and other percussion: between inner peace and the brutal violence of the outside world.
Of the cast’s few male singers, Thomas Ebenstein’s father Confessor reminds us of Blanche’s isolation from worldly reality. As the Convent’s Chaplain, he’s been removed from office by the Revolutionaries. What will he do, asks one Commissar. They’ll kill him. ‘The French are afraid, and fear infects everyone, like cholera and the plague’, he sings.

For France to keep its priests the Carmelites must lay down their lives, sings Car ominously. Two Commissars ring, dressed in silver and black culottes, announcing the Convent will be closed, all religious buildings handed over. Poulenc’s music is now quirky, wind instruments satirising the pompous revolutionaries. Front of stage, we see what seems the inside of a chapel trashed. Blanche is given a figurine “the infant king” , which she accidentally drops. A symbolic omen. The stage is silent of music.

For Act 3, the stage is now black, the gold-metallic convent in relief. Blanche’s room is in a state of chaos- books piled up- as she she seems to prepare to leave. Poulenc’s music is strident, urgent, discordant. She’s not ready to follow Chevalier. Too late for that, her security is spiritual. The only person who could have persuaded her, her father, had his head cut off a few days ago! (Now Poulenc’s strident, jabbing chords.)
The Tribune reads out a list of the banned Carmelites. Nuns have lined up, in white blouses, gold skirts. ‘No one can take from us a freedom we gave up a long time ago.‘.- Have no fear, daughters, be calm, sings Hubeaux’s redoubtable Marie. The Revolutionary Tribune lists the Carmelites’ charges; of “infamous plots, shed in the name of heaven”, proclaiming that the above are sentenced to death.
Mother Marie, (acting Mother Superior) solemnly places her daughters under the vow of obedience for the last time. Hubeaux sings movingly, she cannot bear for them to die without her. The Chaplain (Ebenstein) tells her of the sentence. She wants to join the Sisters, but he holds her back: ‘God decides who he will preserve.’
Madame Lidoine (Maria Motolygina) is responsible for the sisters in her care, now ‘normal citizens’ after the dissolution of the Convent. Mother Marie visits Blanche, returned to her father’s house, seeking refuge as a maid. She refuses Marie’s invitation to come with her, Blanche, painfully, in self-reproach, lamenting her life of fear.

The stage is filled with mist. On the top level of the ‘fortress’, saintly figures in black, embelished with gold. The nuns en masse lie on the lower stage, like concentration camp victims, marked out to be murdered. The ‘Angels’ sing SALVE, Regina… Ad te clamamus …And the stained-glass window high above shows a video of (apparently) The Last Judgement. O clemens, o pia ..The Sisters go to the scaffold singing, the choir reduced one by one, the last being Blanche. (The metallic, slicing guillotine is incorporated in Poulenc’s score.)
Bertrand de Billy, conductor of Vienna State Opera Orchestra and Choirs, was greeted with a roar of applause, after an enthousiastic reception for the entire cast. Fuchsberger’s largely woman’s production has succeeded in re-interpeting Poulenc’s 20th century masterpiece, affirming personal belief and religious faith against totalitarianism. Never more relevant nearly a hundred years on. PR 21.5.2023
Photos: Eve-Maud Hubeaux (Mother Marie), Michaela Schuster (Madame de Croissy); Maria Motolygina (Madame Lidoine) © Michael Pöhn/ Wiener Staatsoper
Featured Image © Ashley Taylor/ Wiener Staatsoper

Hedwig Ritter (Eurydice) © Barbara Pálffy/Volksoper Wien

It opens with the appearance of Jacques Offenbach (Marcel Mohab), in top hat and white fur coat. As the ‘founder of operetta’, he’s returned to Vienna, time-travelled, to see his greatest hit (Orpheus.) He jokes with the audience, reappears as link man, but the repeated joke about his being at Volksoper, which he’s mistaken for Staatsoper (Vienna State Opera), wears a bit thin. And Offenbach would never have approved of this vulgar, bawdlerised production. As Volksoper’s previous long-running (2007) production shows, Offenbach’s best operettas are masterpieces, musically, and in Crémieux/Halévy’s libretto, brilliantly witty, social and political satires, in no need of cheap slapstick for laughs.

The figure of ‘Public Opinion’ (Ruth Brauer-Krem) arrives in a gold cape. Then audience anticipation is deflated by the Overture, Alexander Joel’s Volksoper Orchestra not at their peak, played to a faux-velvet red curtain and empty stage.

Offenbach’s lampooning of pompous French (Second Empire) society made him the butt of cartoons. Yet he would not have condoned the crude jokes in Act 2. Offenbach’s Orpheus in the Underworld is a brilliant send-up of the classic narrative. In Scene 1, ‘the Death of Eurydice’, in Offenbach’s scurrilous take, Eurydice (Hedwig Ritter) is having an affair with shepherd Aristeus. So Orpheus takes his revenge…
But this is like a pantomine with ‘humanised’ sheep cavorting in a ballet. They strip-off behind the (cardboard) cut-out bushes. Oh, yeah, revealing they’re shapely human. Then these man-size bees in striped, fluffy tops- the classical cut-out temple behind – emerge from the reeds. Orpheus has put a poisonous snake in the love nest. ‘Death will come to me as a friend’, she laments. ‘Come to me’. But it’s Pluto, her shepherd-disguised lover, who leads her down to the underworld. And Pluto is sung by a woman (Rottensteiner), now in a red cloak and wielding a devil’s fork, but not at all fierce.

The set (Scene 2) for Olympus is an improvement, the background (Julian Crouch), white cloud effects, blue skies, and ‘Olympian’ classical facades of palaces (cut-outs.) Public Opinion is in white -they’re all in white- their heads wreathed. And Jupiter (Marco di Sapia) wears a white top hat and cloak.
Venus (Katia Ledoux) arrives. She can’t stop laughing. ‘Why has she come; everybody’s asleep! Cupid, the petite Juliette Khalil), suspended in a harness, swings over, her brilliant, high-pitched soprano a highlight. She appears to be darker-skinned- is she blacked-up- and has some of the best vocal lines. But with the appearance of Saturn (Timothy Fallon) it descends into farce, and there are longeurs in their dance number. The video effects (Joshua Higginson) of the pastoral landcape, back of stage, are effective.
Orpheus, (a portly Daniel Kluge) arrives on roller skates. Pluto is summoned for suspected kidnapping, but devilishly tempts the gods with his cooking: they’re bored with nectar and ambrosia. So they’re incited to revolt with placards, Schluss mit Nectar. Jupiter is the target. He’s now accused of being a notorious womaniser, leading an excessive lifestyle. And they’re all making fun of him. ‘Public opinion’ placates Olympus, bringing Orpheus who has to pretend concern over his wife. Jupiter assures Orpheus he’ll visit the Underworld – allured by Eurydice’s famed beauty- a cue for all Olympus to visit.

Act 2, in the Underworld, Eurydice has a ravishing soprano, but she’s miming. The voice comes from the back of the Orchestral pit, and its power fills the house. And it’s in French! Rottensteiner, in black deejay, sings off-stage, but Ritter’s Eurydice, on stage, continues in German recitative. There’s farce for you! Mohab’s Offenbach is still cracking the joke, enraged at being at Volksoper, not Staatsoper.
Down under, Eurydice’s bored in a boudoir in hell, and not with the lover she bargained for. Pluto descends back into the underworld, now with Jupiter. Marco di Sapio’s Jupiter is dreadfully overplayed, ultimately boring. And that accent! Again, Pluto as a woman, both absurd and miscast, though charming. There’s a set piece about three judges, before which Pluto and Jupiter have to appear, Pluto to prove his innocence. An enormous dog – a hound from hell – is shot, and poos on stage, leaving a disgusting real-looking turd.
PINK POLICE (Cupid’s squadron) get in line with their whistles. To Offenbach’s Can-Can refrain -out of tune- but it’s like a Stan Stennett silent movie sketch. Actually funny. They somehow avoid the turd pool.
A ‘giant fly’ is conjured up, one of Jupiter’s incarnations to woo his latest love victims. A group of dancers under red light coordinate with Pluto’s pink police. Juno, Jupiter’s wife, Johanna Arrous’s outstanding mezzo, interrupts Eurydice, (albeit miming in French). Arrouas was one of the evening’s higlights.
The fly (Jupiter disguised) puts his ‘hand’ in the shit, as if to eat it; puts his nozzle to it; then picks it up. Attention! This is it: as low as you can go. Then exposed by Juno- it’s Jupiter, after all. Mighty King of Heaven, Da bin ich! Finally, the big poo is cleared away by uniformed park-keepers into a black poop bag.
Back to operetta (!) in the Finale, Cupid descends for the bacchanal. Volksoper Chorus are inspiring. Eurydice performs a dance, to the gods’ applause. They demand, Father Jupiter, dance for us! What thin legs Di Sapia has got! And to top it all, a club with a bar is raised up from the stage. And there’s a Can-Can dance routine, front-stage, dancers (Vienna State Ballet) in red frocks and tights. But they’re not all girls in the line up. Very professional, but all too brief. We needed more of this!

Offenbach (Mohab) makes a final appearance: the joke about Volksoper not being Staatsoper yet again. The boat across the Styx ferries Orpheus and Eurydice, re-united once again: but Eurydice, don’t turn round! (Or forever condemned.) I couldn’t wait to get off.
A travesty, crass as it was, it ended to great applause from a packed house. In fairness, I was reluctant to write this review, given the confusing last-minute cast changes. But Offenbach, a great comic-opera composer, mis-understood, still underrated, deserves better than this. I thought I’d warn you. Please, Volksoper, bring back the previous. © PR. 21.3.2023
Photos: Ruth Brauer-Kvam (Public Opinion, Vienna State Ballet dancers; Johanna Arrouas (Juno), Marco Di Sapia (Jupiter); Hedwig Ritter (Eurydice), Marco Di Sapia; Vienna State Ballet(Can-Can); Featured Image: Timmothy Fallon, Marco Di Sapia, Jacob Semotan, Hedwig Ritter
© Barbara Pálffy/ Volksoper Wien

Ursula Pfitzner (Mrs. Peachum), Johanna Arrouas (Polly), Carsten Süss (Jonathan Peachum)
©) Barbara Pállfy / Volksoper Wien

In Brecht’s satire, music by Kurt Weill, Money rules the world, and Poverty is a ‘business model’. The Threepenny Opera, Die Dreigroschenoper, is a subversive take on John Gay’s ‘The Beggar’s Opera’. Jonathan Jeremiah Peachum has founded ‘Beggar’s Friend’, a ‘licensed’ professional alms business to get people to part with their money. So in the first scene, the new beggar Filch has to agree to pay Peachum 50% of his earnings. He’d been previously beaten up for begging in Peachum’s territory.
But, in Volksoper’s production (Maurice Lenhard), class politics is transposed to 21st century gender politics, and it doesn’t quite work. Leading roles – ‘male’ gangsters in a mobster culture – are transgendered. Gangster boss Macheath is now played by a woman, Sona Macdonald.

The Peachums, a fantastical, eccentric couple- remimniscent of Sondheim’s Sweeney Todd- are well characterised by baritone Carsten Süss in a yellow, designer parka, Mrs. Peachum (Ursula Pfitzner), her mezzo outstanding, she in lime green, with a fluffy hat, like a dowager Duchess. Their errant daughter Polly, secretly married to arch enemy Macheath, is beautifully sung by Joanna Arrouas, in ‘Barbarasong’ wearing a white jacquard mini-dress, spotlighted under a fashionably magenta-lit stage.

In that Mack the Knife ballad, Die Moritat von Mackie Messer, the orphan’s apparent naivite, contrasts with the content of the gruesome lyrics.
‘And the shark it has teeth, and it wears them in his face, And Macheath, he has a knife, But the knife can’t be seen.’ Und der Haifisch, der hat Zähne, und die trägt er im Gesicht, Und Macheath, der hat ein Messer, Doch der Messer sieht man nicht. The Ballad comparing Macheath to a shark, lists his crimes, including a murder on the Strand, the disappearance of a wealthy man robbed of his money, a woman stabbed to death, an arson in Soho killing seven children, and the rape of a young widow.’

And on he comes! On the steps, laid out, Sona MacDonald, husky-voiced, from a tradition of cross-dressed German cabaret chanteuse-from Dietrich to Amanda Lear: of indeterminate gender. Yet Macheath is described as a fearsome man (Du bist ein schreckliche Mensch.) Anyway, MacDonald is oustanding. In her magnetic stage numbers, she steals the show. Even, as in Act 3, locked up, chained in a police prison cell, she observes the stage commandingly.
Macheath is the victim of a conspiracy hatched by Inspector ‘Tiger’ Brown, Marco di Sapia, in a beige trench coat, the iconic, tall British copper. And Peachum, is out for revenge: he’ll be exposed in the ‘Old Bailey’.
Polly (Peachum), now Mrs Macheath, is introduced to Macheath’s gang, (Polly’s Song). A woman at this time!, they challenge her. Arrouas, in a scarlet red dress, yet no gangster’s moll, grabs the man, and locks his arms behind his back.

MacDonald shines in the sultry numbers, like Melodram, the mood intensified by accompamying horn (euphinium?) solo. The gangsters ‘hideaway’ rises out of the stage set. Under chandelier light fittings, the mob, are louchely lying around. MacDonald, in a show stopper, sings Im Bordell, (in a bordello.) The sleazy atmosphere is evoked, to saxophone accompaniment, with piano and percussion; sultry and decadent, Zuhalter Ballade a little reminiscent of Argentinian tango.
Sapio’s Superintendant Brown hates to do it- old friends, served in the wars – but has to lock him up: so Macheath is chained up! The stage set – a maze reflecting the labyrinthine plot- opens up to reveal an open-front prison cell. MacDonald sings of the comforts of freedom (Friedenheit bequem) in ‘Ballad of a Pleasant Life’. The dossers on stage, like the living dead of a Stanley Spencer Cookham painting, rise up in a chorus.

Act 3 opens with Eifersucht, Jealousy, Lucy’s revenge plea at her rival Polly, who’s stolen her man. Julia Koci, is explosive, her coloratura soprano virtuosic. There’s marvelous solo horn playing, again with drums and piano accompaniment. In a fiery scene, Lucy will try to poison her. Koci’s is one of the standout arias, along with Oliver Liebl, cross-dressed as Jenny (Spelunkenjenny) in a parody of a ‘tunte‘.
In an agit prop demo we see hand-painted placards ‘Mangel Entbehrung fur die Monarchie’. The ‘Opera’, loosely based on Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera (18th Century), takes place of course in London. There’s an unfortunate (untimely) reference to the crowning of the Queen? (When?) There’s a reference, in the plot (Act 2) to Peachum’s threat to sabotage the coronation if Macheath isn’t arrested…And Brown declares, ironically, That such a criminal can run loose in London! There’s a surfeit of witty puns, like Sukey Tawdry, but there’s no text, NO TITLES, NO ENGLISH TRANSLATION!

The ‘beggars’, poor, destitute, are like motley clothes horses: wildly dressed, in multicoloured rags, patched-up clothes like collages. But should these poor down-and-outs be ridiculed, or patronised as fashion victims? (Even now, in England thousands, jobless, homeless, or in low-paid jobs, are queuing at food banks.)
In the closing Act Macheath delivers an anti-capitalist diatribe against the banks in his address to his fellow citizens Mitburgher. It shows how dated Brecht’s Communist agenda now seems. (Or is it?) MacDonald’s impassioned plea is accompanied by Weill’s terrific orchestration (brittle, anarchic, with horn and windplayers.) And pushing the anti-capitalist message, what’s this, a suspended upside-down golden calf?
Finally, Macdonald’s Macheath sings his signature Mack the Knife, seated symbolically beneath the golden calf, accompanied by piano, MacDonald in a gold lame dress, and now joined by the child singer.

In the event, the transgender casting of Macheath is not unacceptable, and makes sense given the cross-dressing tradition of cabaret. And gender fluidity goes right back historically, most noteworthy in Shakespeare’s comedies. (I had wrongly assumed the whole production might be transgendered!)
Nevertheless, ‘Die Dreigroschenoper‘ has a huge amount of dialogue. So it’s reasonable to have surtitles in an international opera house. Especially as many songs, translated, ‘Mack the Knife’ and ‘Pirate Jenny’, are much recorded ‘standards’, Louis Armstrong’s and Bobby Darin’s ‘Mack’ in Congess’s National Recordings Registry. (And Weill, emigrating to the US with Lotte Lenya in 1935, became a successful composer of American ‘musicals’.) Unfortunately it’s difficult to wholeheartedly recommend Volksoper’s musically distinguished production to non-German speakers. P.R. 4.01.2023
Photos: Johanna Arrous (Polly), Sonia Macdonald (Macheath), Martina Dorak (Hakenfinger-Jacob); Julia Koci (Lucy), Johanna Arrouas (Polly), Sona MacDonald (Macheath); Ursula Pfitzner (Mrs.Peachum); featured image, Nicolaus Hagg, Sona MacDonald
© Barbara Pálffy/ Volksoper Wien

Lauren Urquhart (Clorinda), Timothy Fallon (Don Ramiro) © Barbara Pálffy/ Volksoper Wien

She’s lying in a heap, sleeping, exhausted. Then, stoking the oven fire, Annelie Sophie Müller as Angelina, the step-daughter, incarcerated, the modern slave. She lugs logs, while her ridiculous sisters, like oversize cats, pose in fluffy outfits, like extras from the musical, (Cats). No one dances as I, sings Clorinda (Lauren Urquhart), she in pink, Tisbe (Stephanie Maitland), in fluorescent green.
In her cellar, Angelina sings her swansong, ‘Once upon a time there was a Prince’; she sings forlornly by the stove, and is silenced by her sisters.

In the Palace, a ‘beggar’ pleading for alms, is in fact Alidoro, (Aaron Pendleton), the Prince Ramiro’s magician and tutor. Ramiro’s (Timothy Fallon) advised to change clothes with his servant Dandini, to test prospective wives. (Ramiro must marry to come into his inheritance.)

Of course, in the parable, Angelina offers the beggar food and drink, while one of the sisters, sings she ‘can’t stand poverty, so cruel!’. Alidoro’s on a mission ‘to test the girls’ hearts’. But Ramiro wants his queen to marry for love, not for show. He sings warmly, Fallon’s virtuoso tenor impresses as Ramiro.

Men in red velvet blazers are peering out of a closet. Don Magnifico has squandered his fortune, and is seeking suitors for his daughters. They vie with each other, Clorinda (Urquhart) declares herself the most beautiful, as they push the beggar out. Don Magnifico (Misha Kiria), who looks as if he’s just got out of bed, has just dreamed one of the girls will marry a Baron! Kiria, a very fine (Georgian) baritone, organizes a feast to invite all the girls (to be vetted.)
The twist in this ‘Cinderella’ is the double-bluff, the Prince switching with his servant. Dandini (Modestas Sedlevicius) – blonde, bewigged, white-powdered face- becomes the centre of attraction to test the family’s (ulterior) motives – thus heightening the comedy, with farcical results. Now the sisters, dressed in their outré, exaggerated hooped dresses, to impress their visitor. Angelina is side-lined, dwarfed beneath these towering sphinxes.

Dandini’s ‘Prince’ invites everyone to the banquet. Angelina asks to go, but brusquely refused by Magnifico. But Alidoro has a list of the household, showing a third daughter. Magnifico declares her ‘dead’. Brutally sexist, Kiria’s Baron threatens her with his sword, and pushes her down. She’s his ‘slave’. ‘Out of the comedy, a tragedy.’ Will she forever remain in ashes? Angelina creeps up on them. Please take me to the dance!

On a red stage, Dandini’s Prince disguised, the sisters falling over each other, curtsying, performing their social graces. Magnifico’s pompous prick, (Kiria) fat, chubby-faced, like an Oliver Hardy. And in the farce, a horse-drawn carriage crosses the stage, propelled by footmen in red livery. In the manic confusion, the party-goers form a circle to Rossini’s ever-accelerating climax.

But, as in the fairy tale, Alidoro’s ‘messenger’ assures Angelina everything will change: she’ll be ‘worthy’. Pendleton’s bass-baritone promises her a secret heaven. Now in her drab rags, she’s as if anointed under a white light. (He’s just called for his carriage.) She sings, she demands respect, as befitting one who wants to be his bride. What a beautiful soprano, Sophie Müller’s!

It must be a trick! ‘The scene deserves to be told’, (Alidoro). In the palace, who is she, the beauty, the veiled lady who says absolutely nothing. (They’re overcome by envy.) And when she reveals her face, dressed in dazzling white, she (Müller) sings with such coloratura, of how she despises show, and insincerity. Angelina, will have her voice: defiant, it’s like a ‘feminist’ proclamation. By contrast, the Baron, Kiria’s absurd figure of fun, sings, listing his titles, boasting of his wealth. Then Rossini’s glorious climax, as they’re all invited to the banquet.

Act 2 opens with the furious Magnifico, confused by the unknown beauty. He sings he’ll do anything for money and – with his daughters at his side- to promote their royal fortunes. (In the twist of the plot), Dandini’s fallen in love with Angelina, but Ramiro sees her refusing the in-disguise Prince because she loves his servant! She’s only interested in true love and fidelity, (she sings.) She offers the ‘servant’ one of her gold bangles so he’ll identify her, and exits. Having two Princes in disguise gives the comedy extra momentum. And we’re talking armbands, not slippers. Ramiro will find her, her love drives him to infatuation. Fallon declaims with breathtaking technique, in his aria, Treasure of love, of a sweet hope knocking in his heart.

But this is comedy,and in the farce. Dandini will reveal his ‘secret’ to Magnifico: he’s only a valet after all. The interaction between Dandini and Kiria’s Magnifico is astonishing in their comic timing. ‘It’s quite brilliant that a king should give up, wealth, status, social privilege for simplicity, honesty and love,’ proclaims Magnifico ironically. His ‘heart is beating like a contrabass’! We now hear Angelina’s refrain, ‘There once was a Prince who searched and found..‘

The background set is a surrealist landscape, like a Salvador Dali painting. The ensemble sing, ‘the confusion is great’. In my head, everything is turning round, and trying to resolve it only makes it worse! Magnifico orders Angelina to the kitchen, never to return. But Ramiro now discovers the second bangle on Angelina’s arm, and ‘asks for her hand’. Good triumphs, pride crumbles to dust, sing the Chorus. (While Magnifico tries vainly to re-divert the Prince to his ‘distinguished daughters’.)

For Angelina, revenge is forgiveness. Müller sings with stunning coloratura, of how her life was changed- like lightning- from Magnifico’s second marriage. Now she’s proclaimed an angel. Unbelievable staging! Her white dress is raised on a plinth, and covers the stage in its dazzling purity. Everything is transformed, and with sighs of relief.

Those pastel coloured sets, as if hand-painted in watercolours, and the exquisitely delicate costumes, enhance this adult fairy tale, brought to life by Rossini’s brilliant score. Volksoper’s orchestra (Golstein) were world-class, tonight’s cast uniformly excellent. © PR 16.9.22
Photos: Lauren Urquart (Clorinda), Timothy Fallon (Don Ramiro); Lauren Urquhart, Modestas Sedleciviu (Dandini), Stephanie Maitland (Tisbe); Annelie Sophie Müller (Angelina); Featured image: Modestas Sedlevicius and Chorus
© Barbara Pálffy/Volksoper Wien

Annette Dasch (Dubarry), Harald Schmidt (Louis XV) © Barbara Pálffy/ Volksoper Wien

The stage curtain is a tapestry, with a spotlight homing-in on a cameo of Dubarry, blown-up, magnified – as Volksoper Orchestra play Millöcker’s Overture – putting the story into historical perspective.

Yet Volksoper’s production opens- I kid you not- in a modern boutique, ‘Atelier Labille‘, letters in pink neon (stage Christof Hetzer). The shop girls dressing the windows, changing mannequins, Labille (Ulrike Steinsky) in black, glowering. Jeanne (Dasch) and the petite Margo (Juliette Khalil) complain of workers’ exploitation. Margot wants to be an actress, but is a target for older men, predators, stalking, abetted by Labille. One ‘admirer’ gropes her breasts. This is the producer’s agenda, ‘to position Dubarry in a perpetual, never-ending history of sexism.’ But the MeToo message – however important- is inappropriately heavy-handed (sorry!) for what is operetta.

Musically, Millöcker re-mixed, somewhere late Roaring Twenties, brassy, jazzy. Annette Dasch’s Jeanne is a wonderfully rich soprano. In a show of ‘girl power’, the shop girls support each other; one even takes a group photo on her phone. We see Dasch working late, checking boxes, trying on a sweater. But she walks out, won’t take it anymore.
But the men, ‘nobility’ in the plot, carry on getting drunk. The elderly Marquis, pissed, shakily carries a beer glass. They’re slobs, whatever their titles, caricatures of sexists. They’re gross and gropers, as we see them in a party with girls on their laps.

Jeanne’s lover (Lucian Krasznec) an artist, is the only nice guy. Singing Frühling, Frühling, he’s a traditional tenor for operetta, generous, rhetorical, heart-on-his-sleeve, the old-fashioned crooner, singing of Die Liebe. Krasznec and Dasch’s scenes together are the operatic high-point in this production that’s short on musical highlights, too much of it spoken dialogue.

The scene changes to the struggling artist’s garret- grim; grey, grimy walls. The bed is white, at least. They strip off their clothes, passionate, oblivious…Yes, Krasznec’s tenor is good, but old-fashioned, like the score, which could be a background to a black-and-white film noir. Who wouldn’t want to be out of this hole?

One of Jeanne’s ‘admirers’ comes ostensibly to look at René’s paintings. (He’s an acquaintance of Madame de Pompadour.) A mysterious Pompadour look-a-like floats across the stage, ballooned silks, the iconic built-up hair piece.
The aristocrat wearing a black fur coat must be suspect. He’s come intending to buy paintings; but she insists she’s ‘not for sale’.
There’s a moment of absolute silence- not a sound from the orchestra- as she makes up her mind. To consider Count Dubarry’s offer. She’s not given any time. (He throws some money, which René later finds, and hysterically accuses Jeanne of prostituting herself.)

At last a musical number! What looks like a speakeasy: a club with girls on men’s laps. And a ballet scene, with young men wearing appliqued hearts, dressed as cupids, carrying bows and arrows.
But the singer is Jeanne, Dasch in a slinky silver dress and wrought silver headpiece. Auf meine Welt. Is this creep on his knees offering her 50,000? A deep-voiced Marschallin (Ursula Stensky), coughing, chain-smokes cheroot.
Cherchez la femme, sing the men, all wearing black dee-jays. It’s so exaggeratedly sexist it’s embarrassing. These are ghouls out of a long-unopened closet. Gambling tables with men behaving badly. In a shocking MeToo moment, that balding, paunchy Marquis de Brissac (Wolfgang Gratschmaier) wrestles with Jeanne, pushes her to the floor, and tries to rape her. She’s rescued, the aristocrat’s face is bloodied. Dasch sings, I give my heart to only one man.
Meanwhile Khahlil’s Margot, her friend wearing an exotic hat and other finery, has become a ‘heartless woman’. She’s seen checking out of the Atelier, her sugar-daddy buying outfits for her, loaded with designer carrier bags. While on the streets beggars hold up placards, Ich habe Hunger.

Opening Act 2, Jeanne is receiving a crash-course in social etiquette: the ways of the noblesse, (and here specifically the Austrian nobility). The significance of greeting people in the A-Z of 18th Century social manners. We are in Count Dubarry’s castle, and the entire second Act is in period costumes. The voice coach defers to the Count (Marco Di Sapia), wearing a white ‘smoking jacket’- the epitome ‘thin white Duke.’
A song! A waltz plays as servants pull on Jeanne’s corsets. Now she’s ready to be presented at her first ball. Schönheit, the duty of all beautiful women. Volksoper’s stage revolves to reveal all that’s going on in the palace.
Rene makes a surprise visit. He’s still in modern dress, wearing the same suit. They appear to make love- observed through a peep-hole by the Count. But she admits her fate (Schicksal) is sealed.

A state room in the Palace, an ‘historical room’ where Lous XV first met Madame de Pompadour. Louis XV is played by Harald Schmidt, a talk-show legend here in Austria. The scene turns into a roll-call of famous woman personalities. (All-very-witty if you can follow the dialect.) Now 30 years on the throne, it’s the first time he’s been in love: to the most charming, intelligent woman in France.
Cue, ‘Ich bin mein Herz’, one of the most memorable of Millöcker’s numbers. But generally the music (in Dubarry) seems vacuous. Maybe to do with (Volksoper conductor) Kai Tietje’s version?

A stylised court scene, beautifully lit (Alex Brok) to look like an 18th Century painting (Watteau?) come to life, is a highlight. Another is a rococo musical interlude with a flute solo (in the style of Telemann.)
But for all the seductive glamour, remember this is the Ancien Regime, pre-French Revolution- corrupt, degenerate, and repressing the masses, the peasantry. The people’s demand for Liberty, Equality and Fraternity exploded in 1789.
In one of the set pieces, servants dressed (realistically?) as sheep are goaded, submissively crawling under the tables.

In the Finale, Jeanne,(now Dubarry) declines René’s invitation to escape. Dubarry declares she’s a woman in love. With Louis XV- even if he weren’t King. Later, in an unsettling moment, she’s abducted. A plaque is held up reading that Dubarry died 1793 on the guillotine.

It has its moments. But Mackeben’s reworking of Millöcker’s score is problematic, Mackeben an artist working through the Nazi era. Too much of the music is overblown, kitsch of that period. And now the text/dialogue is inflated to include topical in-jokes and commentary. Yet Millöcker- once a rival to his contemporary Johann Strauss II- shines through. © PR 9.9.2022
Photos © Annette Dasch (Jeanne Beçu), Juliette Khalil (Margot), Ensemble; Annette Dasch, Lucian Krasznec (René); Annette Dasch, Marco di Sapia (Count Dubarry); Annette Dasch (Countess Dubarry), Harald Schmidt (Louis XV)

Josè Maria lo Monaco (Zaida) © Michael Pöhn/ Wiener Staatsoper

Zaida (mezzo Josè Maria lo Monaco) floats across the stage (on tracks) – ‘I have lost my beloved and cannot find him.’ The favourite of Turkish Prince Selim, but the victim, slandered by a jealous harem, her life was saved by her protector Albazar (David Astorga).
Meanwhile Don Geronio (Nicola Alaimo) arrives to have his fortune told. He’s the luckless husband of the feckless Fiorilla (Cecilia Bartoli). No wonder she has multiple lovers.
Alaimo’s Geronio- pot-bellied, and holding onto his wig- sings (beautiful baritone), his wife’s mind is so devious, even an astrologer can’t tell how it works!

Fiorella is telling friends how boring it would be to be faithful to her husband : Non si dà follia maggiore No greater madness to love one man. Bartoli’s prima donna is wearing a gold skirt, ruffed purple silk top, and that hat insolently angled. With her bronze parasol, she cocks a snoot, ‘she has a fickle heart; are they trying to chain her in?’

A Turkish ship is expected, Prince Selim’s on a trip ‘to study European customs’. A ghostly ship appears on the projected seascape. Realistic waves in Grinda and Souliers’s video. They’ll see who lands, Voga voga a terra. Wonderful chorus.

Beautiful Italy, I greet you, friendly shores. Ildebrando D’Arcangelo’s Selim immediately falls for Bartoli’s Fiorilla. D’Arcangelo in a raunchy silver outfit – swaggering, a little piratical- has tremendous stage presence, and his bass-baritone immense timbre. So Fiorilla wants to get close to him; and I want to have fun, she sings. It’s not that hard to compare the love of a Turk!

Over coffee (at Fiorilla’s) she asks him how many lovers have you had: how many would you like? She taunts him (with the rumour), she didn’t believe he had a hundred wives; you buy them and enjoy them. Selim remonstrates, a Turk also feels love: tells her of one (Zaida) he’d loved before.
In the comedy, their intimacies are interrupted by the returning husband Geronio. Bartoli’s centre stage in a brilliant orange gown, prevents them. Selim, Italian men are more polite than Turkish: Geronio, sardonically, an old man can commit no greater victory than to thwart a young rival.

Geronio (off-stage) confers with the Poet, how many bitter pills will you make me swallow! (Chorus, to please Madam, what must he do?) He objects, he won’t have Turks in his own house…or he’ll let fly. Fiorilla has her back to him, ‘You see my crying, without pitying me.’ In the farce, Alaimo’s crawling on his hands and knees, what a husband has to do.

In the spectacular Act 1 finale, Gran Maravelie, on the beach, Selim is waiting for Fiorilla (disguised), but comes across Zaida. Reunited, Zaida and Selim sing of the hours of endless suffering on their own; his jealousy was unjustified. In the multiple misunderstandings, Fiorilla arrives in a veil, pursued by her erstwhile lover Narciso, beautifully sung by Barry Banks’ tenor (hoping to win her back), with Geronio observing her. Bartoli casts off her disguise, and defiantly confronts her rival Zaida.

Alaimo’s Geronio, in a large-checked, black and white jacket and waistcoat- is a clown-like figure, the cuckold. No competition for Arcangelo’s hirsute Selim. He admits to him he’s tired of their marriage. – If you want to sell Fiorilla, as is the Turkish tradition.- Geronino, indignant, will keep his wife for himself. If Selim still wants her, he’ll have to kidnap her! Their high-speed ripostes are like sword-play, and they do actually spar with knives.

Meanwhile Bartoli sings ‘there’s no pleasure not procured by love.’

Cecilia Bartoli (Fiorilla) © Michael Pöhn/ Wiener Staatsoper

In the masked ball, the pantomime costumes, the Chorus singing of the glory of love, Amor la danza mova. – So the disguises provoke all manner of comic misunderstandings. And Geronio no longer recognises his wife. (He’s really a great husband.) In Rossini’s farce, Vienna’s stage bursts into a joyous dance of exhilaration. And Alaimo’s Geronino, on a scaffold, overlooks the whole fiasco.

The Poet finds out Selim and Zaida, finally reconciled, are preparing to leave for Turkey. So Geronio is advised to call Fiorilla’s bluff and begin fake divorce proceedings against her.

In the highpoint, the most moving scene of the opera, Fiorilla reads Geronio’s letter: ‘Forget you were ever my wife.’
All have gone, the doors closed on her. So she must return to her mother and father. In an unforgettable aria, Bartoli sings, I’ve lost everything, Peace, Honour, my husband. Bartoli, with a life-time’s consummate artistry sings, I rostri censi ui mondo: squalida veste e bruna. A dark penitential robe is her only jewellery. And there can’t be enough mourning for those who’ve lost their honour. Bartoli sings (off-stage), distraught, sitting on her luggage. Her sorrow is returning to her former poverty. Ah, infelice, che opprime, soaring to a resounding high note.
But where is she? Collapsed front of stage. She’s awakened by the once-ridiculous Geronio. In their moving reconciliation, he’s the elm robbed of its vine, now she’ll be the vine to his elm.
They’re accompanied by the Poet, in the resolution, Narciso asks for Geronio’s forgiveness, attending Selim’s departure. ‘Dear Italy will always be in his heart’; and she can’t bear to see him again. Sail to serene skies.. It’s the pathos, and human vulnerability in Rossini’s memorably real characters, the genius of his musical score, that elevate this from simply opera buffa. PR.5.7.2022
Photos: Ildebrando D’Arcangelo (Selim), Cecilia Bartoli (Fiorilla); Header, Monte-Carlo Ensemble © Michael Pöhn/ Wiener Staatsoper

Drew Sarich (Albin/Zaza), Victor Gernot (Georges) © Johannes Ifkovits/Volkoper Wien

But where’s Zaza? Zaza komm sofort, zur Bühne. With (500) paying guests, she’s gone missing, preparing lunch in their next-door apartment. Albin’s had a jealous fit, and Georges has to calm and cajole him, There’s nobody but you. In Volksoper’s stage design (Stephan Prattes), their ‘lounge’ is a brilliantly coloured tapestry, a surreal, bourgeois scene. There’s a bright red couch, so period 70s, it’s in fashion.

Drew Sarich’s Albin is in his dressing room. His ‘aria’ Mascara is a tribute to drag artists. When depressed he looks in the mirror: and with each dash of eyeliner, he/she regains confidence. Sarich identifies with Zaza, (in Volksoper’s interview), both vulnerable and wild extrovert. (What is Albin really? Transsexual, or a gay man that simply enjoys dressing up in drag?) Whatever, Sarich’s performance is a tour de force: both both sensitive, and explosive stage presence. And Sarich is also ideally cast: Zaza’s voice husky in the German cabaret (Amanda Lear, Hildegarde Kneff) tradition.

In the next spectacular, ‘Justice’, he’s surrounded by ‘clerks’ in black, silver-lined cloaks. So camp! Then the arrival of their son, Jean-Michel (George’s from a previous ‘lapse’). Oliver Liebl, in a silver-grey suit and black t-shirt, looks older than a 20 year old (24). Liebl, (Macron-look-a-like), good looking, slight build, a very pleasant tenor, he really can sing.

Papa, I’m getting married! He’s in love with Anne (Juliette Khalil), daughter of an ultra-right wing politician, (‘The Tradition, Family and Morality Party’.) The nub of the plot is she’s arriving with her parents to meet Jean-Michel’s family. So JM wants the camp decor toned down, and Albin to stay away. He’s overheard by their ‘butler’/maid (Jurriaan Bles), standing in a pink wig and black suspenders.
Liebl’s sings of the love of his life, with Anne on his arm, the pretty, petite Juliette Khalil.

Jean-Michel hasn’t seen his ‘biological’ mother for 20 years, meanwhile Albin will have to stay in a hotel. ‘I love women too, but I don’t marry them’, retorts Sarich. ‘What have we done wrong?

Zaza in the Park with George. In one of the show’s more lyrical, romantic numbers, Georges reminds Albin of an afternoon on a bench that Autumn. Song of the Sands: It was the beginning of September, young and in love. He tells Albin about the wedding, but can’t bring himself to tell him to stay away. This man – father/mother- to whom they all owe everything.

The unsuspecting Albin performs Zaza’s big number La Cage aux Folles, (Cage of Fools), while Jean cleans Georges’ apartment to make it respectable. He’s sorry, Georges tells Albin … Who pre-empts him, Zaza has to be on stage. In a stunning canary-yellow gown, Sarich begins softly, and builds to a soaring climax, Ich bin was ich bin… To an empty stage. And what I am is extraordinary. I will love. I live for myself. I am what I am, is no secret. And in the drag tradition, throws off his wig. Sarich attains an overwhelming peak of emotion, with unexpectedly powerful vocal reserves. A great performance.

The script is witty, even Volksoper’s German version of Herman/Fierstein’s libretto; the issues of gender moulding and ‘conversion therapy’ still very topical, but treated humorously.
Albin, and the Butler, both in black veils, wander around mourning: until Georges decides to present Albin as ‘Uncle Albert’. So Georges coaches him to behave like a ‘proper man’. Du bist ein Mann! George’s gender-bending is hilarious- think of John Wayne- and gradually, in the Masculinity scene, Sarich’s ‘mince’ is straightened out.
It’s funny, but insulting to those many forced to change. Jean-Michel is shocked by the be-suited, straight, stranger ‘Albert’. But chided by Georges to remember how, then, when his gay parents defied local gossip.

The arrival of the Dindons, Anne’s parents, takes the comedy to another level. (Dindon’s French for ‘turkey’.) Robert Meyer (Volksoper Intendant) as Dindon, plays it straight, heightening the satire. ‘Is that a night club underneath?’- ‘We have nothing to do with them.’ Marie Dindon (Sigrid Hauser) compliments the sober ‘ecclesiastical’ decor. After her no-show, Albin decides to turn up as the supposedly ‘unavailable’ mother. The Dindons are taken in. In pink costume, Sarich looks uncannily like Marie Le Pen! Until Albin’s wig falls off. And it degenerates into high farce, as the stage opens up into the underground club, and we’re into an S and M medley.
Homosexuelle!, Meyer repeats it venomously. But Anne will stay with them anyway. And Jean-Michel apologises for his behaviour- not to the Dindons- but to his gay parents. Meyer’s shown the door: to awaiting press cameras and paparazzi. Dindon’s blackmailed into accepting, sanctioning the marriage.

Now Das Finale, the Cagelles, are revealed in their glittering G-strings, in the comedy’s unconventional reconciliation. Anne has decided to join the troupe. Then Marie Dindon. And finally Meyer appears in an outrageous rainbow-coloured Elizabethan gown. The revelry is OTT, the audience joining in with syncopated clapping. The House was packed, the whole Vienna audience in tune with Lorenz C. Aichner’s swinging Volksoper orchestra, on their feet.

It’s come a long way from Jean Poiret’s stage play, Molinaro’s French (1978) Oscar-winning movie; to Herman/Fierstein’s 1983 Broadway hit musical, then an affirmation of gay liberation. I Am What I Am, the gay anthem of the 80s, still resonates. But the musical has become mainstream, middle-class audience older, self-congratulatory. That’s a tribute to Herman’s musical score, La Cage’s classic status.

Jerry Herman, famed for Hello Dolly, Mame – the first Broadway composer to come out- with playwright Harvey Fierstein, reworked a French farce with real gay characters. And brilliantly set it to music. 1983 Broadway premier predated Aids; and yet such is the melding of classic musical and brilliantly crafted comedy, even 40 years on, it still cuts it. © PR.6.5.2022
Photos: Drew Sarich (Albin/Zaza); Drew Sarich (Zaza); Sigrid Hauser (Marie Dindon), Robert Meyer(Edouard Dindon), Juliette Khalil (Anne), Oliver Liebl (Jean-Michel), Drew Sarich (Albin), Victor Gernot (Georges), Jurriaan Bles (butler) © Barbara Pálffy/Volksoper/Wien

Rebecca Nelsen as Violetta Valéry © Barbara Pálffy/ Volksoper Wien

Nelsen leaves the party shaking, doted over by Alfredo. He urges her to change her life, take care of herself.Junho You has good intonation, but there’s no memorable highpoint. Could this be why their famous Act 1 love duet Un di felice is listless -though he’s singing of ‘a love the hearbeat of the universe.’
But alone, Violetta’s aria, singing of past disappointments- so often in her longings- is fiery. With Alfredo she feels new-born.Ah, fors e lui. A foolish fantasy? (She’s given Alfredo a camellia, to return when it’s faded.) What should I do in the whirlpool of life. Sempre libera, day or night, she’ll enjoy herself.

In the misty, nebulous sequencing of this production, it isn’t clear that Alfredo and Violetta have retreated to the country. She’s given up her life of luxury – that of a ‘courtesan’ – for love. Annina (Katharina Ikonomu) has come from Paris, urgently requesting money for Alfredo. But Violetta again appears bed-ridden.

The visit of Giorgio Germont to plead with this ‘courtesan’/ prostitute not to marry his son out of fear of social opprobium, should be one of the opera’s highlights. Germont’s apparently well-meaning hypocrisy typifies ‘Victorian’ double standards . Here Germont is sung by Günter Haumer, an impressive baritone (from Volksoper’s Carousel to Flying Dutchman.) But although Haumer appears white-haired, his deep timbre doesn’t disguise he’s just too youthful- and gorgeous- for the ‘old man’. Surely he is asking something terrible of her? He looks after the future of both his children. He sings of his daughter ‘as pure as an angel.’

In their duet – Nelsen from her convalescent’s corner- Germont sings,’it will change the roses into thorns if this goes through.’ – Does this mean mean I have to distance myself from Alfredo forever?’ Does he know the love that lies in her heart? Nelsen now standing, hints her end is near. Still more powerful, must she be separated from him, how cruel. Germont, smooth operator sings, she’s only young but people change: even the greatest love doesn’t guarantee happiness.
Germont symbolically removes his jacket. Haumer now holds her from behind, as if caressing her. Violetta, returning to her sickbed: tell your daughter, she sacrifices her own happiness. Nelsen’s unbearably moving. What should she do? – Tell him she doesn’t love him. She, upset: embrace me like a daughter. Germont, what can he do for her. For him it’s all about money, and isn’t she a courtesan? – But she’s sincere, ‘I will die but let my pains not be known.’
Now she has to write to Alfredo. What to say? Nelsen sings, to a piercing oboe accompaniment, Love me as I love you (she writes.) While Alfredo sings triumphantly, she belongs to me, the lady flees to Paris.

Why is he so upset,(Germont asks). My son, how you suffer. Come back home! In Germont’s aria, one of Verdi’s most lyrical, evoking the nostalgia of Provence, he appeals to Alfredo’s family loyalty. Haumer’s beautifully articulated, but a little characterless.

Act 3 has exceptional staging: scarlet red-frocked Spanish dancers, gypsies in black. Now the matadors brandishing red cloths. Volksoper has Vienna State Ballet on call: the girls in black wearing bulls horns, and centre-stage, a flamenco ritual with two toreadors. Now as if in the ring, Alfredo and David Sitka’s Vicomte are earnestly playing cards. Unlucky in love, but Alfredo can go back home. The Baron Douphol (Ben Connor), rival for Violetta, wants to play. Violetta pleads Alfredo’s in danger. Now the Baron boasts of their relationship. She admits she swore to avoid Alfredo. But Chorus sing, she’ll love him till her death.
Consummately staged, the guests are lined up to witness Alfredo- who’s won a fortune at cards- throw his money at Violetta’s feet, in payment for ‘amorous advances’. Nelsen, humiliated, collapses in shock, (still refusing to give her true reasons for leaving him.) She sings, God will touch his conscience, then he’ll experience the love she feels. The Chorus sing, how cruel, you’ve broken her heart. In the marvellous choreography, Haumer’s Germont appears rear of stage. Where is ‘my son’, he can no longer recognise Alfredo, and disowns him.

In the Act 3 Finale, now the spotlight is on Violetta’s sick bed, under a pool of light the empty black marble stage. She reads, Giorgio Germonts letter: the Baron wounded, Alfredo abroad. You kept your promise. Nelsen, no diva, but endearingly honest, an empathetic actress; a sensitive soprano, but with an impressive range.
‘Is today a holiday?’ – ‘A carnival’. Annina is by her side. She needs nothing: be quick. She observes the carnival behind the transparent voile curtains, the figures like apparitions.
Alfredo returns: Forgive me. He was guilty. Nothing can separate them…But You’s Alfredo, he’s behind the curtain. They’ll leave Paris for a new life. Is he a vision? He should go to church, she sings, to thank the Lord. Nelsen gets up shakily, as if sleepwalking, but supported by Annina. It’s high drama.
Alfredo observes her, mid-stage, distanced, from behind the curtain. (Why? The effect is perhaps as if she’s drugged, dying, semi-conscious; or is she looking back?)
If Alfredo’s return can’t save her, nothing can. Is he a vision? Nelsen, with terrific high notes, sings defiantly she’s too young to die; her hope was a dream. The spectre, centre-stage, of her ghost. Curious, she sings, the pain is weakening. She appears coming back to life. Then collapses. (Her ghost rises.)
Magnificent stagecraft, convincing, eschewing any sentimentality. And Verdi’s sublime music, Vienna Volksoper Orchestra and Chorus exceptional under Alfred Eschwé. A young Spanish couple I spoke to on their first ever visit to the opera, couldn’t quite understand it- German subtitles?- but Verdi’s music is universal. They’ll be back! © P.R. 6.3.22
Photos: JunHo You (Alfredo Germont), Rebecca Nelsen (Violetta Valéry); Rebecca Nelsen (Violetta), Vienna State Ballet; Rebecca Nelsen, State Ballet; Featured Image Anja-Nina Bahrmann as Violetta
All photos © Barbara Pálffy/ Volksoper Wien

Franz Lehár’s (1923) Das Land des Lächelns, following Puccini’s Turandot, and Gilbert and Sullivans The Mikado, seems, superficially, a product of the cult of the oriental. Problematic in our Post-modern, post-colonial world, uneasy with the patronising stance of the westerner to the ‘cute’ exotic and its people. Are we big enough to put aside political correctness, and enjoy this operetta as dazzling entertainment, and Lehár’s music, its songs enduring classics of the repertoire? In fact, Lehár’s operetta is no mere pastiche, his real-to-life, psychologically modern characters, upturn the stereotypes, in the witty libretto.

In a palatial reception room, huge windows looking onto pink-blossoming orchards,(handsome sets by Hans Hauser), Lisa (Ursula Pfitzner), lies across a grand piano. She’s been presented with red roses; the toast of her father Count Lichtenfield’s regiment, she’s won the horse-riding event again. She’s ‘charming’, but very much her own woman. Pfitzner, brunette, dressed in a snazzy, white-lace, dress, silver-embroidered, sings of FLIRTING: ‘You can flirt with anyone, but love comes just once in a lifetime.’
Her girl friends bring her a gift from visiting Chinese Prince Sou-Chong. The gift charms her because it’s exotic…But Gustl, aka Lieutenant Gustav, her suitor, (Michael Havlicek), is irritated by her fascination for the ‘stranger’. Havlicek, a fine tenor, but always formal, in black; straight, rather boring, Viennese high society. The officers discuss his chances, but conventionality isn’t for Lisa. Pfitzner leans dreamily – star-struck- over her piano.
The screens of the panoramic windows open onto a view of Chinese blossoms. Vincent Schirrmacher’s Sou-Chong, in a surprisingly powerful aria for so-called operetta, bares his secret thoughts. And Lehár (and librettists Herzer and Löhner) engage seriously with the anxiety of cultural difference. Schirrmacher sings, I enter the room with longing. What does she know about him, and the passion consuming him? Is he just a plaything, a foreigner to her? ‘We just keep smiling; we never show our true faces.’
Now the windows moved round, she sees him, symbolically distanced through the glass. She comments on the fragrant, delicate scent from his land. They sit having tea together. In their duet, intoxicated with each other, ‘like in a novel, the European lady and the Mandarin.’
Sou-Chong has to return to China. How different you are from us, Pfitzner sings.- What do you mean, we are all people. – She meant ‘special’. So he’s returning: doesn’t it hurt him to part from her? Sou-Chong’s ridden with anxiety, still uncertain of her feelings. Don’t you see my face is foreign to you? But they declare their love, and embrace. They’re front of a stage, beautifully composed, with a red carpet signalling their exit. Tremendous passion, and Lehár’s music immaculately played by Vienna Volksoper orchestra under Guido Mancusi.

Act 2, a Chinese entree, a woman dancer in white-and-blue banners, floats across the stage. Background, a pastiche Chinese landscape, traditional blue-white porcelain come-to-life. Front stage, a ritual dance with a dragon, girls in petal-pink with sabres. In contrast, two rows of fierce warriors. Sou-Chong’s uncle totters over a red bridge to welcome him into the ancient order of his ancestors. Schirrmacher wears a lustrous gold cloak, but must prove worthy of the distinction. And he’s warned, he cannot be the slave of women.

Meanwhile, no wonder Lisa feels alienated and thinks of Europe. But in Lehárs gorgeous aria, Sou-Chong assures her, she’s die Erste; sees her, and only her, sung to a melting violin solo. In a beautifully constructed scene, her long gown in white, his gold cloak trailing, under clever lighting, they’re see in pools of white and gold. Pfitzner and Schirrmacher, both exceptional singing in their duet.

But Sou-Chong, instructed in his duties, MUST MARRY FOUR BRIDES! (But I am married, he remonstrates.) Four girls in black cavort side stage. He has agreed to marry the Manchu girls, but assures her the ceremony is meaningless, bedeutungslos.
Now a spectacular of dancing girls in white, see-through, transparent lace. Vienna State Ballet, under Allen Yu, offer us remarkably virtuosic dance sequences; like you hadn’t expected in operetta. A male dancer, all-in-white, with crimson head gear, is like an exotic insect. Four dancers in crimson, wearing built-up, brocaded head pieces, tower over them.

The ballet opening Act 3, is also a story of its own. A stage full of white-and-pink clad dancers, with their ribbons and roses, waving their banners side-to side; watched by poor Pfitzner’s Lisa side of stage. Backstage, in silhouette, four dancers, stripped virtually naked. Pfitzner anxiously breaks away, and rushes through them to exit.

From sublime to ridiculous…A man, Havlicek’s Gustl, in his black deejay, swings across the stage. They’ve come to rescue her? In a comedy sketch (that could be G&S), a eunuch from an ancient line of eunuchs, offers to get Gustl -her Viennese suitor, remember!- into the harem, for a bribe, ostensibly to rescue Lisa.
Lisa can’t bear to share her Prince with others. Sou-Chong’s full-blooded declaration of love is a cue for ‘You are my heart’s delight, Du bist mein ganzes Herz. It says a lot that the operetta holds us spellbound for two Acts; and leaves the (world) hit number- immortalised (1929) by legendary tenor Richard Tauber – towards the end. Schirrmacher’s lyrical tenor pleases, and empathises with this complex role.

In the subplot, Mi, Sou-Chong’s sister, (Elizabeth Schwarz), meets the amorous Gustl. (They sing of a paradise of love without racial and sexual barriers.) But Mi’s convinced you cannot believe a single word of a European officer.- (Gustl), All people are different, their customs too.- My love, your love has the same meaning. It’s all very free-living 1920s, the banter akin to Noel Coward’s. In Vienna, Gustl sings, they only become galant once they’ve drunk some wine.- She retorts, in China, men are tender. (In a surreal moment, we see women holding up red umbrellas, behind which Sou-Chong is secretly making love to his wives.)

Lisa’s exit is barred by Sou-Chong. “Women may not do as they wish”. According to Confucius, she must give him blind obedience. (Pfizner actually threatens him with a knife!) She cannot forgive him, she sings. For his sake, she left her father and friends for an unknown land. The game is over. He let his mask slip!
But in Sou-Chong’s moving aria, Schirrmacher sings, my whole heart was yours, to the ‘You are my heart’s delight’ refrain. For Lisa, however, everything is over- about foreigners, and foreign lands.

Sou-chong and Mi -abandoned by their western lovers- console themselves. The conclusion deflates western colonial arrogance. Before a large statue of Buddha, ‘Dearest sister, let them be happy, they don’t understand our ways. Let us bear our sorrow together.’ Mi’s aria sings, smile in spite of our pain, hide what we feel inside.
In Vienna Volksoper’s (2008) Beverly Blankenship production, The Land of Smiles is a revelation. And Lehár’s music, and masterful orchestration, justified by Mancusi’s Volksoper Orchestra. © PR. 28.2.2022
Photos: Sophia Brommer (Lisa), Szabolcs Brickner (Sou-Chong), Volksoper Company; Sophia Brommer, Szabolcs Brickner; Header, Brickner and Brommer. Photos © Barbara Pálffy/ Volkoper Wien
Unfortunately, photos of Ursula Pfitzner (Lisa), and Schirrmacher (Sou-Chong), in the 28.2.22 performance cast, were unavailable.
Photo of Vincent Schirrmacher (Sou-Chong) thanks to Michael Bertha/Vienna Volksoper

Anett Fritsch as Pamina © Barbara Pállfy/ Volksoper Wien

Jakob Semotan, Papageno © Barbara Pálffy

From ridiculous to sublime: Das Bildnis ist bezaubernd schön. Tamino’s aria, I feel this image in my heart, has gorgeous wind accompaniment from Andreas Schuller’s Volksoper Orchestra. Does this go by the name of love, Die Liebe. Unaffected, suffused with romantic sentiment, sung with ardour by You. His aria is enchanting. Happiness and fortune awaits him, he sings.(And in the opera world.) A ‘powerful demon’, he’s persuaded, has kidnapped her- and, the innocent, ‘he’ll save her!’

The Queen of the Night- the quintessential diva role- Aleksandra Olczyk, in black, her glittering, silver-sequined gown, ground-length, held by retainers. She sings, they took all her happiness, when they took Pamina. She can still see her trembling. Olczyk is formidable. her mezzo-soprano meant to bewitch us with its beauty: convince Tamino with her heavenly guile. You shall set forth to release her; and as victor, promises him Pamina. Scintillating coloratura. Breathtaking, quite wonderful.

From the sublime to the ridiculous….Semotan’s Papageno. The Queen has pardoned him, (his face spellbound); If all liars had their mouths locked! The magic flute the Queen offers Tamino, is like an electrified eel, twitching! And the Three Boys (Knaben), (Vienna Boys Choir), sing behind enlarged, held-up puppets.

The stage rotates to show the quarters, where Pamina has been held captive, in Sarastro’s realm. Gold tones, mirrors, with rotating fans reflecting onto the stage floor. An exotic world. Monostatos (Jeffrey Treganza) appears in black wig, with a distended nose. Creepy, wearing a black, checked outfit, he seems to have been ‘blacked up’. Problematic. A ‘Caliban’ figure (Shakespeare’s Tempest), he takes advantage of the sleeping heroine.
Pamina, Fritsch with bouffon hair, is sleeping. It’s an Arabian Nights Fairy-tale world, with her mother as the Queen with enchanted powers. She’s shown a miniature of Tamino, come to life in a cristal ball.
In her celebrated duet with Semotan’s Papageno, she sings of love’s soothing – Love seasons our lives, is part of our nature. Fritsch’s soprano is outstanding. Quite charming. In its simplicity, it gets to the heart.

Vernunft, Natur, Weisheit. Three mysterious boys show Tamino and Papageno the way. Tamino receives the Magic Flute, Papageno a Glockenspiel. Huge boxes open up, revealing visions, like tableaux, of an enchanted Nature. When will this darkness dwindle, he sings. Tamino’s Magic Flute evokes weird and wonderful animals- of miniature sizes- tamed by their exotic handlers. You is an excellent tenor; young, ardent, and believable.
Papageno, sent ahead, meets Pamina; Semotan and Fritsch observe a ballet of the absurd, ‘the animals’ dancing. Sarastro (Luke Stoker) appears in a white ‘colonial’ uniform. Stoker’s baritone sings of the earth as ‘heavenly realm on a par with deity’: a reiteration of the Enlightenment sentiment underlying the opera.
‘Reward them for their virtue’. The stage rotates again, with Sarastro’s acolytes in white, overlooking them from a balcony. And what do the trials consist of? Is she young and beautiful, Semotan cheekily sings of the woman he’s offered. But he’s sobered, admonished ‘Protect yourself from woman’s pitfalls’.(Misogyny, arguably of its time.) Both ‘initiates’ are ‘silenced’, Papageno muffled in a white shroud. You’s Tamino struck-dumb, disallowed, unable, to acknowledge Pamina.

In the Second Act, the stand-out aria is of course the Queen of the Night’s. Hark gods of vengeance, she proclaims, relating how Sarastro’s tricked her out of her magic powers, contemptuous of woman. In a superbly choreographed sequence (Francesc Arbos), the Queen brandishes her knives of revenge, her Ladies standing behind her, shadowing her cut-and-thrust movements.
But Sarastro insists, ‘in these sacred halls, we know nothing of vengeance’, and he gently comforts the traumatised Pamina. Monostatos, thwarted trying to rape Pamina, is banished ‘within these walls, where only love prevails.’

Semotan, in the sub-plot, is swigging a bottle of wine; unwilling to take part in the Trials,he’s had it with all that. But indulging in a lavish banquet, he’s driven away by magic spirits, Vienna State ballet wonderfully staged. A warning voice over a megaphone upbraids him, he’s not worthy. Unlike the principals, Tamino and Pamina, who are put to the test, Tamina sworn to silence, driving Pamina near to suicide, Fritsch moving in her aria Ich fühl’s. ‘But a woman who fears not shall be initiated.’

Unfortunately, in this concept, Papagena (Elisabeth Schwarz) is first seen in a wheelchair, on a drip, wheeled on by orderlies in masks. In bad taste. (Usually Papagena’s ‘old woman’ is a joke, testing true love over looks.)

Against their virtuous counterparts, the Papagenos shall inherit the earth. In a spectacular sequence, the stage has sprouted orange tulips in abundance, matching their orange-headed progeny, who’ve taken over everywhere.
The Queen and her alternative court are routed. ‘Enlightenment’, the virtues of good-sense, wisdom and nature, prevail, as Tamino and Pamina’s union is sanctioned by Sarastro’s Order,’ implicitly the Freemans Mozart belonged to. But director Mason challenges the sanctimonious puritanism, in allowing Semotan’s Papageno to cock-a-snoot at this abstemiousness.

A triumph to reinvigorate a piece so often performed, one forgets what a masterpiece it is. Wonderful ensemble, terrific, fun sets, hugely enjoyable. Inspired, Andreas Schüller conducted Volksoper Orchestra and Chorus. © PR.2.11.2021

Photos: Anett Fritsch as Pamina; Jakob Semotan, Papageno); Anna Siminska as Queen of the Night, photos of Aleksandra Olczyk unfortunately unavailable; Anett Fritsch and JunHo You, Tamino ; header Jakob Semotan, Juliette Khalil
All photos © Barbara Pállfy/ Volksoper Wien

Rebecca Nelsen as Hanna Glawari © Barbara Pálffy

The set, the Pontevedro embassy in Paris, is spectacular, its huge windows overlooking the sights. The gaming machines side stage are abandoned for the most lavish ball. Ambassador Zeta, (Sebastian Reinthaller), not a strong voice for the MC, welcomes them; while his wife Valencienne (Joanne Arrouas) is having an affair with Camille de Rosillon (David Sitka), who writes ‘I love you’ on her fan. Trouble is the fan gets lost, with all sorts of consequences. Valencienne, Arrous, fiery with a deep mezzo, an impressive actress in operetta’s intrigues, protests, ‘she’s a respectable woman who takes her marriage seriously. ‘But warns Rosillon, ‘Take care not to play with fire.’

Onto the set with its elaborate panelling- gold, ‘art nouveau– Joachim Moser’s Consul rides a bike, (it’s 1905), with news of Count Danilo, they’re trying to get to marry the super-rich Hanna Glawari (to keep her millions in near-bankrupt Pontevedro.) The problem is Danilo and Hanna have form. Threatened with losing his inheritance he dumped her- ‘low-class, penniless’- but she married a court banker, who died shortly after the wedding. Now Danilo, a cavalry officer, spends long champagne nights with the dancing girls at Maxims.

Hanna Glawari (Rebecca Nelsen), feverishly anticipated, arrives to a chorus of fawning gentlemen, who pay homage to the most most beautiful woman at the party. You’re so kind, but it’s on account of my vast fortune. She knows how coveted widows are. Nelsen’s soprano has a formidable operatic range. (She sang Verdi’s Rigoletto’s Gilda here this season.) But she’s almost too nice for this schemer, gold-digger, who’d you’d imagine to be more raunchy. Her voice, they praise as silver, gold’, but she sees these sycophants as mercenary; ‘so many arms just because I’m rich.’

Danilo (Ben Connor) we see stumbling onto the stage, drunk again. With Maxim’s women all over him, (sexist!) ‘it’s no wonder he needs to relax.’ Connor falls around, fools around. Not that funny, he’s a straight singer, not really for this light, comic role. But terrific tenor when we do hear him sing.
So he’s laid out on a chaise-longue, when Hanna sees him. She’s in Paris, perhaps to marry again? Old wounds re-opened, there’s a constant friction. She imagines he’s like all the rest; after her money. She wants only for a man to declare his genuine love. He does; but she rebuffs him. They’re at war again. A battle of the sexes, but she’s now holding the cards.
Hanna sings passionately in a political number debating the rights of women; which gives way to the refrain of the (Merry Widow) waltz: follow the sounds of the waltz. It is operetta, after all; things can’t get too serious.
So far this lacks pizazz; and perhaps, the principals, Nelsen and Connor, are not so memorable. But at last they, Hanna and Danilo, dance. Hanna proclaims, we’ll celebrate the Prince’s birthday, as if we’re at home.

Hungarian colour! At last, it comes to life, with Hungarian dances, men in white dinner jackets, with green fez hats. LET’S SING AND DANCE AND BOUNCE (sic. translation)

Cue the Fairy Tale of Vilja. You maid of the woods, woman, let me be your true love. Probably the highlight of the opera. Pleasantly sung with refinement by Nelsen’s precious soprano, but for a Hungarian show-stopper, this lacks gusto.
Then the Men’s Chorus, WEIBE, prompted by Danilo’s jealousy of Hanna. In the intrigue, Valencienne and Rosillon disappear into a pavilion. Hanna covers for the adulteress, and pretends to be in a romance with Rosillon. WEIBE! Danilo questions the husbands about their wives faithfulness. How should a woman be treated? The study of women is gruelling, they sing lustily. It seems like a sexist diatribe, but Danilo is seething with jealousy.

But then, opening Act 2, the men are countered by the Ladies’ Chorus Männer Männer, How to handle men. One man will get straight down to it; another is bashful. But they all tell lies, and recite beautiful poetry. But all want the same thing! The Study of Men (Männermarsch), is led by Nelsen.
Hanna confronts Danilo in a tete-a-tete. Tell me you’re not a little jealous? She suspects, he’s keeping other men away from her. They get closer, more intimate, still combative. (But Connor’s perhaps a little strident for this comedy.)
Before she marries, she wants to get to know Paris. There’s a wonderful dance routine. He’ll take her to Maxim’s. where a woman loses three-quarters of her virginity. They dance closely: too dangerous! The refrain to ‘Lippen Schweigen, Flustern Geigen: Hab mich Lieb’– lips are silent , whispering violins- is one of the most beautiful in the opera. (It’s ironically remixed for Rosillon’s assignment with Valencienne.) In the misunderstanding, Danilo forbids Hanna to marry Rosilon, but she explains the tryst was only to save Valencienne’s reputation. Farcically, Zeta wants a divorce, and, on his knees offers to marry Hanna ‘for Pontevedro’.

The party at Maxim- Hanna invites the dancing girls- is a highlight of this performance. There’s a fabulous ballet sequence of waiters and their silver trays. The standout numbers are the can-can girls in red glitter costumes: like spiders in their webs, they catch their men! Then another ballet spectacular, girls with white feathers. stylishly choreographed, deft hand movements, like a Busby Berkeley film sequence. And out come the cancan girls! Where else do you get dance sequences of this quality? A special gift from Vienna State Ballet dancers- breathtakingly beautiful formations, awesome technique.
Danilo confesses his love for Hanna. They duet, ‘Lips are silent while violins whisper’. Connor is very good, finally relaxed.Without a doubt it’s true you love me, Nelsen sings movingly, with all the experience of an opera singer this part justifies. Now she can reveal that, upon her marriage, her fortune will be transferred to her husband. So much for the emancipation of women, the progressive liberated woman the opera hints at. And Valencienne? Baron Zeta forgives his wife, when she writes him, ‘I am a respectable wife.’

This Marelli Volksoper production is stylish, ‘authentic’, in the Viennese operetta tradition. But the leads, Nelsen and Connor, were not ideally matched. Volksoper Chorus, and of course, Vienna State Ballet sequences, were outstanding, but even under veteran conductor Alfred Eschwé, Volksoper orchestra was not on peak form. The Vienna audience went mad, who am I to judge? © P.R. 3.9.21
Photos: Ben Connor(Count Danilo) ; Volksoper ensemble; Rebecca Nelsen (Hanna Glawari); Featured image: Volksoper Wien ensemble
© All photos Barbara Pálffy/ Volksoper Wien

Rebecca Nelsen, Daniel de Vicente © Barbara Pálffy

© Barbara Pálffy

Ominously Monterone (Andreas Mitchke) introduces himself, Mitschke in a black suit out of a Cagney-era movie. Rigoletto contemptuously accuses him of conspiracy. Monterone’s the father of a girl the Duke has seduced. Mitschke curses both master and servant, Duke and Rigoletto, Mitschke’s bass yet under-powered. But he’s an old man, we see manhandled, and later brutally beaten.

A Fiat 500 drives up to a compound. Rigoletto unlocks the wire fence. The old man cursed him! Vicente repeats like a mantra. The modern concrete building- industrial, 1950’s Italian neo-realist, an effective concept. Sparafucile (Yasushi Hirano),a contract killer, introduces himself. In his aria, Rigoletto sings we’re alike, he and Sparafucile, the assassin’s dagger, his murderous tongue. Highly dramatic, this Rigoletto- Vicente’s hunchback, played with such naturalism, the walking stick becomes part of him. And from him emanates the most lyrical baritone: how terrible to be a cripple, a clown without the right to weep. Vicente’s is a star performance.

‘These thoughts, they do torment him so’. But he’s transformed into another man as he enters his home, greeted by Gilda (Rebecca Nelsen.) Blonde, in white cardigan, check-shirt, Gilda’s the epitome of filial devotion, soothing her very troubled father. Nelsen sings exquisitely, she still doesn’t know the name of her mother. Her duet with Vicente is terrific, their relationship symbiotic. She touches the fence: hasn’t been out for three months! Gilda’s like a prisoner; ‘Only you are left to me’. He’s invested all his love in his daughter; elevated to an angel, but she’s only human.
She sings to Giovanna (Elvira Soukop) their servant, of seeing the man in church, a ‘poor student’, (the Duke disguised): but angel or devil, she’ll love him.

Schirrmacher emerges from the shadows. Their love duets are pleasant, but dull. ‘Divine love brings us closer than angels’; irresistible, lover’s rhetoric. Beautifully sung, apparently sincere, yet Schirrmacher,in black leather blouson, looks like a courier. ‘Gualdi Maldi’, the loved one’s name her heart beats to. Nelsen sings to Verdi’s syncopating orchestral accompaniment, hinting irony. Nelsen’s very good, her coloratura impressive; pointing up the adolescent lover’s flights of fancy.(She’s led a nun-like existence.) Nelsen is beguillng. But her innocence is in contrast to the gangsters outside, planning to kidnap her, this fragile songbird.
Male Chorus (Volksopera’s supplemented) sing behind Rigoletto, they’re celebrating a double triumph, to get even with him. They’re all wearing masks of disguise. (We the audience have to.) Verdi’s boisterous Chorus sing, they’ll capture his loved one, while he’s home. Not knowing it’s his daughter they’ve caught. Straight out of a B-Movie, The Curse!
At a private studio screening, Schirrmacher laments, ‘she was captured’. Schirrmcher’s rather good. Powerful, as he sings imagining the tears she would cry, and he couldn’t help her. The Duke is really desperate losing her. (Maybe she could have changed him?) But he reverts to type in the last Act.

Machismo Chorus boast, they saw a beauty, his beloved; jaunty, cheeky . But ‘Poor Rigoletto, deVicente, now very serious in a smartly tailored Italian-style beige suit, looking rather like a Berlusconi; but with a walking stick. (But that (politically astute) buffoon could never sing like this.) Vicente’s simply a great performance. He knows, his daughter’s here. Give her back: there’s nothing a man wouldn’t do for the honour of his daughter! He’s on his knees, he, a cripple. But, he pleads, costs them nothing, but she’s everything in the world for him. Have pity, gentlemen!

Nelsen, de Vicente © Barbara Pá;ffy

A 1950s bar, traditional wood panels and fittings. Excellent staging: even a professional barman. He’s convinced her, Maddalena, he loves only her. Schirrmacher climbs behind the bar, sings his swan song: Il donna e mobile– woman is inconsistent, wavering. But observed by Rigoletto and Gilda (from Sparafucile’s caravan.) Schirrmacher’s splendid in this iconic, virtuoso aria, even hits those high Cs. (Meanwhile Sparafucile and Rigoletto do a deal: ‘our man is inside’.)
Sparafucile’s sister Maddalena (Alexandra Kloose), a lusty brunette, is ravished by the Duke, her legs splayed over the bar, oblivious. Maddalena’s tries to save ‘the stranger’, but Sparafucile’s mercenary. Gilda passes by, to sacrifice herself- Nelsen’s ‘young man’ in a coat, not very convincing, But they’ll kill anything. The stabbing is real enough.
Rigoletto sings jubilantly, his revenge over the Duke he’d waited years for. (Vicente’s so convincing, we’ve forgotten about his limp.) Oh joy…Then the refrain Il donna e mobile, mocking him through the upper window. The terrible realisation, as he looks in the body-bag. She revives only to sing, she’d lied. She loved him too much. (She’ll be with her mother in heaven.) Like in classical tragedy, Monterone’s curse has been fulfilled. Vicente’s harrowing, grief-stricken. Vicente and Nelsen’s are performances of rare power and conviction. And Volksoper’s orchestra, after months’ lock-down, played to the hilt under MD Lorenz C.Aichner. © PR.6.9.2021
Photos: Rebecca Nelsen, Daniel de Vicente ; Vincent Schirrmacher, ensemble; Daniel de Vicente ensemble; Rebecca Nelsen, Daniel de Vicente
All photos © Barbara Pálffy

Josh Lovell, Vera-Lotte Boecker, Bo Skovus © Michael Pöhn / Wiener Staatsoper

In Jossi Wieler’s co-production, on a ship deck, enveloped in mist, over the rails, one boy brandishes a knife-blade; the music is dramatic, strident.
Fusako is making Noboru’s bed. There are oedipal resonnances. Josh Lovell’s Noboru, long-haired, 60’s Beatles style, is the moody teenager- she hopes he’ll be more reasonable. Fusako (Vera-Lotte Boecker) undoes her night gown, revealing a white slip.
Noboru observes her with a torch; she puts on high heels. Boys are clambering up the railings to get a better view of Fusako, eventually laid out on her bed. Lovell/Noburo tears around, frantic, tearful. His mother’s on the bed, in exotic-flowered top, legs splayed. Noboru enraged, head-bangs. Now changes into black; red Japanese script projects back-stage.

Fusako appears French, but indeterminate, timeless. She’s a successful business woman with her own boutique. A woman playing many roles, singing in different registers, Boecker’s soprano has an astonishingly high range.

So Fusako’s affair with with a seaman provokes Noboru’s jealous, subconsciously incestuous feelings; Hamlet-like resentment, masked as moral outrage.
‘Riuja, Mrs K, an honour to welcome you’… ‘This is my son Noboru’. The Captain has granted her wish to see around the ship. Boecker’s Fusako in white, matching the second Mate’s uniform. Those eyes …the eyes of a man searching all the way to the horizon. She swoons, must go outside to breathe; and kisses him. She invites him to dinner; he cannot accept. The neon sign of her boutique flashes.

Ryuji (baritone Bo Skovhus outstanding) sings of his first night at sea, dreaming of far-off places. Beyond the horizon.(Fusako observes in a maroon-red kimono.) Ryuji sings of his frustration: he was looking fo a world, but found only a pounding engine, that has no soul and no heart. She’s sorry- Why doesn’t he stay onshore?- Something keeps drawing him. Skovhus sings plaintively, his face perplexed, wistful. Angst-filled, like Berg’s Wozzek.
He devours her physically, in a tempest of passion. Somehow Noboro- from high-up- is observing them- bare-chested, in pyjamas. While Ryuji is taking off his pants… She has a savings book.(20,000 yen.) -He has always paid. – ‘They can taste each other’s sweat’, as he strips off her clothes. The Act, carnal, but elegantly choreographed, she in red-silk gown.

The sailor belongs to me, the night belongs to me. Noboru appears spirit-like, observing the sailor smoking on the edge of the bed. The world is perfect, you are mine, all mine, sings Lovell. (The bed cleverly disappears backstage.)
Noboru rushes out to his mates. The sailor is a monster. He watched as he ripped her clothes off. – So that’s your hero! – He’s like all the rest. So Noboru is driven by repressed homosexuality, revenge,incomprehension.

The four youths sing of the order of the Universe…We recall Mishima’s right-wing ideology, “heroic military destiny”. Composed 1986-9, premiered Berlin 1990, but could the revival of Henze’s opera ever be more appropriate?

The atmosphere is one of steamy eroticism. Skovhus’s Ryuji would like to cool down- thinks, knows she loves him. But they set sail soon. So little time…The worst, he sings, is the endless time on deck. But now he has something to look forward to.

And impicitly homoerotic. Noboru appears. – What’s happened, his shirt is wet? Noboru strips down to his trunks. They both get under a shower? Noboru in red pants, Ryuji towels him down. Skovhus, short-cropped hair, muscular, like a navvy, is perfectly cast. And that baritone, powerful, but poetic, is able to express the fraught, existentialist crisis of the seaman who feels imprisoned, ironically no horizons, now seduced by the oriental businesswoman.(For five months he won’t see a kimono; he must write.) But Noboru wants him gone. Sad, but also proud. Lovell’s Noburo stands, face contorted, as Ryuji waves farewell.

Act 2 is sparsely scored. Summer,(Act1), has explosive contrasts, ‘Winter’, leaner, unfolds in ‘longer lyrical lines.’ Ryuji, in seaman’s cowl, pursues Fusako, Boecker in cute French designer clothes, camel coat, muffler. They sing of the icy cold ‘like a crystal, prophesying happiness for her’.-‘Will you marry me?’- What, just a simple sailor? (He offers his savings book, whether she marries him, or not.) She sees his ship’s sailing. He sings, he doesn’t belong any more.

Lovell’s Noboru, 1960’s mop-head, and striped tie- with his schoolmates- is like the anti-hero of Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange. Noboru’s mother needs to change his nappy, they mock him. They sing, Winter winds blow, the ship leaves port. Ryuji is now helping his mother in her boutique! What a deflation of the heroic image they’d erected?

We see Fusako with Ryuji pushing a suit rail into her boutique. She’s sorry, Noboru’s father was a fine man, but that was eight years ago. Now she wants Noboru to call Ryuji father.
Now, wheeled onto the stage, the marital bed. She sees her son hidden- A shameful trick! He was watching us, saw everything! How long have you been doing that? But Ryuji won’t beat him. He will forgive him, his son. Jetzt ins Bett.

The boys stand in judgement, drawing up an indictment. ‘Things look damnably bad for the sailor.’ Henze’s opera without a chorus, (Gesprachgesang), is not only sung, but declaimed.
‘It is we who allowed things to be…The tree to rot, mothers to weep… The sailor has failed. He has betrayed the sea.’ Wie sollen es machen?

They plot. They need tools: knife, saws. Noboru is as white as a sheet. They have to do it: an act of retribution. They spray the stage boards with red paint.

Skovhus staggers, apparently drunk. The boutique’s locked. Fusako fumbles, from the inside, for a key, wearing a dress of bright flowers, swaying like a kabuki dancer.
In the plot, Ryuji’s lured into the mountains. We hear the staccato sounds of a machine gun. Hellish cacophany. In Henze’s sound scheme, the group are identified by piano and tuned percussion. Ryuji sings, maybe mistaken, the sea like a restless animal had waved to him. Skovhus sings movingly, melancholy, he’d dreamt of possessing the sea, its loneliness, its vastness. They, ‘sharks are circling idly.’
Noboru, who’d kept his cap, sings of the endless yearning. Someone strikes a hammer, the execution is under red spotlight, the stage doused in red. P.R.

The cast file onto the stage, solemn, silent, behind them the silver-grey structure of the ship. No applause when it premiered in lockdown (21.12.2020). But it was a triumph.

Photos: Bo Skovus (Ryuji), Vera-Lotte Boecker (Fusako);Stefan Astakhov, Martin Haessler, Kangmin Justin Kim, Erik van Heyningen, Josh Lovell; Featured image: Vera-Lotte Boecker
© Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn

Pretty Yende, Violetta in La Traviata © Wiener-Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn

The close-up of Pretty Yende’s eyes is like a mascara advert. (The eyes open.) On multi-screens we see Violetta Valéry’s on-line profile. She’s an ‘influencer’. Then, texts to her mother about a hospital appointment. This backgrounds Verdi’s sublime overture (Vienna State Opera Orchestra under Giacomo Sagripanti).

Pretty Yende, Juan Diego Florez © Michael Pöhn/ Wiener Staatsoper

Violetta’s aria- his words went straight to her heart; unknown joy to be loved- is sung in front of a Turkish take-away. Beneath a billboard advertising perfume, VILLAIN she’s promoting. She reprises Florez’ ‘love-beat, heart of the universe’. This social butterfly, has she really fallen in love? She flies from pleasure to pleasure.

E strano. Ah, fors’e lui. Could he really be the one? They’re texting each other. We see her What’sApp log, Florez on his laptop. Yende, smile totally captivating, her spectacular soprano explodes with energy. She’s wearing a silver-glitter party dress, curvaceous, cut-so-low… Florez, in cropped deejay, the rich playboy, to Yende’s alternative society. It’s witty, entertaining. But Stone’s up-to-the-minute concept doesn’t really engage with the opera’s darker themes.

Opening Act 2’s supposed to be a country house near Paris. Florez appears with a wheelbarrow, wearing a cowboy-checked shirt. His aria sings ardently, by her side he’s a man reborn. Florez’ virtuoso tenor exults. Even the silly staging doesn’t detract from the artistry of an outstanding cast.

Anina, Violetta’s servant, has been to Paris ‘to sell the horse and carriages.’ But – mixed, multimedia messages- a huge screen shows banks statement with a SECOND WARNING to ‘Frau Valéry’. – ‘How shameful for him!’ And Yende’s Violetta, now appears riding a huge tractor on stage!!

Alfredo’s in Paris to ‘rearrange his affairs’. His father Germont arrives, Igor Golovatenko in casual beige jacket, carrying a modern shoulder bag. Golovatenko’s magnificent baritone is sung with sympathetic warmth. He’d read they’re selling up? Yende sings enigmatically, she loves Alfredo, God has forgiven her. How kind he sounds. Until he asks ‘another sacrifice of her’. He fears for his two children’s prospects; wants her to cancel ‘the marriage that has made her so happy.’- (CATASTROPHIC CONSEQUENCES warn the stage titles; a distraction.)
Yende sings plaintively, Violetta, the end is near. The punishment is so cruel, she’d rather die. Golovatenko’s persuasive. But she’ll have none but Alfredo. He believes her, but ‘men change, love fades with time.’ In Verdi’s great aria, boredom is swift to rise. Then who’s to comfort her. Yende sings heart-rendingly, so she’s to give up her dream and be ‘Angel to his family fortune’?
She’s resigned, God has forgiven her, but shows no mercy. But Yende sings tenderly, tell your daughter, a victim of misfortune has made a sacrifice for her, before she dies. This weak, unhappy woman.

The scene is poignant, beautifully sung by both, but the staging- the model house, like cardboard, tatty. What’s she to do?- Tell him she doesn’t love him.- ‘Embrace me like a daughter’, she pleads. Their relationship, sexually ambiguous. (Backstage a movie-screen shot of Florez/Yende in romantic close-up. Kitsch.)

Yende’s leaves Alfredo, in a passionate aria- behind them people in a cafe- she, pretending she’ll return. And now she must write to him. What to say? (She texts.) In a confusing sequence, Florez arrives- is he waiting on a table? He reassures her he still loves her. But has no idea of financial realities. Yende sings touchingly, love me Alfedo as much as I love you.

A courier arrives with a letter from Violetta.- It gets confusing! Didn’t she text him? – ‘Alfredo, by the time you read this…’ Germont comforts his son, reminding of his patriarchal family duty, and ‘the bright sunshine of his native country’. Golvatenko sings lyrically, this Verdian gem, God brought him there, the voice of honour not silenced in him. But hypocritical.

Neon installation. A night club. Their multicultural friends joined by a troupe of gypsies and bullfighters. Verdi’s glorious Bohemian and Gypsy Choruses robust, idiomatic. When we consult the stars, nothing’s hidden. They sing, draw a veil over the past.
Florez now in black t-shirt, red bow, Douphol, in black leather, surreptitiously brings in a bag of coke. But the gorgeous Yende is now virtually unrecognisable in a silver gown, glitter hair. Trashy. But she wishes she could die, sings have pity on her: the fallen woman, La traviata. (She tries to warn Alfredo he’s in danger from arch-enemy Douphol.)

Violetta’s humiliation is devastating. ‘Do you know this woman?’, Alfredo taunts her. – She sacrificed her belongings for him.- Now, sanctimoniously, he’ll remove the shame from his name. Florez, manic, repays her, showers her with notes. The Chorus, affronted, ‘You have insulted a woman.’ And Germont accuses Alfredo- ‘where is my son?’- no longer recognises him. Yende collapsed on stage, sings soon he’ll know how much she loved him. (Now Florez, on his knees, realises what he’s done.)

Act 3 is a travesty, yet redeemed by magnificent singers and chorus. But the hospital scenes are in poor taste.( Violetta’s room, with only a few hours to live, she reads Germont’s letter: Alfredo,fled abroad, returning for her forgiveness.)

Another video close-up of Yende’s eyes, lashes moving. The backdrop to the sparse strings of Verdi’s Act 3 Prelude, the tragedy to unfold. But we’re in a modern hospice ICU unit. Yende’s on a drip. Yet she steps out into the queue for a club. (Is she imagining back-scenes- in flashback- from her earlier life?) Well it’s a gross distraction from the bed-ridden tragedy. Yende sings, her body suffers; a priest was called, yet she’s staggering along. Now she’s sitting in front of a statue, in a public square? Take good care of yourself, wishes Germont; ‘but this illness kills all hope.’

Now the stage returns to another blow-up of Yende/Florez in a photo-shoot. Nostalgic memories? But now she’s in an ICU, (tended by Anina.) Florez rushes in, sings passionately, judge how much he loves her. They’ll leave Paris, a brighter future lies before them, their life together. She ‘feels better already’, shakily leaves hospital; and collapses. She’s suffered so much; all her hope an illusion. Florez, desperate, exhorts her not to abandon hope. Wonderful singing, but the choreography is awkward. She stumbles back to bed; her doctor’s too late. Germont’s foolish old man- Golovatenko’s terrific performance- sees the harm he’s done. A close-up of an erotic clinch seems grossly insensitive. She dies entering a shaft of white light. Act 3, Violetta’s dying, iconic, one of the most moving in opera; yet unconvincing in this radical concept, purged of pathos. We’re denied the emotional catharsis. © P.R. 7.3.2021
Photos: Pretty Yende, Violetta), Igor Golvatenko as Giorgio Germont; Juan Diego Florez, Pretty Yende © Michael Pöhn/ Wiener Staatsoper

Placido Domingo (Nabucco), Riccardo Zanellato (Zaccaria) © Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn

Opening Part 1 Vienna’s huge supplemented Chorus bewail the desecration of their land. ‘We are slaves, but hear our prayer, and forgive our transgressions’. Do not let them sit on the throne of David! Hebrew script is projected onto a screen, like a biblical commentary. Their High Priest Zaccaria (Riccardo Zanelatto), exhorts them, trust to God and fight bravely. He’s sent them a sign, delivered the King’s daughter. ‘The sun of a happier day has risen for us’, sings Zaccaria. The Israelites chorus sing and dance like klezmer performers.

Verdi’s subject is a people downtrodden by alien political masters. Surely for Verdi, the Jews exiled from their land is the struggle of his own Italian people under the yoke of foreign oppressors (in 1840, French and Austrian.) So Verdi’s music -especially Nabucco– was taken up by the Risorgimento, a battle cry for a united Italy.

In the opera, Nabucco, the Assyrian King, has occupied Jerusalem, the Jews holed up in the Temple, his daughter hostage. But Verdi and librettist Solera add a love intrigue. Fenena (Szilvia Vörös), captured by the Jews’ High Priest, had once helped Ismaele (Freddie de Tommaso) escape from Babylon, where Abigaille, her half-sister, had held him captive. That Fenena is now rescued by Ismaele kindles the love triangle. Ismaele is a fugitive from his own Jewish people, torn between love and kindred loyalty.

The King and his henchmen are on the threshold of the Temple. (Zaccaria threatens to kill Fenena.) Domingo’s Nabucco, white-haired, blue-suited, Let them tremble at my anger, none will survive: Zion will perish in a bloodbath. Domingo, his legendary tenor somewhat lacking power, but astonishing; in absolute control of his vocal reserves. Bow down before me, he sings as their conqueror. Fenena is abducted by Ismaele. Nabucco rages, he’ll sack the Temple, while the Hebrews threaten revenge against Ismaele, excoriated.

As Ismaele, British-Italian de Tommaso is a fine tenor, but a little underwhelming, the role colourless. Black-suited, wearing a skull cap, in metal-rimmed glasses, he looks like a bookkeeper. In Verdi’s drama, they’ve been lovers since he was in Babylon. You betrayed your duty, they accuse him. But there’s a love triangle. Abigaille, the King’s other daughter – the fiery Anna Pirozzi- sings passionately of how she loved him, but was rejected. Now, if you love me, I will save your people. Sörös/Fenena bitterly responds, Save him and leave me to my tears. Fenena, now a convert, identifies with the Jews, speaks for ‘my people.’ Whereas Abigaille wears royal blue, against the stark white/black colour-coding of the Israelites.

Mezzo Anna Pirozzi is outstanding as Abigaille, Verdi’s passionate, spurned lover suing for revenge. In her Act 2 aria, she holds a letter, she’s stolen. Her secret: she’s illegitimate! You are all deluded! Pirozzi’s Abigaille, passion unbridled, kneels, looks at herself in the mirror, her face lights up: she too once knew happiness. Backed by Verdi’s rousing chorus, she sings, on a glorious high note, Who will restore one day of that lost enchantment! Nabucco has invested Fenena his successor. But Abigaille will mount the blood-stained throne. She, once a humble slave girl, will have Princesses begging before her.

To a plaintive cello solo, Zaccaria, prays for the gift of prophesy, a miracle to convert the unbeliever, (Zanelatto’s bass gently delivered.) Ismaele begs for their mercy; the accursed man has no supporters. Tommaso is jostled by the Jewish congregation. But he’s saved by Fenena’s pleading as ‘a Hebrew woman’; and the King now returned.

Domingo is shaking; he’s struck mad by the revelation he’s a god. Domingo’s lifetime acting experience, its apotheosis in depicting an old man- like Shakespeare’s King Lear – suffering delusions of grandeur. Hear me, Babylonians, there is only one god, your King! Then Domingo holds his forehead, and collapses. Like Lear, with his daughter Cordelia, Nabucco reaches out to Fenena, to help him. Imagine Domingo on his knees, contrite: Why am I weeping? Abigaille, snatching Nabucco’s fallen crown, sings defiant: the splendour of Baal is endless.

Verdi’s Act 3 intermezzo, almost martial, brass, flutes predominate. The Hanging Gardens. The Hebrew script flickers, fades, perhaps suggesting tears falling. With Abigaille Queen, Prozzi’s regally ensconced, accompanied by Vienna’s lusty Chorus. Israel must die, demands Assyria’s Highpriest.

Domingo’s Nabucco, recovered, but shaky, as if he’s had a nervous breakdown. He tries to reimpose his authority, but no match for Abigaille, who demands he sign a death warrant for the Jews, (and Fenena.) Prozzi/Abigaille taunts him. He insists she bow to him. She, indignant, flaunts the proof of her origins. Domingo sings of the shame. She scolds, poor old man, shadow of the King you were. Wonderful pathos, Domingo frail, on his knees. (And the dramatic irony.)
Their scene is a high point. She’s defiant, Prozzi’s Abigaille full-blooded: they’ll kneel before her, she once a slave. Domingo surpasses himself. Appeals for compassion, forgive a father for his foolishness. Deh, pardonna, deh perdonna. All he begs is his daughter’s life. She, forgive! you beg in vain.

They- the Israelites- are lying like corpses on the Vienna stage, but holding pictures of loved ones, family. The backdrop to the sublime Slaves Chorus. Va Pensioro. They rise up. My beautiful homeland is lost! O memories so cherished. O grant us the strength to bear our sufferings. They each hold up black/white archived photos of Holocaust victims.
Then Zaccaria, sings, Why are they weeping: he sees into the dark future, the fall of Babylon, when their chains are broken.
The Chorus are facing us, dressed modestly in 1940s clothing – men wearing white shirts, braces, the women in black, or sombre, floral-patterned dresses. Judah shall rise again, proclaims Zaccaria. (And this from a stage in Vienna, whence so many Jews were driven out.)

Domingo’s Nabucco, out of his delirium, come to his senses, hears the band accompanying Fenena’s funeral procession. ‘Why is she in chains, weeping?’ Distraught, Nabucco realises, he’s a prisoner. And sings, God of the Hebrews forgive him. Domingo, hands reaching out, now kneeling, Dio di Guida! That voice, warm, miraculously expressive, Domingo perfectly cast as the old King. But no dodderer. Follow me, the wicked will fall! Assyria rise again!
Fenena and the condemned Hebrews gravely lined up, pray; the orchestra’s brass section, funereal. The firmament has opened, Vörös’ Fenena intensely moving, sings her soul is in flight. Domingo proclaims, Immenso Jehova, and, commandingly takes her by the hand. But distraught seeing a dishevelled Abigaille, who’s taken poison. Pirozzi frail, breaking with emotion, begs forgiveness.
A heartrending performance. The entire cast are on stage, applauding amongst themselves. And they paid tribute to ‘dear Placido’, who’s 80th birthday it was. © P.R. 22.1.2021
Photos: Anna Pirozzi (Abigaille); Placido Domingo (Nabucco); Scene Photo Szilvia Vörös and Vienna State Opera Chorus
© Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn

Michael Laurenz (Alfred) and Camilla Nylund (Rosalinde)
© Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn

The Eisenstein’s palatial lounge, in cream and gold tones, Biedermeier opulence. Adele, with her feather duster and plaid pinafore, complains that nature made her a chambermaid. Soprano Regula Mühlemann’s scintillates, enchanting but idiomatic wienerisch. Her sister’s invited her to Orlofsky’s ball, but she can’t get away. Rosalinde. (Camilla Nylund) sings of a ‘scandal’. All because her husband insulted an official. She must take her pill. Nylund, lying flat-out, has to listen to Adele’s ‘sick aunt’ story for a night-off. And- who’s that singing?- her besotted admirer -a tenor- who’ll only leave when she promises a wiedersehen. Nylund’s powerful soprano, so often heard in the heavy stuff- Richard Strauss, Wagner- is irresistible in this comic role.

Eisenstein (Georg Nigl) comes in with his inept lawyer, who’s actually got his sentence extended. Nylund calms him down; that charge, five days, now eight, she mocks. Adele repeats her sob story, Eisenstein unperturbed, sends her for Viennese takeaway specialities.

Falke, his buddy, (superb baritone Martin Hässler) persuades Eisenstein to come to Orlofskys; he’s got half the ballet corps there. Komm mit mir, reminding Eisenstein of their previous escapades. Including the night Falke, locked-out, had to get home dressed as a bat. (Hence ‘the Bat’s Revenge’.) Better than prison, but his wife mustn’t know. (Eisenstein will be disguised there as Marquis Renard.) These two are gambolling, dancing like kids across the stage. But interrupted by Rosalinde: she sings, he’s not dressed for an Austrian prison (where rats bite.) Nigl’s Eisenstein, dressed in dinner jacket, cynically tells Adele she’s got the night free. ‘My poor Gabriel, my poor Rosalinde’, commiserate, crocodile-tears, both spending the night alone. So muss ich allein bleiben, in the classic trio. These men! He’ll have a good time, while she, the abandoned wife…

The tenor (Michael Laurenz)- what a tenor- puts on Eisenstein’s red smoking-jacket. Once they… (did they?) Now he invites her to drink with him. Wine, the consolation. Glücklich ist wer vergisst... Happy, who forgets what can’t be changed. Straussian gold, matching the chandeliers. Wonderful, their duet, Laurenz’s thrilling tenor, with Nylund’s luxuriant soprano. Just as he’s about to seduce her; arrives prison Governor Frank.
And Laurenz is so at home- he has Nylund on his lap- he can only be her husband. So ‘Eisenstein’, to save appearances, is bound for prison. Mein Herr, was dachten sie? The trio drink. And Laurenz gets his goodnight kiss. Nylund, her cleavage bursting, is quite exceptional in a vaudeville role we wouldn’t imagine her in.

At the ball, Adele -just gorgeous- arrives posing as an actress. Host Prince Orlofsky,(Okka von-der-Damerau, cross-dressed), loves actors, and innocents. Eisenstein, disguised as Marquis, is asked- somewhat ironically- are you a man of honour? Superlative mezzo-soprano Damerau- has a surprisingly high range- in the show-stopper. Anyone not enjoying his hospitality, he’ll throw them out. That’s his custom. An empty glass, he’ll throw the bottle at them.
Eisenstein, recognising his servant Adele, have you always been ‘Olga? ‘The resemblance is so… In Strauss’s social satire, the hands are so fine, her speech so refined, they sing. Mein Marquis, the notion is amusing, excuse me if I laugh. Muhlemann’s ‘Laughing Song’ is spectacular, with brilliant coloratura.

Eisenstein’s Marquis introduced to ‘Chevalier-Chagrin’ (Frank) – the confrontation is pure French farce. Paris, Toulouse, they ad-lib a lexicon of franglais. But they must respect Maskenfreiheit, their freedom to mask. Sort of ironic!

Nylund’s Hungarian Countess is almost unrecognisable. Red-haired, diamonté eye mask, sumptuous evening gown. She mugs her Eisenstein’s disguised Marquis. Nylund’s super-powered Rolls-Royce soprano bedazzles in their duet, a scam. Eisenstein brings out his repeater-watch – his infamous seduction trick- to time ‘her heart beating so fast’. She begs to borrow his watch. And drops it down her bra, for evidence.
Rosalinde, challenged to prove she’s Hungarian, sings of Hungary, Klänge der Heimat, to czardas beat. Oh, homeland, far from you, but forever in my heart. Ravishing singing from Nyland, but maybe too accomplished, lacking that Hungarian spice.

This huge cast of partygoers are having fun for real (like nowhere else in the world!) And the set is awe-inspiring – right-stage, a huge baroque painting, marble pillars, palatial. Orlofsky calls for champagne, toasts King Champagne. They sway gently, linked in the intimacy of Du (for you), Du-i-du!, and the music is a waltz. The whole thing has such verve and energy.
Brüderlein und Schwesterlein – Damerau elegantly and heartfelt- sung to these guests; in reality this fraternity of artists performing again. Surprisingly moving. They’re sitting at their tables, singing their hearts out.

There’s a ballet, then Orlofsky invites them to join in. They go mad, throw themselves into the polka. Centre-stage, men pick up their white-party-frocked ladies, Opera chorus, supplemented by Vienna State Ballet. They line up in a conga, and collapse on the opera floor. And revive for the Fledermaus Waltz. They sing lustily, and waltz as if second nature. They’re Wiener.
To the plot, Eisenstein staggers drunk. They count down the clock. He’s a prison appointment at 6.

Act 3’s prison scene is hilarious, even if you can’t follow the Viennese dialect. The exuberant pacing never falters. As Frosch the gaoler the magnificent Peter Simonicek staggers around pissed, improvising from gag-to-gag. (Laurenz, locked-up instead of Eisenstein, won’t stop singing.) Frosch empties his schnapps bottle, finds another behind a portrait of Emperor Franz Joseph. He’s joined by Frank, straight from Orlofsky’s Ball, floating, still miming to orchestral snippets from the Fledermaus Waltz. Puts his legs up behind his desk, reads his worn Wiener Zeitung; and falls asleep, his cigar still smoking through it. The sound of loo flushing; Frosch finishes Frank’s cigar. All this music-hall comedy played with such gusto, even without an audience.

As Adele and her sister enter, Frosch has to cover up the wet patch on the floor. And Frank resumes the pose of Chevalier-Chagrin, to Adele’s would-be actress, who auditions for him. Mühlemann is, for me, a revelation even singing a country ditty.
Eisenstein’s Marquis arrives, amazed his party chum is prison warden, who’s already gaoled ‘Eisenstein’. Eisenstein cringes as Frosch, stinking of booze, rings the bell for a ‘Hungarian Lady’. The lawyer Blind arrives, Eisenstein brusquely pulls off his wig and gown, to interrogate his wife; and we’re enjoying high farce. Laurenz tries to bribe gaoler Frosch; then reveals he’s a tenor at the Wiener Staatsoper!
In Eisenstein’s come-uppance, on his knees, he begs Rosalinde’s forgiveness, as she dangles his watch. It was the champagne to blame. Falke arrives; the Bat’s Revenge, Chorus sing, it was all a joke against Eisenstein. They toast ‘King Champagne’. And Orlofsky will be Adele’s ‘patron.
The cream of opera, ‘They played for Austria’, and to the world livestream © P.R. 1.1.2021
Photos: Georg Nigl (Eisenstein), Regula Muehlemann (Adele); Peter Simonicek (Frosch), Georg Nigl (Eisenstein), Jochen Schmeckenbecher (Frank); Featured Image Regula Muehlemann (Adele)
© Wiener/Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn

Anna Netrebko (Tosca), Yusif Eyvasov (Mario) © Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn

Into the historically authenticated stage bounds the fugitive Angelotti, the Attavanti’s chapel transposed onto stage – vaulted roof, wrought-iron ornamentation. Verismo down to the basket of food and wine left for resident artist Cavaradossi, painting the Madonna. Eyvasov’s Cavaradossi, black-bearded, mischevous, wears a painters tunic. And in very good voice, his unknown beauty has blue eyes, Tosca’s are dark. Art has mixed messages, but he thinks only of Tosca. To the sacristan (Wolfgang Bankl) he’s a free-thinking dog; they’re all sinners. (The basket’s full, do as you will!) But Angelotti (Evgeny Solodnikov), tortured, incarcerated, is almost unrecognisable even to his friend Mario.
Mario! Mario! – Why is the door locked! – As Tosca, Netrebko’s, commanding, imperious. Eyvasov’s Mario schmoozes, gets closer. Not in front of the Virgin! Netrebko, in maroon velvet, white lace, looks ravishing. Her soprano is rich, mature, darker-toned: There burns in Tosca boundless love. In their duet, Eyvasov’s tenor is impressive, notwithstanding his famous wife. So they can kiss!
The Attavanti! the Marchesa! Netrebko does the jealous lover – pouting, piqued. She points Mario’s paintbrush at him, like a dagger. He counters: soft in love, wild in rage, what eyes could compare with yours.- But make her eyes black! Now she playfully anoints him with his brush. – His jealous Tosca. He loves everything about her, her rage and her love. – Say it again!- He sings as if he’s renewing his vows. But he’s undone her hair! Netrebko is irresistible in her feminine guiles. They kiss again, like newly weds.

But the man has his secrets. He’s involved in Angelotti’s escape (aided by his sister, the Marchesa.) Mario pledges to do everything to rescue him, if it costs him his life – horribly prescient- and Eyvasov, impassioned, makes it convincing. (They’ve disappeared before the sacristan can sing of Buonaparte’s victory over the Italian despots.)

A celebration in the Church! Baron Scarpia, (Wolfgang Koch), white-haired, bewigged: a prisoner of State escaped! Scarpia’s found the Marquesa’s fan. To him, the basket’s clearly Angelotti’s. Tosca misreads Mario’s subterfuge, suspecting an affair. Scarpia beautifully intoned baritone is seductively reassuring to the enraged Tosca. Proof, the basket’s fan; the Marquese Attavanti, she suspected it. Netrebko is affecting, sadly she was going to tell him… Scarpia notices her tears. He’d give his life to dry them. – If she could catch the traitor! Their love nest sullied. God forgive her tears, Netrebko plaintively. It’s all made dramatically plausible, Scarpia leading her by the hand.

Koch’s Scarpia is chillingly to type, icily calculating. In his aria, he nestles in her heart. He’ll release the falcon of jealousy. Behind him, in this magnificent staging, a religious procession, the Te Deum. Counterpointing the devilish wishes of Scarpia’s aria, they praise the Lord – Vienna’s Chorus live on stage- while he sings, Tosca, you made me forget God. He’ll hang Cavaradossi, oh, to have her in his arms. And after that, no applause!! (You hear those stage hands moving the scenery, and intermittently, orchestral soloists practising.)

Act 2, Scarpia’s room, brocaded wallcoverings, carved oak panels, secretaire, red chaise-longue. At his dining table with candelabras, Koch’s Scarpia wears a louche, embroidered, purple frockcoat -. Violent conquest is as exciting as the act itself. He sings, for great love also brings great suffering. I crave. I get what I desire. Then off to new conquests. So many beauties! (A MeToo villain we recognise.) The eminence grise enjoys the gourmet table, and kicks henchman Spoletta for letting Angelotti escape. Eyvasov is led in – off-stage religious chorus – defiantly listening to Scarpia’s charges; he’d laughed when they searched the house.

Netrebko, Tosca straight from her stage role, enters wearing ermine, and crown, the Queen she is. Now resplendent in ornate gold and black. Scarpia, – the Attavanti was not at the villa. The truth would save him an hour’s suffering. Her lover wears a ‘crown of thorns’. When he lies, blood flows.- Mario are you in pain. – Roberto, continue! – Netrebko is beside herself. Monster! You laugh at other’s pain. Finally, she can’t stand anymore. (Stop!- Mario, should I tell?)
Eyvasov is dragged on, white smock blood-stained.- But has she told? Scarpia shouts it out, the secret hiding place. Netrebko enraged- what passion- the gallows, she’ll follow him. Now rescue him!

Scarpia’s ‘poor meal’ was interrupted: join him, he invites her, partake of fine Spanish wine. Koch’s Scarpia gloriously lyrical: just a sip to fortify you. He’s mercenary, but wants something else. Enflamed by the Diva, her tears awaken his longing. His hand’s on her shoulder; he will conquer her! (What a cruel business!) He takes her in his arms; throws himself on her, she, saved by background drum-roll.

Tosca’s Vissi d’arte. I lived for art and love. I never did harm to anyone; secretly gave help to the poor. Netrebko, as if her own swansong, tearful, heart-wrenching, her powerful range, heaven-bound. Why Lord do you desert me in my hour of pain? Netrebko kneels on a rich oriental rug, raises her arms for mercy.
All he asks is an instant…And Cavaradossi? Scarpia beckons, he will save him. Koch’s supple baritone, guiless, orders the ‘devil’s pact’, a fake execution. Netrebko’s Tosca, the consummate actress, uncovers a table knife. – That’s Tosca’s kiss. And he falls realistically. She towers over him. Mori Accursed. Dead. Now I can forgive him. She kicks the knife away, checks the writing desk for the free pass. Netrebko blows out the candles. And to think, all Rome trembled before him!

Puccini, famous for ‘local colour’, visited Rome to listen to the sound of the Church bells from the heights of the Castello Sant’Angelo. There’s a huge statue on stage. Those church bells ring as Cavaradossi awaits his final hour; a shepherd boy sings plaintively. Eyvasov sings, he leaves his beloved behind, will write her a letter. E lucevan le stelle,. And the stars light up; she came to him like a wisp of balsam, and sank into his arms. Not the most powerful tenor, but moving and heartfelt. (This last Act, inclined to melodrama, yet avoids sentimentality.) There’s tremendous orchestral accompaniment, de Billy firing Vienna orchestra to their most ardent playing.
Neyrebko, ( visiting the prisoner,) describes how she sank the dagger in; her tender hands bloodied, he, O dolce mani. With a shot, he’ll fall to the ground…Then they’ll be away by sea. Does he smell the roses? But he must fall after the first shot. Their duet is beautifully rendered. Together they’ll go forth and share their love with the whole world. (And they did!) They embraced, (as they can.)
The firing squad – soldiers in blue and green uniforms – look menacing, the shots realistic. Mario get up! Dead? She recoils alarmed, Netrebko horror-stricken. O, Scarpia, before God. The leap over the parapet is pure Hollywood, but Netrebko had us spellbound. And the orchestra applauded amongst themselves. ‘They played for Austria’, and the world, on wiener-staatsoper’s livestream. PR. 13.12.2020
Photos: Anna Netrebko (Flora Tosca) and Yusif Eyvasov (Cavaradossi); Wolfgang Koch (Baron Scarpia); Anna Netrebko (Tosca), Yusif Eyvasov; Featured Image Anna Netrebko (Tosca)
© Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn

What’s this? Sweet Charity, a 1960’s Broadway classic, famous for its hit Big Spender- the 1969 film immortalised by Oscar-winning Shirley Maclaine – chosen to re-open Vienna Volksoper after months of lockdown. The musical and film were notable for Bob Fosse’s (Cabaret) spectacular choreography. His collaborators are witty dramatist Neil Simon, songwriter Dorothy Fields, with black composer Cy Coleman’s score oscillating between jazz, gospel and pop. But Charity Hope Valentine is a ‘taxigirl’, so are we reviving outdated stereotypes? Not so! Fosse was adapting Fellini’s Nights of Cabiria, (a Roman ‘prostitute’), into a New York musical comedy. Charity’s an innocent, who despite exploitation, ‘never gives up her belief in the good of mankind’; supported by three women friends, her sisters. It’s the 1960s, the birth of a new spirit – magical, life-affirming- defying convention, (‘Hair’), and the birth of ‘Feminism’.

A video montage of New York scenes- like a trailer for ‘Manhattan’-with a medley of the show’s famous songs, including, of course ‘Big Spender’. A blacked-out stage, as if in a club; dancers darting about with torches, very clever choreography. Charity (Lisa Habermann) faces the audience. Scatty, she’s been unlucky in love. (Did she say on internet sites?) Habermann has lots of energy, punchy vocals; but superficial, a stage personality, not a real character I could identify with.
The young guys look cool in black, one-piece outfits, she in a tight mini-skirt, in one of many stylish dance sequences. But here the music is of an age- swing, Big Band, Volksoper Orchestra conducted by Lorenz C. Aichner superlative, jn recreating Cy Coleman’s score, with impeccable jazz timing.

Video screens show psychedelic images -(remember it’s 1966 the age of LSD, Haight Ashbury)- appearing as if underwater, a woman (Charity) surfacing. Now snow falling. Habermann fronts the next dance sequence: plastic raincoats, yellow, pink, orange, purple, very mod. the Mary Quant era, that was the 60s, that was.
Creepy xylophones, muted trumpets, with a Pink Panther-like theme: middle brow jazz, but sensationally played by the very stylish Volksoper Orchestra. It swings, but maybe to the wrong beat for the late 60s, the birth of progressive rock.
In the plot, Charity, working as a ‘dance hostess’, looks as if she’s being mugged -head pushed down- by Charlie, one of her lovers. ‘An accident’, she tells her friends Nickie, Helene, and Carmen. Charity describes herself as ‘a social worker for eight years’; she wanted to marry, but always got the wrong man.
In the brilliant stage design, director Johannes Matuschka, the letters SWEET CHARITY in neon are upturned through the show, symbolising her disordered existence; or used as props. so the ‘E’, upturned, is where Nicki (Julia Koci), and Helene (Caroline Frank) listen to Charity’s story of how her affairs didn’t work out.
The club manager Herman (Christian Graff) gets them back to work on the dance floor: the cue for Hey Big Spender. The brass entree builds into the number, with these girls giving their stories in snappy narratives. The video screen rear stage (fettFilm) is like a gaming machine, constantly changing icons. Do you want to have fun, fun, fun. How’s about a few laughs But they distort it. ‘Laughs, have a good time’ seems embittered, ironic. But wouldn’t you like to know what’s going on in my mind? Big Spender, so familiar, is in English. Otherwise it’s a German version, since 1970’s premier with Dagmar Koller. But there’s a lot of dialogue. Simon’s lyrics were witty, brilliant NY humour. But so far no laughter from this audience.
The next scene, her tryst with film producer Vittoria Vidal, follows her wandering the streets, to witness a row with his girl Ursula. Charity seems to faint, and he takes her back to his luxury apartment. Axel Herig’s Vidal pseud-intellectual is peroxide blond, heavy frames; his blue velvet suit toning with the scruffy sky-blue coat she’s wearing. Star-struck, she passes out in his flat from partying. Afte wining and dining, she has to hide in a closet when jealous Ursula returns. The buxom, over-the-top Ines Hengl-Pirker actually kisses him (in the age of Covid?)
The good time girls Nickie and Helene can’t work out why Charity spent the night with Vidal, and has nothing to show for it. Together they sing ‘there’s gotta be something better than this‘, a sort of Girl-Power anthem.
Better even, a spectacular Latin dance routine, reminiscent of Leonard Bernstein’s funky Latin jazz, enhanced by innovative lighting- a fan of white light through a ballroom pendant.

There’s a change of tone- Simon’s dramatic input- when Charity goes for a job interview. The interviewer keeps trimming a house plant, while firing questions at her: she’s no qualifications. She only wants a ‘normal’ job to change her life around.
Escaping into a lift, she’s stuck in with Oscar Lindqist (Peter Lesiak), when the lift breaks down. (The lift cleverly designed to tilt on its axis.) Lesiak’s Oscar is a control freak, a ‘straight guy’ in a conventional suit, who has a panic attack. Laughs for the first time as Oscar goes hysterical. Charity socks him one on the jaw to calm him down. Oscar complains about his ‘blockage in social situations’, but invites her to a gospel concert at a church.
Opening Act 2 is the real show stopper, a giant hit in 1969, Rhythm of Life (Flee to Daddy). There are girls with blonde candy-floss hair, the ‘religious order’ donning multicoloured satin gowns.The Chorus (Volksoper’s) are again sensational.
Daddy Brubeck (Drew Sarich), head of the Order, has proclaimed himself as a god. It’s obviously a mock on the celeb religious sects of the late 1960s, the time of Charles Manson.) Sarich, with shaved head, looks incredibly skinny, boasting abdominal six-pack, rippling muscles and tattoos.

There’s a remarkable plinth, a turntable stage, where Lesiak sings to ‘Sweet Charity’, she’s like no other woman. Tenor Lesiak’s delivery is ok, if a little strained. But he’s also an impressive comic actor. He’d like to see Charity again. But Nicki and Helene want to know if she’s told her new man about her work in the Club, Charity’s ‘Man for life’ may have problems with her ‘job for particular hours.’
They throw a party for Charity. It’s loud, noisy, Graff’s Manager camps around. All OTT. Oscar arrives, the straight ill at ease. He can’t do it. Marry her. He’s got a problem with her other men in his head.
Again good video effects, as it ends in a recurrent dream. She, Charity, underwater, surfaces with a look of triumphant affirmation. She is who she is: Charity Hope Valentine. The closing number, ‘If my friends could see me now’, one of the show’s best, is one you can’t get out of your head.
Some perennial songs, spectacular dance routines, but except for Lesiak’s Oscar, ‘drama’ is lacking. Habermann, a glam queen, but no character actress, misses the pathos of Charity. And no German translation can do justice to Simon’s unique New York humour. No wonder there are no English subtitles. © P.R. 22.09.2020
Photos: Lisa Habermann (Charity Hope Valentine) © Johannes Ifkovits / Volksoper Wien
Caroline Frank (Helene), Julia Koci (Nickie), Lisa Habermann (Charity); Drew Sarich (Daddy Brubeck), with Chorus; Header Lisa Habermann, Chorus
© Barbara Pálffy/ Volksoper Wien

The opening scene is a grungy ‘Les Miserables’ set – carts, piled-up junk furniture; women refugees praying to the Virgin, their men armed, (in Laurent Pelly’s long-running Vienna State Opera production.) The Madame Marquise of Berkenfield (Donna Ellen) is outraged: surprised by the enemy, the advancing French army. Ellen, in her eccentric, stylish hat and fur coat, escapes, haughtily pushing through the rabble. The canons hold nothing sacred: the French are a bunch of …(The soldiers parody her.) She’s hot, cold, feels dead . It’s all her steward Hortendius’ (Marcus Pelz) fault: the last of the Berkenfields, all in danger of being pillaged. She’s frightened, for a lady of her standing, une femme de mon nom.

Seargent Sulpice, Carlos Alvarez’s marvellous baritone, authoritative in the role he’s made his own – ‘There she is, Marie! How pretty; for the regiment to have such a daughter. But Jane Archibald, red-haired, short-cropped, with a pony tail, in her dungarees and white tee-shirt, brings out her huge washing basket and ironing board. She sings (Archibald’s stunning coloratura range perfect for Donizetti), how she badly misses going into battle: the cry of La Patrie and Victoire on her lips. The stage (Chantal Thomas) is now an unfolded map presumably of the Tyrol: a battle front. She was born to the sound of war, Au bruit de la guerre; loves the roll of the drums (Donizetti’s recurring ‘anapaest’ rhythm.) And who cheers them up on camp evenings: she’s their mess-girl, the regiment’s a father to her.
The lines of washing, men’s underwear, long-johns, seem to have shrunk to child’s sizes. Anyway, Sulpice, grown fond of Marie, chides her for seeing a Tyrolean, (who turns out to be her lover). Yes, she admits to talking; he saved her life picking flowers on a cliff!
The soldiers have caught a Tyrolean partisan. The chorus of C’est un traitre, qu’il périsse‘ anticipates later Verdi, irresistibly rhythmic. Would they execute a man who saved her life? Javier Camarena, stocky, in Tyrolean gear, ‘fairisle’ sleeveless, braces and culottes, has electrifying charisma. Jamais. He toasts France and his new friends.
Now Archibald, a natural in the role, like a butch nightingale, sings a paean to the Regiment, it’s record unequalled, the Glorious 21st, (Le Beau vingt-et-unième.) Glorious Archibald. Enthusiastically applauded. (It’s a shame the House was only three-quarters full due to a spike in Covid.) Then the soldiers drill, rifles pointing at the audience: but it’s all in good fun! The washing line collapses, Camarena is whisked away to enrol.
We see Archibald/Marie bring out a regiment’s supply of potatoes to peel. Camarena has escaped his ‘captors’ and returned to Marie. Do you love me (Quoi vous m’aimez?). She’ll judge for herself. His beautiful country, he’ll gladly give up it for her. Marie and Tonio’s duet Depuis l’instant is moving, emotional against the spritely comedy. She used to love war… Now Tonio. Camarena’s not, physically, the ideal romantic hero. But with that fabulous tenor- elegant tone, brilliant highs, unblemished coloratura- he’s unstoppable. There’s no resistance!
The Marquise Berkenfield -another of Donizetti’s uniquely individual characters – approaches across the map covering the stage. Sulpice accompanying her, recognises the name Berkenfield from the letter found near Marie he’d saved. It seems Berkenfield is her aunt. And she now demands, Give my child back, my…niece. Is the child well brought up? Ellen, in her overbearing Lady Bracknell manner. But Archibald’s Marie, mess-educated, is barely able to read the testimonial Sulpice saved. My aunt? Do I have relatives? Donizetti’s satire on aristocrats’ sexual indiscretions prefigures Wilde, and even Shaw’s Pygmalion. One day she’ll be one of the Berkenfield’s, but she needs instruction in etiquette…
Meanwhile, RATAPLAN, the Chorus sing of the sound of drums. Three cheers for war and terror. (What a send up?) Tonio has signed up as a French soldier. What a happy day under your flag. In Mes amis, Camarena’s gleaming tenor is sensational, (recalling Juan-Diego Florez.) But Tonio, who signed up for Marie, is reminded by the soldiers’ Chorus: her hand is promised to the Regiment. He remonstrates, swears she loves him.- What our Marie?
Camarena’s impassioned, What a fate for my heart was a high spot: Pour mon âme, “an Everest for tenors”, sung by Camarena with devastating high notes. Camarena salutes the audience, who gave him a prolonged standing ovation. (No bravos allowed- Covid restrictions.)
Now Archibald, pulling on a clothes line, in her touching aria Il faut partir, bids adieu to her ‘collective father’ the regiment. Backed by a plaintive solo cor-anglais, Archibald is captivating as she wipes away her tears: farewell to the friends of her childhood. Alvarez’s Sulpice gives her a hug, cradling her head, she the guardian angel of the regiment, .(Very brave in these Covid times.)

Act 2, in the Berkenfield’s castle, is something else; more than a change of scene. The cleaners are polishing the oak floor and panels, a ballet sequence in stylised robotic movements. In walks the formidable, fantastically dressed Duchess of Crakentorp. This is traditionally a walk-on part for celebrities: tonight Maria Happel, actress with Vienna’s Burgtheater, TV star, chanteuse, singing Piaf’s Milord . French Cafe culture infiltrates Staatsoper! But the lyrics – we cry for love all our life, laugh kind sir, sing kind sir – are poignant.
Marie’s singing lessons are another highlight, a ‘pastoral’, interrupted by Sulpice’s constant interjections, sabotaging the lesson, coaxing Marie into singing RATAPLAN, the refrain of the Regiment.(Chacun le sait, the glorious 21st). The songs get mixed up, and in the burlesque, the Marquise gets increasingly uptight.
Ellen drags Archibald out by the hair. In vain she’d tried to impress her with the social niceties. To a beautifully articulated cello accompaniment, Marie conceals her sorrow, she’s not into rank or show, Par le rang et par l’opulence -‘a mix of French romance and Italian melody’.
The wedding reception is weird: a room full of ghostly aristocratic stiffs, choreographed doddering puppets. (The life they’re planning for her.) Suddenly the whole Regiment burst in to rescue ‘their Marie’. She, Tonio, Sulpice sing, les trois reunis.
What’s a soldier doing with my daughter? Camarena, in Tonio’s aria, begs for Maria’s hand in marriage- why he engaged as a soldier. Camarena kneels, hand on heart. Ridiculous applause! He’s refused, but reveals Berkenfield isn’t her aunt, but her mother, (Marie, ironically, daughter of a Captain.)
Now Marie knows the family secret, the Marquise has to sanction the marriage. Alvarez’s Sulplice embraces Ellen’s Berkenfield. For real. (Are they regularly tested?)
A vivandiere, daughter of a regiment? Happel’s Duchess’s plans for Marie are scuppered, and she storms out in a huff, making alarming rude noises.
Finally, Marie’s Salut à la France, sung by Archibald with verve, and breathtaking coloratura. A final chorus of Salut, once France’s alternative national anthem. A triumph for Archibald, also Camarena, both debuting here in their parts, but you wouldn’t know from their symbiosis. And idiomatic playing from Vienna State Opera Orchestra and Chorus under Evelino Pido. © PR 20.09.20
Photos: Jane Archibald (Marie), Carlos Alvarez (Sulpice); Javier Camarena (Tonio), Carlos Alvarez; Maria Happel (Duchess of Crakentorp); Featured Image, Jane Archibald, Javier Camarena, Carlos Alvarez
© Wiener Staatsoper / Michael Pöhn

Vienna State Opera has reopened under its new Intendant Bogdan Roscic. The 2020/21 season, grounded in popular repertory, has revived classic productions sidelined by outgoing Dominic Meyer. So Puccini’s Madama Butterfly‘s long-running Fujita staging -‘authentic’ Japanese, austere- is replaced by the romantic vision of Anthony Minghella’s (2005 production). Minghella’s sensuous, vibrant colour is a feast for the eyes, (what, arguably, we need in these grim times.)

And the orchestra- Vienna State Opera’s under new MD Philippe Jordan- wonderfully clear-textured, precisely-detailed playing. Maybe to do with the 1 meter distancing required: Jordan’s smaller orchestra revealing Puccini’s score in all its subtlety, vibrato layering stripped away.

Backstage, out of a red rectangle of light emerges a geisha dancer, trailing red silk banners.
And the walls … ‘Where is the nuptial?’- ‘It too has sliding walls’…It’s down to business with Lieutenant Pinkerton negotiating with Goro for his ‘honeymoon’ home: ‘A shaky little house, you could blow it away.’ Pinkerton, exciting british-italian tenor Freddie De Tommaso, sings he’s like a man opening a pearl, but she, Cio-Cio-San, chatters like a woman of the world.
The stage (Michael Levine) is divided by white screens. The lease is for 99 years (Puccini’s libretto strong on detail), but he can cancel anytime. Everywhere in the world the roaming yankee gets his money’s worth. Tommaso’s replendent tenor commands; six foot of masculine swagger.
He sings to US Consul Sharpless of his ‘easy-going creed’. If beaten he’s up and away. Boris Pinkasovich’s Sharpless is sympathetic, his beautiful baritone saddened by Pinkerton’s creed with its ruthless consequences.
The bride, is she pretty?- And so cheap, 100 yen!- Does he love her? – She’s bewitching him. She’s slender, like a painted figure. A butterfly. To Sharpless, it would be wrong to harm the little thing. They drink a toast, Pinkerton to an American girl.

Cio-Cio-San (Asmik Grigorian) appears with her geisha friends. I am the happiest girl in Japan, in the entire world, she sings; she knows that love has come. Grigorian’s burnished soprano is meltingly beautiful; no dissimulation, pure feeling.
He asks, if the climb was arduous. She replies, for a bride, impatience is harder to bear. Grigorian’s now in a white kimono, Tommaso brilliant-white naval uniform. He notes hers are real gems.
We have to make our living as geishas, she sings to her friends. She doesn’t hide it. But to Pinkerton, she’s like a doll: enticing. (How old is she- 10, 15?- his friends bet.) She admits she’s turned fifteen.
The parade of wedding relatives is a burst of brilliant-coloured silks. Pinkerton, his breath blown away. But take care, she believed in you, warns Sharpless.
Come my love, do you like the house? She’d like to show him something. (Behind the white screen enclosing the living room, we see her relatives squatting.) She shows him her box of family treasures: those dolls, the souls of her ancestors. She sings, she went to the Mission to adopt ‘the new religion’. For him she might be able to forget her own people.
Cio-Cio-San’s dilemma’s having to renounce her culture, adopting her husband’s ‘values’. Puccini’s theme – Illica and Giacosa’s libretto from David Belasco’s play- is the very modern one of cultural hibridity. She’s denounced by her uncle (Evgeny Solodovnikov), buddist priest, who gatecrashes the wedding. He accuses her of renouncing them all. We reject you! Pinkerton won’t tolerate all this shouting in his own house. She’s upset. Don’t cry, ‘the whole tribe of them aren’t worth a tear’, his callous reply, imperialist contempt.

Viene la sera. Evening is coming; let us shut out the world’, he lures her. Their great love scene sweeps us all away; it’s a seduction, but he’s ‘married’ her, and really has fallen in love. Grigorian and Tommaso have an ineffable chemistry. With sensitive orchestral playing, the staging is magical, Japanese pageant re-imagined.
For her, he’s the star in the firmament. But in Puccini’s scoring, there’s trace of foreboding in the viola solo. Paper lamps, white, illuminated; blossoms falling like snowflakes. Transcendent. He stands behind her, kisses her ear. How will his name suit her? -She, in his country, butterflies are pinned to a board. Dismiss all fear, the night is asleep. Orchestra builds cumulative waves of passion.
This little toy is my wife, he sings. She, of the angry voice still commanding her. Finally, Butterfly’s cast out and happy. Dear child with wonderful eyes, you’re all mine. For him, it’s all about possession. He sings, you haven’t said you love me. She fears
dying from pleasure. She sheds her white gown, revealing her pink underwear; he covers her. Now there’s a veil of gold petals. He carries her off in his arms, escorted by lamp bearers. (Direction and choreography by Carolyn Choa.)

White screens, black-lacquered dining room furniture, brightly coloured petals falling. Suzuki (mezzo Virginie Verrez) appeals to the gods, don’t let her weep any longer, an oboe wails plangently. Japanese gods are lazy, Americans’ faster, counters Cio-Cio. Suzuki asks, how much do we have.( Pinkerton arranged their rent.) Cio-Cio excuses him, keeping troubles away. Verrez insists, no foreign husband has ever returned. Grigorin is simply heart-rending in her aria (Un bel di), one day they’ll see a thin column of smoke, the white ship. In pink, her hair plaited, she stands defiant in her belief.
Sharpless, the nice guy, has got ominous news; she, still the happiest woman in Japan. She sings, he’d promised to return ‘when robins build their nests’; three years have passed. Sharpless can’t bear to tell her. Cio-Cio self-deluded, you can’t shoo-shoo an ‘American’ wife away. Sharpless tries to read her Pinkerton’s letter: PREPARE HER! What would she do if he never returned, he asks. Delight people with her singing; or die, she sings. – Marry Prince Yamadoro, as Goro arranged.- She furiously dismisses Sharpless. Never again that profession!
And now the shock …her son- brilliantly white make-up- born after he left. ‘A matchless son awaits him.’
In her aria, his name is SORROW, but – Grigorian now incandescent- his name will be JOY when he returns. The boy’s in a cute US sailors outfit. (In fact a puppet.) The group huddle together as she reads the name of Pinkerton’s ship. Grigorian, with an overwhelming surge of emotion, he’ll come back and love me.
The front of stage is LINED WITH BRIGHT RED FLOWERS!! She applies rouge to remind her how she looked on that spring day. Now back in her white wedding gown, with red satin. (Subtly the screens are a mix of autumn browns.)
Against a darkened stage, Grigorian’s Cio-Cio is sitting, back erect, ceremoniousy waiting. In a remarkably choreographed puppet sequence, a dancer in black holds a child aloft; offered to Cio-Cio, and withdrawn.

The stage is lit up, a gold panel illuminated. Pinkerton arrives with Sharpless, and it’s Suzuki who meets him. (Verrez sings with sensitivity and pathos.) Tommaso/Pinkerton, in dark-navy uniform, silhouetted against the welcoming pink bouquet, is deeply moved by Suzuki’s description of Cio-Cio’s vigil. At least now he realises what he’s done, and Tommasso sings, she will haunt him forever. Pinkerton has to leave, admitting he’s a coward, Tommaso’s Adio fioriti asil , with sensational power, genuine emotion.
Grigorian emotionless, without affectation, ‘But he will no longer return?’ Then, increasingly agitated, that woman, she’s his wife, now everything’s over. Yet resigned, sings to Pinkerton’s wife, be not sad on my account, (you, the happiest woman in the world.)
‘He dies with honour ‘who can no longer love with honour.’ Cio-Cio grimly prepared, her child must not know of her suicide. Red-silk ribbons flow from her. Backstage black silhouttes holding gold fans; Japanese script engoldened on black stage-curtain.
Staatsoper’s Roscic, Corona-safe, requested no bravos, but clap-as-hard-as-you like. They did. But they cheered anyway. © PR 13.9.2020
Photos: Asmik Grigorian (Cio-Cio-San), Freddie De Thommaso (Pinkerton); Freddie De Thommaso and Asmik Grigorian; Asmik Grigorian (Cio-Cio-San); Featured Image Asmik Grigorian (Cio-Cio-San) and Freddie De Tommaso (Pinkerton).
© Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn. All photos subject to Wiener Staatsoper’s strict copyright.

I’ve seen Rossini’s Barber of Seville six times at Vienna State Opera since 2010. There have been 77 performances of this classic Günther Rennert production in the last decade, a staggering 433 in total. Why is it, Rossini’s opera, still so popular? Firstly, it’s comedy, really farce, the plot fiendishly clever, in its twists and turns, but engineered like clockwork. It turns on the scheming Count Almaviva- he of Mozart’s Figaro – pursuing the beauty Rosina. He’s aided and abetted by the Barber, an old accomplice, Almaviva disguising himself first as a soldier, (then Act 2), as a music teacher to get into Dr Bartolo’s house, Bartolo being her ‘ward’, allegedly protecting her, but proposing to ‘marry’ her himself. If this sounds offensive in our MeToo times, Rosina the object of lechering men, is actually in love with Almaviva’s ‘Lindoro’, and no pushover.

The genius of Rossini is that, using (Cesare Serbini’s) brilliant text, its memorable characters based on Beaumarchais’s classic play, Rossini’s raises this comedy to an even higher level. Rossini’s music, an ironic commentary on the dramatic plot and its characters, drives the action forward like an engine. In lower gear for the ‘recitative’ conversations, to frenzied climaxes of high-speed confusion. Comedy is about split-second timing. Rossini’s famous crescendo builds up musical tension, as in Figaro’s cavatina describing his ever-demanding clients, his words ever-faster. And Vienna State Opera Orchestra are masters of this music- served by a roster of Rossini specialists- tonight’s Guillermo Garcia Calvo kept that irresistible Rossini rhythm moving.
Vienna’s classic Rennert production, after 433 performances, might be considered ‘old’. But this reproduction (Alfred Siercke) of a Seville village is a marvel of detail, authentically fascinating. The stage, brilliantly lit, is a masterpiece in creams, gold, light woods, on three levels, with sliding shutters and panels, within a courtyard, with brickwork portals either side of stage. The cleverness of the set is the central spiral staircase, allowing the characters quick change of scenes, to reappear in unexpected places: like a game of ‘snakes and ladders’. It should be preserved like a world heritage sight.

No cast is perfect, nor was tonight’s – a fine balance of voices in inappropriately matched characters. Vienna maintain a very high ensemble standard, even in the smaller roles. But the star, as should be in the title role, was Adam Plachetka’s Figaro. Plachetka’s Figaro is big, virile, bursting with energy, his richly timbered baritone well experienced in the role. Superlatively accompanied by Calvo’s Vienna players, Plachetka powerful, but nimble, really engaged with the audience. Beaming with mirth, in Figaro’s signature Largo al factotum, he does justice to this well-worn classic. Figaro, Figaro… What a frenzy; one at a time. Up and down, fast as lightning. Fortune will always smile on you, Factotum of the city. (The audience cheered, as I did.)
Pavel Kolgatin’s Count Almaviva is, by contrast, slight of stature. His is a very fine tenor, but here a little characterless for this lecher who’s already had his share of sexual escapades. He approaches Figaro. Let me explain, I saw a beauty at the Prado (Madrid) – a reminder this is Spain. Figaro, richly rewarded, tells of Bartolo, ‘I happen to be his barber, and she’s his ward.’
Tara Erraught, as Rosina- the target of this scheming- seemed a little plump for a ‘young girl’: she’s a mature woman. But her mezzo- soprano is both exquisite and powerful.
Paulo Rumetz’s bass-baritone is, vocally, perfectly cast as Dr.Bartolo. But with his white hair, in a red velvet fez, showing his paunch, more like a grandfather. But this is a stereotypical comic role. Rumetz’s Bartolo has the UGH factor. (Sorry.) ‘A pompous master never has a penny’, so Figaro describes him. But he’s no fool, susses out Figaro/Almaviva’s plot, and (Act 2), locks the girl up.
Almaviva’s opening scene, serenades Rosina from beneath her balcony, (Ecco ridente il cielo), accompanied by street musicians he hires. Later, Act 1, in aria reminiscent of later Donizetti, he sings, accompanied by Figaro on guitar, with a simplicity, albeit feigned, but moving honesty: ‘From dawn to dusk I speak only of you.’ (Kolgatin still lacks charisma.) Rosina replies, ‘I am a little girl, respectable, sweet, and innocent.’ That she is not. But, the Irish beauty, all woman, Erraught sings displaying thrilling coloratura.
She’s impressive, charming, in Rosina’s aria,(Una voce poco fa), enthusing about the young Cavalier ‘Lindoro’, she’s writing to. Bartolo, Rumetz, perfectly irritable and testy, noticing a sheet of his paper is missing: ‘If you want to make a fool of me, you’ll have to do better than that.’ (She makes all kinds of excuses.)
In Figaro’s plan for Almaviva to be requisitioned, Kolgatin’s drunken soldier creates a scene; and loudly demanding accommodation, manages to get through to Rosina. Kolgatin’s pissed soldier is not that funny, rather over-acted. Bartolo calls the police, the joke is that Bartolo (as a Doctor) is exempt from billeting soldiers. Under arrest, never! The military officer (Daniel Lokos), in a splendid green uniform with a plume – stiff, tall- is perfect in the farce. Almaviva shows his papers, and released. Breathtaking climax, in the chaos, with soldiers ransacking Bartoli’s upper rooms, armed with booty, leaning over the balconies. Rossini ends the Act in a massive crescendo of confusion.

Kolgatin is better, reappearing (Act 2), as a stand-in – singing off-key!- for Basilio, Rosina’s music teacher. Bartolo thinks he knows his face, and insists on being present at Rosina’s ‘music lesson.’ It’s genuinely funny, Rosina and music teacher ‘Alfonso’ flirting beneath Bartolo’s ever-watchful eye. Her songs have a subversive subtext. ‘Against a heart that’s inflamed, even a tyrant cannot prevail.’ Rosina’s love rhetoric, ‘dearest I trust you’, is aimed at her ‘piano teacher’. But Bartolo, Rumetz preening himself, is standing centre-stage, the vain old fool, as if she were addressing him. Randy Rumetz flirts openly until Figaro breaks him out of his reverie, forcibly offering to shave him, to distract him. Plachetka is brilliant at bombarding Bartolo with his barber-room gossip, while Almaviva/Lindoro and Rosina plan elopement.
Basilio, the real music teacher, reappears- the splendid bass Jongmin Park- who was sent away to nurse his cold. (Buona sera.) In the farce, Figaro tugs at Bartolo, entangled in a long towel, to keep him away from the lovers. The housekeeper Marzellina a blonde Ildiko Raimondi) in a stand-out cameo, sings of foolish old men marrying young women: No peace! The old man wants a wife, Rosina wants a husband: What is this thing called love?

In the plot, Bartolo, who’s got hold of Rosina’s letter to Lindoro, poisons her against him. What a cruel fate! She thinks he’s pretended love to turn her over to Almaviva. So Rosina, out of spite, agrees to marry Bartolo.
In Rossini’s intermezzo, pizzicato strings describe the storm, as ‘Lindoro’ and Rosina, elope from her bedroom, assisted by Figaro, (escape-ladder removed). Oh sweet bond of love! While Bartolo’s calling the police, the villa’s facades unrolls revealing the magnificent drawing room wedding reception. Figaro bribes Bartolo’s own lawyer- and pistols Basilio to witness- Rosina’s marriage, to Almaviva, finally revealed. Kolgatin kneels, begging forgiveness.
Oh, what unexpected joy! He, himself, Figaro, look what my scheming has achieved, boasts Plachetka. No hack writer can begin to do justice to Rossini’s masterpiece, which even Beethoven envied. See Vienna’s marvelous, classic production, before they change the sets for some minimalist, modern concept. © P.R. 7.1.2020
Photos: Adam Plachetka (Figaro); Pavel Kolgatin (Count Almaviva); Tara Erraught (Rosina); Paulo Rumetz (Dr.Bartolo); Featured image: Pavel Kolgatin (Almaviva) and Tara Erraught (Rosina)
© Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn

For Offenbach’s 200th, Vienna Volksoper celebrate the founder of operetta with a revival of König Karotte (1872), one of his greatest hits, a mix of comic opera (opera bouffa) and fairytale: live vegetables, witches and magicians. Beneath there’s a parable of ‘deeper meaning’: a political satire. While Offenbach’s music is irresistibly tuneful and rhythmic, the text, (Victorien Sardou, La Tosca), is witty and sarcastic, satirizing pompous, corrupt French society, with contemporary resonances. In Matthias David’s production, that King Carrot, rising magically out of the vegetable patch, looks uncannily like a certain President, is coincidental. And, in the story, even the people are laughably easily won over.
Curtain-up, a sneak preview of the cast, fabulous costumes, and those fantastic human vegetables (Suzanne Hubrich) that alone make your visit. The overture, bursting with Offenbach’s melodies and bouncing rhythms, is played by Volksoper orchestra under dynamic conductor Guido Mancusi. But Karotte isn’t Offenbach at his very best which –Tales of Hoffmann– truly belong in an opera house.
The opening number- Nobody cares who wins or loses, the common man takes the blame- is sung by lusty firemen, their girls bringing on boxes of pizza; but in 19th century Paris?
We see royal princes, like some middle-east oil magnates, with spiked-up blonde wigs. Prince what’s it – Fridolin 24th of Krokodyne- wears a royal blue velvet jacket, with gold insignia. Carsten Süss, when he gets the chance to sing, with his lyrical tenor, is the true star. His ‘good spirit’ Robin (cross-dressed Manuela Leonhartsberger) has to make him change his ways, reform his loose-living master. Robin sings he’s a registered student, has long nights: ‘desire is what drives us’. Leonhartsberger, no mean mezzo-soprano, sang Elvira in Volksoper’s Don Giovanni. Here she’s the bartender, serving frothy pints of lager (are they real?) We’re introduced to the Police Chief- also Head of secret service – in this corrupt regime. Sung by Marco Di Sappia, in military uniform, a real character, he’s a sort of MC, confiding in the audience. Sappia’s is a stand-out performance.
The would-be Princess, who’s after Fridolin, appears dolled-up in a glitzy black mini, wearing fish-net stockings. The pretty, petite Julia Koci can really sing; an exquisite soprano. She sings, ‘In the matter of education, she was fluent in every convention’, while she flirts outrageously with Fridolin, the eternal party-goer. But in her aria ‘Alone with her love’, she sings endearingly, would that she could belong to him: she blows like the petals of a flower, sung with surprisingly high coloratura.
Now the magic. Robin rolls on a magic globe that will lead to his aim; hence we’re on a magical mystery tour. But there are dark forces. Christian Graff – Juno in Offenbach’s Orpheus in the Underworld – now in tight black crinoline dress, high boots of course, and pulling on a pipe (smoking whatever.) Graff in drag is like the ugly pantomime sister to Koci’s Cinderella.
The pantomime witch, she’s conjuring up all manner of spells in front of a green picket garden fence. Ratatouille…At last things warm up. They rise up, humanoid vegetables- beetroot, leek, potato and carrot, like in a comic, non-spooky version of Michael Jackson’s Thriller.

In Offenbach’s send-up of the pomp and corruption of the court of Napoleon III, (succeeded by the First Republic), Prince Fridolin is on the throne. They sing, What gets you on in this country is who you know, ‘Name and Rank’: a roll call of who’s who (on the ladder of aristocracy.) Süss’s Fridolin, the focus of all this bling, lounges around in a black and gold spotted designer jacket.
King Carrot and the other veggies invade. Karotte (Sebastian Reinthaller) sings his signature, something like, He is King Carrot, Janon!…Yum Yum, the dance begins!
Robin rubs his magic box. Knights occupy the stage. It’s a palace coup, the veggies take power. The payback is a reward of a thousand for every voter. Hence the big number, singing about ‘The rise and fall of monarchy, the way it goes between Monarchy and Republic. Free elections; monarchy needs a revolution. The police chief now addresses the audience, as if reading out news sheets handed to him. And referring to ‘our friend Boris ‘asking the Queen, and she said yes. (Also,’in our ‘little Republic of Austria’, with a reference to Chancellor Kurz.)
There’s a funny scene with an old King 130 years old, who farts, and whose limbs are so brittle, he disintegrates, dismembered and decapitated: and reborn as a boy, with uncannily similar facial features. (A dig at the Divine Right of Kings?)
On the Prince’s travels (like Voltaire’s Candide), they come to Pompey- ‘grey walls greet them’; there’s a vegetable market; a sketch about Austrian Railways; and the eruption of the Volcano appropriately ends the first part, and sends us to the bar.

King Carrot fumbles hesitatingly onto the stage. The vegetable heads mingle in high society: the joke is about flattery. Now the Royals wear token carrot insignia- small carrots on their heads- and King Carrot boasts he has ‘the confidence of the Cabinet.’ Yum Yum.
A mission from the Far East- selling coats, Jewels… It’s Offenbach meets Gilbert and Sullivan’s Mikado. But this is surreal. They are carrying a GIANT CARROT GRATER!! And we see carrot shavings on the stage. Carrot sits on it like a sex tool.

At last Offenbach in romantic mood. Süss’s Fridolin is on the throne. Du, in his duet with the Princess, (Koci now in some green and orange creation.) He sings ‘Do you really love me?’- She, My heart flies to you. Not quite classic Offenbach, but a reminder we’re in an opera house.
In the wildly erratic plot, Robin grants three wishes. The scene with the ants -always running, harvesting, hewing- is brilliantly staged, with LED lights behind a moving screen of grass/corn-sheaths. On the island of the apes, an ape jumps up and cartwheels across the stage (Konstantin Oberlik.) He eludes those trying to catch him. They eventually tie him up- (obviously pre-Animal Rights.)
And, to Offenbach’s heavenly theme, there’s a haunting ‘You help me bear my lot: with your love, you give me life,’ Süss and Koci sublimely sung.

Back to the political satire, while Carrot insists, only he can rescue the monarchy, it all ends in chaos. All services are at a standstill, but there’s a ban on political demonstrations to end the regime. (Sounds familiar!) End the tyranny of the ROOT VEG STATE! The Cabinet joins them in the fight. The public back the returned Fridolin- the real King is still alive!
King Carrot is debagged, and debunked. Bundled off in his shirt. (Poor Reinthaller is revealed at curtain call, his face caked in make-up, he’s had to wear that headgear all through.) Would that all failing Presidents could be so easily brought down. To end there’s a classic Offenbach, let’s rip, razzmatazz ensemble. So a triumph of costumery, but not the best of Offenbach. And, (unless you understand German), there are no English surtitles. © P.R. 5.1.2020
Photos: Featured Image © Thomas M. Jauk
Sung-Keun-Park (König Karotte); Julia Koci (Princess Kunigunde), Mirko Roschwoski (Prince Fridolin) © Barbara Pálffy/ Volksoper Wien

Volksoper’s stage is an expanse of white. Is it a puppet theatre with actors in burlesque outfits miming? Don Giovanni (Günter Haumer) bounds onto the white stage with its cut out – hotel, church – minimalist props. Director, set and costume designer Achim Freyer’s concept is like a ‘masque’, with its clown-like costumes. But Mozart and Da Ponte’s opera isn’t comic opera, it’s ultimately deadly serious, dramma giocoso, mixing serious and comic. At least the music is in safe hands, Alfred Eschwe, conducting Volksoper Orchestra, the Overture is beautifully played.
Stage hands in black contrast with the white theme; astonishingly, men in black coats are sitting at the back of the stage fishing, under a full moon. (Is this an ‘absurdist’ subtext- like Samuel Becketts’s tramps?)
Leporello (Stefan Cerny), Don Giovanni’s side-kick, complains he has to keep watch outside, while his master’s enjoying himself. Cerny is dressed as a clown, but his bass is impressive, one of the show’s successes, and he really enters into the comic role, if overdone. Haumer’s Don Giovanni appears like some alien from a sci-fi movie, in a one-piece white silk outfit, wearing a red headband and scarf, his arms blood red. Facially, he’s like a Johnny Depp pirate. As the Commandant, whose house Giovanni breaks into, bass-baritone Yasushi Hirano, resembles a priest, wearing a pointed hat. So far beautiful singing, but dramatically out of sinc. And the black t-shirted stage hands, intrusively invading the stage, subvert any sense of real dramatic tension.
Donna Anna (Kristiane Kaiser) – who struggled to repulse Giovanni, and whose cries alerted her father – returns, (with fiance Ottavio), to find her father killed. Dear father! The Commandant, now a black statue, revolves on the white dining table. Don Ottavio (JunHo You), with blue hair, as if cross-dressed in a vast dress, (or is it a housecoat?), has arrived too late. Donna-Anna, also blue-haired, swears Ottavio to avenge her father. But nothing is credible in this mess.
Leporello has sneaked in to hide under that ever-revolving table. In the plot he joins nobleman Giovanni- suddenly arrived- who swears on his honour to apprehend the ‘intruder’. But Haumer, an impressive bass-baritone, sings already planning his next conquest: he’s in love with ‘a mysterious beauty.’
Donna Elvira (Manuela Leonhartsberger) is a space goddess, with pointed blond spikes emanating from her hair: a sun goddess. In her powerful aria: where did he escape to, this man she loves, who conned her? He laughs at her pain. Leonhartsberger is a (distinguished) light mezzo soprano, it’s pleasantly sung; but she lacks gravitas in the part. (Giovanni approaches the lady, retreating when he realises it’s Elvira, the fiance he jilted.)
Leporello, still in that clown suit, launches into his bravura ‘catalogue’ aria- she was one in a list of conquests in every land. He boasts of the Don’s exploits to illustrate his pulling power. Cerny unfolds a concertina of cards; stage hands (again) walk on, carrying multiple portraits – including some illustrating body parts.( Giovanni loves blondes most of all.) Cerny’s solid bass here lacks variation; so the aria, adequately sung, runs out of steam. It should have us on the edge of our seats. All this novelty- in no way enlightening- is exhausting.
The country wedding: lots of cameras, thankfully not from the audience. Giovanni appears (incognito) at Zerlina and Masetto’s wedding, abusing his position of grand seigneur to seduce the bride, who’s all too willing. Masetto (Daniel Ohlenschläger) in punky blonde hair (is it a wig?) is a pushover. Zerlina (Theresa Dax) is like a fairy, with robotic movements, (a little like the automaton in Offenbach’s Tales of Hoffmann), in white polka-dot frock with red boots, her face doll-like with rouged cheeks, and bunny hairdo. The Don sits opposite, devouring her.

But Donna Elvira, has come to warn Zerlina; with Anna and Ottavio, disguised, they’ve come to poop Giovanni’s party. Donna Anna suddenly realises the identity of the the man who killed her father: it was indeed Don Giovanni. She swears revenge, Kristine Kaiser outstanding in this chilling, moving aria. Yet even this most beautiful moment is marred: by a black-clad figure crawling under the table.
Ottavio, standing by, sings, vowing to do everything for her peace of mind. He cannot believe Giovanni, a nobleman, could have done it. (That patriarchal thing, men protecting their honour.) But, this time he rises to the occasion. She is his to protect: her happiness is his. (Dalla sua pace.) A star aria, but Hirano’s tenor, technically accomplished, was only average.
Giovanni has invited Zerlina/Masetto’s wedding guests to a banquet at his palace. The occasion for Giovanni’s signature aria, irresistible, sung by Haumer, standing on the banqueting table. Masetto is of course furious with Zerlina. Just to liven things up, Ohlenschläger’s Masetto appears suddenly in the theatre stalls – armed with a broom, as if to strike his unfaithful Zerlina.
Zerlina’s aria, reassuring jealous Masetto, is not a success- even the cello solo seems off-key. Dax is more engaged with the broom handle. The beautiful Zerlina- not in that outfit- is secreted away, Masetto fobbed off. But the three avengers- Elvira, Anna, Ottavio, foregrounded front of stage- come to her rescue. The famous closing ensemble, well sung, is not quite enough to rescue this messy staging.

I suffered the second Act, readers, so you don’t have to. Leporello refuses to serve his master anymore, but Giovanni’s gold buys him off. Giovanni and Leporello swop outfits. Leporello, impersonating the Don, is to woo and distract Elvira- as if she wouldn’t tell the difference?- so Giovanni can seduce her maid. Elvira’s on her balcony, Leonhartsberger’s, spiky hair now pink, matching pink leather case. Cerni’s Leporello serenades her, appears to mime, as if playing the mandolin. Can’t they afford one? Then Giovanni’s serenading Elvira’s maid. But also miming, playing supposedly a ‘mandolin’, that breaks apart.
Zerlina’s exquisite aria, comforting Masetto, who’s been beaten up by Giovanni, is better than her previous (Act 1) aria. She carries him off with a broom. (With this farce, we’re in the world of Zauberflöte, but not what Mozart intended.)
Ottavio’s marvellous aria, promising to save Anna, and wishing to bring forward their marriage, is pleasing, but unexceptional: not helped by that ridiculous dress You has to wear. But Donna Anna’s aria is a highlight: reproving Ottavio, assuring him of her love, but vowing her father be avenged first. A blissful moment. Kaiser, immaculately sung in this moving aria, almost redeems this dud production.
Elvira determined to break with Giovanni, Leonhartsberger – still with those spikes – sings of the conflict in her heart, about the Don’s dark soul: he who lied to her, but still loves. She tries to warn him of impending doom. But Leonhartsberger is too lightweight, and in that outfit?
We now see the Commandant on the revolving plinth. We know the end is in sight. (Mercifully.) Yet Giovanni’s nemesis is not unconvincing: unrepentant, he’s dragged down by flailing hands. The moonlit gloom is transformed by brilliant lighting, the sun represented by a gold chandelier. But whereas Mozart/Da Ponte’s ending is ambivalent, untriumphant, we actually see the Commandant resurrected: the ‘survivors’ all meet for a banquet at ‘Ristorante Giovanni‘ Wien. Oh, please! The audience enjoyed it, but I’m here to warn you! PR 2.01.2020
Photos: Don Giovanni (Günter Haumer) and Leporello (Stefan Cerny); Leporello (Stefan Cerny); Mara Mastalir (Zerlina) and Daniel Ohlenschläger (Masetto)
(c) Barbara Palffy/ Volksoper Wien

Wilkommen, Bienvenue, Welcome! Vienna Volksoper’s opening set’s ‘agit-prop’ scaffold has a printed curtain with slogans. The artists in wildly colourful outfits, including circus jugglers, represent the free-and-easy, cosmopolitan world of 1929 Berlin. Cabaret, in 1920’s Berlin, was subversive.
And the Master of Ceremonies is Ruth Brauer-Kvam, transgender, bald, white makeup, the ‘linkman’, like a clown, commenting on the action, sometimes resembling a grim reaper. Wilkommen! The girls are beautiful, the orchestra is beautiful. Super orchestra, Volksoper’s, conducted by Lorenz C. Aichner, really swings!
Then we’re on a train, Clifford Bradshaw (Jörn-Felix Alt) meets the talkative, over-friendly Ernst Ludwig (Peter Lesiak), who invites Cliff to the Kit-Kat club, and knows the best pension in Berlin. (Kit-Kat’s MC is the ticket collector welcoming the American to Germany.) Clifford is fresh-faced, a little shy. Alt is surprisingly convincing as the writer, Schriftsteller, based on Christopher Isherwood’s from Berlin Stories, come to Berlin for inspiration, in a turbulent affair with singer Sally Bowles. Yet Volksoper’s translation of Fred Ebb and John Kander’s 1966 musical is in German, with only the three extra numbers from the (1972) film sung in English. (So why are there no English surtitles?)

At Fräulein Schneider’s, the stage (Heiko Meixner) resembles a carousel on three levels: ground, Clifford’s bedroom, the lounge, first floor, Schultz’s room, top, ‘BERLIN’ sign. Dagmar Hellberg’s mature mezzo as Schneider-matronly and matriarchal, hardened, but with heart- is a real character. She’s befriended the Jewish Schultz, and herself a Nazi target.
At the Kit Kat club, Bowles (Bettina Mönch) is on stage in a sailor’s outfit; the others strip off, the dance troupe, now down to black negligees, suspenders, and high boots. (Stunning dance routines, choreography by Melissa King.) Then we notice that they’ve got beards. So they’re in drag? Clifford is teaching the shady businessman Ernst English. Ernst notices that one of the dancers, Bobby, recognises Clifford from London. (Clifford looks uncomfortable.)
Mönch visits Clifford’s room, still wearing her ‘stage’ outfit, under a scarlet silk dressing gown. With cropped black hair, she, Mönch, is so incredibly tall, stiletto-heel boots notwithstanding.
At the New Year’s party, Mönch sings the show-stopper Mein Herr, but it’s in English- one of the film’s showstoppers. ‘You have to understand who I am …what I do, when I’m through.’ In her bowler hat and black corset she invites comparisons with Lisa Minnelli. Mönch belts it out. Vocally, and as a dancer, she cuts it; what she lacks is Minnelli’s skills as an actress. We shouldn’t compare musical to film, but Minnelli’s Bowles has as vivacity, a human vulnerability: irresistible charm. Mönch is merely a star musical performer.
Alt’s Clifford, too broke to tip, sings ,Unglaubliche Stadt (unbelievable city.) The surprise is that he can sing. Alt, a soft, lyrical tenor, is an accomplished ‘musical’ artist all over Germany. Dramatically, Alt’s performance, mainly spoken, has real depth.
Another icon, Two Ladies– MC cavorting with two horses’ heads- introduces the political subtext. A Nazi soldier holds up a map of Europe. This Volksoper production (Gil Mehmert) plays up the political, the rise of National Socialism. (But the film does this more subtly.)
In the traditional German drinking song, ‘Tomorrow belongs to me’, we see huge piano keys front of stage, with four singers, the boyish blonde singing Der morgige Tag ist mein . It’s powerfully rendered, but over-dramatic.
Joel Gray’s Oscar-winning triumph, ‘Money makes the world go round’- wittily choreographed, brilliantly comic- is not so good here. Sorry, but Volksoper’s caricature capitalist businessman – the mask with a huge cigar- is grotesque. Satirical, but it’s offensive, and could just be a Jewish stereotype (obviously not intended.)
However, in this version’s sub-plot, landlady Schneider and her Jewish tenant Schultz, decide to get married. In the ‘engagement’ party, held at Schultz’s shop (the Hebrew lettering seen in reverse), Sally has brought her Kit Kat friends over. Robert Meyer’s Schultz sings the Jewish song Mieskeit, “a parable about ugliness and unexpected happiness.” (Hellberg’s Schneider and Meyers’ Schultz are beautifully enacted, fine for the packed Viennese audience.)
Then we notice Ernst’s overcoat covering his Nazi uniform. Ernst insidiously walks onto the stage, while Schultz is doing a yiddish dance. Now Lesiak, in Nazi regalia, condemns and insults the ‘disgusting Jew’, and upbraids Schneider’s intentions of marrying him. He sermonises, rants about ‘racial purity’. (Fraulein Schneider, we’ve been watching you.) He is no German. To which Schultz defiantly retorts, ‘I WAS BORN HERE, I fought for the fatherland.’
The party breaks up, and Fraulein Köst (Joanna Arrouas) – Schneider’s tenant reprimanded as a prostitute- sides with Ernst. She sings the Vaterland song, Tomorrow is mine. Hitler youth line the front of stage; a swastika flag unfolds, and the chorus now carry torches of fire. It’s a shocking ending to the first half, but is this Nazi subtext blown out of proportion for a musical?

Act 2, however, opens with a stunningly choreographed cancan sequence- red plumes, hooped ever-so-small mini skirts, the odd transvestite with a beard. But now there are small swastikas decorating the set. (MC Brauer-Kvam, now in a white gown, as Volksoper orchestra play the Cabaret anthem.)
Schulz comments, it was quite an evening; an understatement. Frau Schneider wants to break the engagement. He counters, governments come and go. Then they notice anti-semitic graffiti daubed on the shop front. Now on stage, the monkey in the white evening gown: ‘If you could see her with my eyes.’ The MC pleads for a little understanding, and mutters, she looks yiddish.
The show-stopping number, Maybe this time, (I’ll be lucky), precedes the breakup of her relationship with Cliff. Sung by Mönch in a scarlet-red gown, it’s a stupendous, stomping number, belted-out by Mönch. We then see her sniffing coke, knocking back a flask of gin. (She’s pregnant, Cliff doesn’t want him born in Nazi Germany. She’s high, impossibly high. (Maybe that’s why he’s going.) But where’s the charming Sally Bowles? She cannot face the political realities: ‘Nothing to do with us’, echoed by Schulz, who’s at first in denial. But Schneider calls the marriage off. Her Wie geht es weiter (What happens next), like an aria, is superb, embittered, passionate, Hellberg a ‘veteran’ performer.
For Cliff, Berlin ist vorbei, Es war lustig…It was fun, but it’s over. At the Kit Kat the art-deco black and gold stage has Nazi officers either side of MC Brauer-Kvam. We see Ernst offer Cliff 200 marks, which he refuses. Later he’s beaten up in the pension by Nazi officers. Bowles returns to the Kit Kat to sing the bitter-sweet Cabaret anthem, Mönch’s rendering vigorous, high-voltage in this wonderful number about her friend in Chelsea, stuck in her room. (Come to the cabaret, old chum.) Unfortunately, this one’s in German.
She’s a loser, Bowles sings. She’s terribly sorry. (Implicitly, she’s had an abortion.) Problem is Mönch’s Bowles is so extreme- she seems to go everywhere half-dressed in scanty stage wear- she’s not really plausible.
However, we see Clifford, waiting for a train; he’s writing in his diary, the MC standing behind him. Now it’s Cliff wearing the MC’s huge white gloves- singing the Cabaret anthem in English. Alt’s Cliff is an enigmatic, haunting character. Because he’s a writer, he sings very little, but well. Brauer-Kvam’s Mc, outstanding throughout, brings resolution. Aichner, after many curtain-calls, treated us to a medley of Cabaret’s hits. Ebb and Kanders’ songs are classics, but the musical of the 1960’s is, with its contemporary, political resonances, no less relevant. Interesting in German, but with Bowles and Clifford ‘English’ speakers in Berlin, it’s surprising there are no English surtitles. © PR 27.10.19
Photos: Jörn-Felix Alt (Clifford Bradshaw), Bettina Mönch (Sally Bowles); Bettina Mönch (Sally Bowles), Jörn-Felix Alt (Clifford); Johanna Arrouas (Fräulein Kost), Peter Lesiak (Ernst), Dagmar Hellberg (Fräulein Schneider), Robert Meyer (Schultz); Bettina Mönch (Bowles); Featured image Ruth Brauer-Kvam (MC) and Kit Kat ensemble
© Barbara Pálffy /Volksoper Wien

Mozart’s penultimate opera – completed in 1791 while he was composing Die Zauberflöte – is Opera seria, historical drama, based loosely in Roman times. The plot shows how the new Emperor Tito tries to serve his people, but is thwarted by political rivals, and betrayed by his best friend Sesto. (Tito sacrifices his Jewish lover Berenice for a Roman, and is prepared to marry Sesto’s sister Servilia.) But Vitellia, daughter of the deposed Emperor, joins a plot against Tito. The plot aborts, and in a twist, Tito survives and turns the tables.
So how does a modern production present this ‘historical’ stuff without casting the players in Roman togas, and using kitsch roman statues. Well, at least Vienna’s Theater an der Wien’s new production (director Sam Brown) starts with the advantage of a ‘period instrument’ orchestra, Concentus Musicus Wien (conductor Stefan Gottfried), to justify Mozart’s score with some authenticity.
But the ultra slick metallic aluminium frames? Are we in for a fashion show of cutting-edge evening wear. Where’s the hint of a ‘classical’ narrative? And we haven’t mentioned the brilliant, jewel colours of the lighting (Jean Kalman.) In fact, the often sensational special effects (video Tabea Rothfuchs), may seem superficial, but do not detract from, and sometimes enhance, the narrative.
So the giant blow-up of Tito (Jeremy Ovenden), background to the overture, seems to come alive. His eyes move, then his hands feel, fingers probe his face, as if to reassure himself – now Emperor- that he’s still human.
Vitellia (Nicole Chevalier), is using Sesto (David Hansen)- they’re having sex, her legs raised, his back to us- manipulating him in her bid for power. Chevalier’s soprano is at full throttle, she, like a goddess, wearing a lustrous metallic copper gown. In her aria, Come ti piace imponi, when you want to please me, follow me with blind trust. She wants Tito, dead before sunset. He’s robbed her of her Kingdom. – He, Order me what you will; you’re my destiny!
Hansen’s counter-tenor was beautifully sung. Yet dramatically – against Vitellia’s full-blooded passionate woman- his counter-tenor didn’t make sense, seemed strange. Nevertheless this is traditionally, a cross-dressed role, (Elina Garanca sang it, Vienna State Opera 2012, as a mezzo.)

Annio (Kangmin Justin Kim, another counter-tenor, higher than Hansen’s), has come to announce Berenice’s dismissal, and ask his friend Sesto permission to marry his sister Servilia. Justin is surprisingly feminine in a shiny, lustrous black suit, his counter-tenor is so high-pitched that I at first wondered…Anyway, it isn’t about gender, but rather about maintaining the dramatic balance of the piece.
Rome’s nobility gather on the capitol for Tito’s coronation. In what appear to be pavilions, on the rotating stage the people are seen through glass partitioning. Ovenden’s Tito sings impressively, announcing his agenda as benevolent ruler, (promising to help the victims of the latest Vesuvius eruption.) ‘The sole desire of the Sovereign is to do good: the rest is torment and solitude’, he sings. And announces, out of friendship to Sesto, he will marry Sesto’s sister Servilia as Empress. Thus Tito’s rule being about virtue and friendship, Servilia will bring them closer. Symbolically, Tito kisses Sesto; (or is there more to it.) Ovenden a ‘leading Mozart tenor of his generation’, yet here his tenor lacked suppleness.
Annio tells his bride Servilia (Mari Eriksmoen) she’s been chosen to be Tito’s wife. But she refuses, and goes to Tito confessing her love for Annio. ‘Love is the only thing that matters in this life,’sings Eriksmoen’s soprano with passionate conviction. Tito, deeply moved, will help the two lovers. His renunciation of his marriage to Servilia, is an example of his generous spirit. Yet his very humanity, tragically misunderstood for weakness, he’s plotted against.
Vitellia, hearing about Servilia, and furious with Tito, taunts Sesto. She was just beginning to love him…Look at me! Enough, he’ll do it, he will avenge her. Don’t forget me, think of my yearning! Sesto’s aria, Parto, parto, sung by Hansen to sublime clarinet accompaniment, is a cascade of coloratura, a tour-de-force. Yet Sesto, hardly set out, now hears about Tito’s new plan to make Vitellia his wife, and offer her the crown. Chevalier is sensational singing of her accursed rage, ‘this great joy: yet gods I am frozen with fright!’
The plot is to set fire to he Capitol, then kill Tito. The fire is graphically suggested by frantic crowds seen running through the smoke-filled glass pavilions. Annio doesn’t have the heart to carry out Vitellia’s deed. Preserve the glory of Rome, or let me perish with it, he sings.

In Act 2, Annio sees Sesto, who’s now desperate because the Emperor is unharmed: someone else was stabbed. But two counter-tenors together in one scene makes dramatic nonsense. They get up very close, Hansen’s Sesto with Justin Kim’s Annio (his brother-in-law.) Sesto confesses his complicity. But against Vitellia’s command to flee, Annio implores: Don’t go! Go back to Tito and trust in his clemency.(You have been betrayed, Tito’s heart is compassionate.) Publio, bass-baritone Jonathan Lemalu, who adds ballast and authority to the cast, orders Sesto arrested, and insists he be executed. He sings of Tito, one who’s never known disloyalty will be slow to recognise betrayal.
In Tito’s aria, the Fate of the ruler is not enviable, Ovenden is at first enraged, the villain must die. But what if… He’s torn between rage and friendship, (in his aria Che orror! Che tradimento!) The Senate has condemned Sesto to death, but Tito will first see the friend who’s betrayed him. (He’s guilty, but how will future generations judge us?) Sesto, however, who won’t admit Vitellia’s guilt and complicity in the plot, is prepared to die. Yet the way it’s enacted by Ovenden’s and Hansen’s Sesto, they’re intimate and physical. This should be about virtue, treachery and betrayal, not a gay lover’s tiff. Sam Brown’s production hints at a ‘queer’ subtext. But this erotic aspect, speculating on Tito’s sexuality, detracts from Tito’s readiness to sacrifice all for his country.
Vitellia finally saves Sesto; time for her to prove her character. Ecco il punto …non più di fiori, Chevalier poignantly sung to basset horn. Vitellia throws herself at Tito’s feet, admitting it was she – neglected by him- who sought revenge. Chevalier’s aria pulls out all the stops.
The metal frame sets are now gold. Tito centre-stage, people in pavilions either side, (Arnold Schoenberg Choir), sing Tito’s praises . No wonder the gods protect him. However, Tito’s aria is poignant and powerful. ‘When will he find a faithful soul… History shows loyalty means nothing if it’s through fear and not love. And we see Ovenden, side of stage, an isolated figure, re-affirming, (Tu è ver, massolvi augusto), ‘Rome’s happiness is his supreme aspiration.’
The star cast was not ideal, but the set and costumes though effective, problematically high-tech for a historically classical piece. Paradoxically, Concentus Musicus Wien revealed Mozart’s miraculously inventive score on original instruments, like restoring an old masterpiece. © 24.10. 2019
Photos: Nicole Chevalier as Vitellia; David Hansen as Sesto; Nicole Chevalier, Mari Eriksmoen (Servilia), Jeremy Ovenden (Tito), Jonathan Lemalu (Publio); David Hansen (Sesto), Kangmin Justin Kim (Annio); Featured image:Jeremy Ovenden, Arnold Schoenberg Choir
© Werner Kmetitsch

Hoffmann is ‘a poet and man who never drinks water.’ Dmitry Korchak is sitting at his desk, centre-stage, surrounded by papers, but with a quill. His ‘Muse’ Gaëlle Arquez, ravishing in white, like a goddess, swears to protect him from from the dangers of love. So Arquez cross-dresses, as the student Nicklausse, who shadows him in every scene (putting up with her irritable, often abusive master.) Arquez’s pretty-sounding lyric mezzo is a joy.
Councillor Lindorf (Luca Pisaroni) appears as the villain, Hoffmann’s antagonist, who thwarts him from the beginning, intercepting a letter from Stella, Hoffmann’s obsession. Lindorf, with money and power, is Hoffmann’s diabolical opposite, his super-ego. Reading the letter, he mocks Hoffmann, the poet’s power to conquer women’s souls, turn others green with envy. Not he. Conspiratorial in a dark military coat, Pisaroni’s richly coloured baritone also sings the other demonic roles (Dr.Miracle, Dapertutto), out to get Hoffmann, as if paranoid creations of his imagination.
We’ are at a tavern – a wine cellar, with Hoffmann’s student friends knocking back tankards of beer. They sing, they’ll empty Luther’s cellar! Hoffmann, arriving with Nicklausse, has to sing the drinking song about the dwarf Kleinzack (politically incorrect, but humorous.) Korchak, standing on the tables, has a terrific, lyrical tenor with enormous power in reserve. Also convincing in portraying the tormented poet, here in the Keinzack song, his mind wanders into describing a mysterious beauty. The students demand Hoffmann reveal the name of the mistress: he answers, there are three, Olympia, Antonia, and Giuletta. (But they’re really different versions of his ideal.)
Vienna State Opera’s stage curtain, with its smudged manuscript, crossed-out revisions, and doodles, is raised to reveal a Frankenstein’s studio. In Richard Hudson’s fantastical set, there are all sorts of weird musical contraptions, including various organ grinders. She’ll recoup the money he lost in a dodgy investment. But ‘Oympia’ is an automaton: a robot. (How modern, she’s got Artificial Intelligence!) ‘If only we could make love together, share our hopes,’ he sings. Hoffmann is in love with her. Wait till you know her better, boasts the not-so-mad scientist.
Olympia (Olga Peretyatko) is like a made-up doll. Peretyatko, with a high coloratura soprano, miraculously produces a ‘mechanical doll-like sound’. Even more astonishing, Peretyatko also sings the other roles: the ‘operatic’ part of Antonia, as well as the seductively erotic Giulietta (Act 3). In Olympia’s Song, she sings of the birds in the meadow (Les oiseaux) speaking to a girl in love. Red bulbs light up. Peryatko’s Olympia is a puppet figure in white chiffon, rouged cheeks, waving a white fan in the glass vitrine, above which sits the top-hatted Spalanzani. (Rows of medical students linE the gallery above.)
Alone with Olympia, Hoffmann professes his love, in his aria. Incredibly Olympia comes alive, appearing almost human, with feminine gestures. But after they sing ‘their hearts blazing in unison’, she disappears! Spalanzani tries to control his ‘daughter’, but she kicks him; then frees herself from her restrainers. And collapses, as if her batteries have run down. Olympia is taken away and dismantled. Another ‘automaton’ is brought on, and Hoffmann, disconsolate, realises he’s been duped. We see poor Korchak gloomily holding an arm.

In Act 2, Antonia is seated at a piano singing ‘The faithful turtle dove has flown…’ But no ordinary grand piano, surreal, stretches the length of the stage; there are portholes, side panels, with ladies peering out; and a wind-up gramophone.
Sublimely sung – Offenbach’s gorgeous melody – here Peretyatko’s soprano is fragile. Antonia the atypical ‘Victorian’ Romantic heroine, enfeebled, suffering from some incurable disease. A 19th Century gender stereotype, the woman afflicted by emotional longeur, or hysteria. The possessive father Crespel (bass Dan Paul Dumitresco) will let no-one in, resenting the visiting ‘fiancé’ Hoffmann.
But Hoffmann’s come while the old man is out. ‘A long song floats…’ in Antonia’s aria. She will be his wife. (Not that simple!) Let us be faithful in love…’ more Romantic sentimentality. ‘You’ll not forbid me to sing, like my father!, she declaims, Peretyatko’s soprano now climbing staggering runs of coloratura. (Now that sweet song they used to sing.) It’s all done so convincingly, but isn’t Offenbach being tongue-in-cheek? Anyway these two are so damned good, they sing it straight and carry it off. Then she collapses.
There arrives Dr. Miracle. Guess who, Luca Pisaroni, ‘disguised’ in black, his hair long and greying, like a wizard. His assistants, white-haired, wearing top-hats, carry a huge syringe, aiming it like a harpoon. Problematically (for us) there’s a child medium. The so-called doctor urges Antonia – What a sacrifice- to renounce conventional married life for her singing career. (The spirit of her mother is conjured up- died of a fatal illness, now inherited by Antonia.) Zoryana Kushpler, wearing a diamonté gown -donning a tiara- is carrying a bunch of red flowers. The diva’s come-back is ‘surreal’; and Antonia faints, left a crumpled figure. But, like Violetta, ‘Our Lady of the Flowers’, Antonia’s on her feet. ‘It is a love song ‘ she starts to sing. And collapses inevitably.

Huge, imposing baroque chandeliers. The extended stage with its ‘gondolas’ resembles a Venetian pageant – high walls on each side, spectators looking down on the regatta.
A diva, in scarlet-red bodice, approaches, sailing in on a float. But it’s the Muse Arquez with her arms around her waist. There are liveried servants in red velvet, courtesans in white taffeta lounging at the ‘quays’; all to the strains of the barcarole. Just divine!
‘There is nothing to keep me here. Must one cower at the feet of beauty?’ Bitterly, Korchak’s Hoffmann laments, ‘The happiness of love lasts but a day.’ Korchak drags Giuelletta and pulls her into his arms.
Now the Diable-like Dapertutto, escorted in a wheelchair, his face ghostly white. His keepers/minders, in black, wear gold-rimmed dark glasses- like those for a Papal dignitary. In his aria, Pisaroni, ‘Beautiful diamond, cast your spell on them!’
Peretyatko, in tight, sleeveless, scarlet top, white lace skirt- sexy! She’s contriving her own scheme. Oh, poor man, are you leaving. You’ll offend me if you leave like this! Korchak responds, how his sweet soul is filled with rapture. He feels her perfumed breath. But the devilish Dapertutto in his wheelchair, waving, fingering his huge diamond, reminds us she’s a bought woman.
She wants his image. She wants Hoffmann’s reflection! (His reflection symbolises his identity as an artist.) What madness, he replies.
The plot goes haywire; but it is, anyway, a lurid fantasy, product of the poet’s subconscious imagination. The Muse pleads ‘Let us flee before you lose your soul; Korchak is on his knees, his head in turmoil. Peretyako’s Giulietta, is playing with that diamond. Hoffmann is involved in a sword fight, apparently kills the man-in-the-white-suit. Dapertutto teasingly plays with the diamond.
For the Epilogue, a horn solo accompanies Korchak – now in a brown suit- back on stage. That was the last of his love affairs he’ll remember. The three loves- Peretyatko, Margarita Gritskova, and Diane Nurmukhametova- lay tributes to a shrine, (front-stage). Light up the punch! The alcohol, foaming white smoke in the two cauldrons side-stage, is like a devil’s brew. Stella (Peretyatko) arrives in black velvet/fur coat. He’s already had the honour but can’t remember where. But she’s led off by Pisaroni, reverting to Count Lindorf, Hoffmann’s demon.
The Muse sings of Poor Hoffmann, drunk as a lord. Forget your dreams of happiness, but don’t forget me. The ashes of love will rekindle your genius. The Muse will ease your sorrows. The three ladies lay a wreath.
Hoffmann is back at his desk, oblivious to the entire cast that fills the stage, like a Fellini film-set, the artist haunted by his spirits. This is a marvellous stage set. Andrei Serban’s production gloriously celebrates Offenbach’s 200th, Les Contes d’Hoffmann, his masterpiece, justified by Frédéric Chaslin’s conducting Vienna State Opera Orchestra and Chorus. © P.R. 11.09.2019
Photos: Dmitry Korchak (Hoffmann); Olga Peretyatko (Olympia); Olga Peretyako (Antonia); Luca Pisaroni (Dapertutto). Featured Image Gaëlle Arquez (Muse), Dmitry Korchak (Hoffmann)
© Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn

Tonight’s performance nearly didn’t happen. Olga Bezsmertna (Desdemona) had to cancel – ‘no voice’- and Elena Guseva (who’d sung Aida last night), on the way to her plane, had to turn back (MD Dominique Meyer explained.) Misgivings allayed, her performance was a miracle: even if she’d sung it before, there’s the chemistry with Otello (Aleksandrs Antonenko.)
In their duet ending Act 1, the dark night quenches every sound, Guseva, radiates joy, unaffected, her lyric soprano exuding warmth and sincerity. In her simple faith, she’s a ‘harbour of comfort’ to Otello. Antonenko’s expressive, radiant tenor, sings of his raging heart soothed in her arms: how many hardships preceded their great love. She, you told me of your life, your great pains, his adventures at sea, the suffering slaves: he loved her for her compassion. In her white silk dress, she’s angel-like. His bliss is so great, he fears it may not last. They retreat, their symmetry is wondrous. This great love – unworldly, too perfect- is what Jago – out of malice, jealousy- plots to undermine.
The omens are bad, Otello’s returning in a violent storm ‘whipping up the ocean’. Chorus, late 19th century dress, Verdi’s time – sing of a ‘universe in chaos’: portents of the unnatural in Shakespeare, affecting human behaviour. Sensational, Vienna State Opera (and extra) choruses.
In the welcoming party in a tavern, Jago (Vladisav Sulimsky) boasts,’foolish the man who dies for a woman’; and ominously, if I were the Moor, I would be on my guard against Jago. Jago, Sulimsky in long-sleeved vest, man of the people, tankard in hand, plies Cassio with beer. Jago’s scheme to instigate a fight between Roderigo and Cassio, so getting drunken Cassio demoted by a furious Otello. (It’s a revenge thing, Cassio was promoted over Jago.) Cassio (superb tenor Jinxu Xiahou) is the innocent fall-guy in Jago’s conspiracy. Cassio sings of his wife as the flower of the island: above praise. Yet later he’s made to appear to Otello as if he’s having an affair with Desdemona.
Sulimsky’s Jago is masterful, although it’s argued, Verdi and librettist Boito’s Jago is darker, more evil, more ‘opera-friendly’ (than Shakespeare’s). Sulimsky’s supple baritone- powerful, virile – excels in the Credo, to portray this negative, if evil, flamboyant personality. Credo in dio crude, he sings, he’s driven by his demons, believes in a cruel God, who created him in his image. He was born wretched. A villain because he’s a man. But he’ll turn evil to his advantage. Death’s a void, heaven a myth.
Verdi developed on Shakespeare’s psychological study in jealousy, Otello increasingly susceptible to Jago’s insinuations. So when Cassio goes to see Desdemona (hoping she’ll intercede on his behalf), Jago inflames Otello’s jealousy, with Otello observing the two only from a distance. Was that Cassio with my wife? Did Cassio know Desdemona before you were married?- He often carried letters.- Do you think he’s honest? – Beware my lord of jealousy! Jago’s warning is sung with disturbing ambivalence. My breast is a gaping wound, sings Otello: ‘love and jealousy shall fade together.”An honest soul often fails to see deception’, is Jago’s advice to Otello, ironic also in applying to Desdemona.
Adrian Noble’s production- compared to Mielitz’s previous, brutalist concept- is subliminal, richly sensuous in its colour palette (stage Dick Bird). We see Desdemona on a park bench, children – in cute sailors outfits – at her feet. The charming scene – brilliantly lit, bright daylight – contrasts to the rather sombre, oppressive mood. It isn’t kitsch, it rather shows Desdemona child-like innocence: (See no evil). So she is constantly speaking for Cassio, blithely unaware she’s provoking her husband, confirming his suspicions. ‘He deserves your mercy. Intercede for him.’ She sees Otello’s temples are throbbing: this handkerchief will cool you. She didn’t realise she’s caused him pain.
On the other bench, Jago asks Emilia (Margareta Gritskova) for the handkerchief she’s borrowed from her mistress Desdemona. He grabs it.’ I am your wife not your slave.’ – ‘You are Jago’s slave’, he pushes her.
In one of Verdi’s masterly ensemble, characters’ voices intermingle: Desdemona fears her golden dreams reduced to dust; Antonenko bemoans the end of his glory. Otello demands proof of Cassio’s adultery. So Jago relates of ‘Cassio’s dream of heavenly bliss’, he’d ‘overheard’. Sulimsky sings with tenderness, as if Jago’s own sexual fantasy. The stage is strewn with white spring blossoms.
Opening Act 3, the stage – consists of two long tables-like a political inquisition. Jago invites Cassio over to answer questions. So, Otello, hidden, is made to hear incriminating snippets. Cassio is singing about his wife, but unwittingly holding Desdemona’s handkerchief.
In one of the most harrowing scenes- powerfully enacted and naturalistic- Otello interrogates his wife. Give me your hand, he orders her; ‘thus the demon of temptation works’.- She, and with this same hand she gave her heart to him! But incredibly, she mentions Cassio- ‘Let us speak once more of Cassio- while Otello’s on about the handkerchief. Woe betide you if you’ve lost it! She thinks he’s playing a game (to distract from Cassio.) Forgive him! He almost strangles her; pushes her over to the wall, violently turns her around. She’s terrified. Look at me! she sings, her tears sprinkle the ground at his feet. God can see I am faithful. (He weeps too.)- ‘What is her crime?’- She’s a common whore. She, distraught, covers her face. ‘Give me your pretty hand!’ Then he forces her arm behind her back. Antonenko sings, powerful range heartfelt, in Otello’s haunting aria, robbed of the illusion that nourished his soul.
Otello descends into madness, with the visit of Ludovico (Jongmin Park) the Venetian ambassador.( Otello’s recalled to Venice, and Cassio promoted.) Desdemona’s untimely ‘You know how much I care for Cassio’, pushes Otello over the edge. He hurls her, ‘To the ground and weep!’ She has to show remorse for his humiliation. The shudder of her dying spirit chills her, she sings. She is innocent, the Chorus sing, yet she shows no hatred. Otello ‘possessed of some demon’, writhes on the floor, sings ‘my passion takes effect’.
The role of Desdemona is ideally a young woman with a ‘mature soprano: able to switch from powerful high notes to gentle pain-filled phrases’ (Erich Seitter). In Desdemona’s last scenes, Guseva gives a lifetime performance. All the more remarkable at such short notice.
An oboe solo sets the tone, melancholy, soulful. The marital bed, with elaborate, red oriental motifs, dominates the stage. The candles lit on either side, remind us of Desdemona’s religious faith. If she should die… She sings to Emilia about her mother’s maid called Barbara, who sang the Song of the Willow (Le Canzon del salice.) She wept such bitter tears. Always ended, he was born for glory, I was born for love. And to love him and to die. Cruelly ironic, Desdemona’s own fate. Poignantly sung by Guseva with simple elegance. The stylised Willow Song leads into Ave Maria. Guseva’s rendition, heart-felt, eschewed any sentimentality. Pray for the sinner, the innocent, those abused. Not a sound to be heard in that vast auditorium. (I wasn’t the only one fighting back the tears.)
No time for applause. Deep tubas, thunderous brass, then trumpets, announce Otello’s entrance. Have you said your prayers tonight? My song is love, she protests. And for that you die! Otello lies alongside his sleeping wife; awakens her, and still accuses her of being Cassio’s whore. She, desperately- Pray for me- pleading her innocence. (They struggle under a bulging tent of white silk.) Antonenko, in his long white robe- after hearing from Emilia about the deception- calmly stabs himself, and passionately kissing Desdemona’s corpse, bids her farewell.
The dramatic and vocal synthesis of the principals, Antoneko and Guseva, was nothing less than miraculous. Thanks in no small measure to Myung-Whun Chung’s exceptionally sympathetic conducting of Vienna State Opera Orchestra and Choruses.© PR 30.6.2019
Photos: Aleksandrs Antonenko (Otello), Olga Bezsmertna (Desdemona); Vladislav Sulimsky (Jago); Aleksandrs Antonenko, Olga Bezsmertna, Margarita Gritskova (Emilia), Wiener Staatsoper Opera School; Olga Bezsmertna (Desdemona). Regrettably, no photos of Elena Guseva as Desdemona were available, as she replaced Bezsmertna, as explained, at very short notice.
© Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn

The stage curtain, with its skull like a Hell’s Angels icon, is raised. We’re straight into a seedy Paris night club, scantily -clad dancers on stage, men in dinner suits, holding champagne glasses, leering. Pluto (David Sitka), in a full-length scarlet-red coat, black satin braid, over black PVC leather pants and boots, is master of ceremonies. What a dance sequence! Vienna State Ballet dancers ,(choreography Roswitha Stadlmann), stunningly erotic. Sitka’s Pluto isn’t really ‘evil’: rather maliciously mischievous: attractive with an irresistible magnetism. Everyone gets to come here, he sings; marriages are made in heaven, but we break them. The fabled Euridice will require the Devil’s help . ‘How do I look?’ He preens himself in his cream leather jacket. Strains of the Can Can in the background. Volksoper Orchestra conducted by Guido Mancusi justifying Offenbach’s richly melodic, and endlessly inventive score. It’s hell and they’re dancing the can can. (Get me there!)
Switch to the lobby of an appartment house. Pretty, petite Julia Koci (as Euridice) sings of ‘we women who have a man and a house, sit around waiting all-day-long.’ And what do they do? Spend time with their neighbour. (Her neighbour is ‘Aristeus’, Pluto no less.) Koci is just gorgeous, in a cute, tight, deck-striped sleeveless dress. Here I sit in Paradise?
Offenbach and librettists Crémieux and Halévy) have turned the classical tale on its head. Orpheus (Thomas Sigwald) her husband, a music teacher, is having it off with one of his students, whom he hurriedly kisses. Sigwald , wearing a boring grey suit, is a creep: cheating on Eurydice. What mother would let him teach their daughter after a divorce? She (Koci) goads him; she’s married to a third rate music teacher. So, to get even, he threatens to torture her with his music! This Orpheus is anything but the idealised legend. He’s so forceful, the bully, he jostles her. (Actually the ‘innocent’ Eurydice is having her kicks with her ‘neighbour’.)
He’ll torture her with his music! His strident violinist (Una Stanic), is rather good- a pretty brunette , wearing a tight, gold mini skirt. Eurydice’s rat of a husband stands over her threatening with his belt. The poor woman is forced to her knees. But Koci is a sensational soprano, and she protests with runs of coloratura. Orpheus wants to kill her! And in waiting, Sitka’s Pluto appears and struts his stuff. She, uninhibited, does a twirl . They smooch. I am Aristeus, your shepherd, he sings, where is my little lamb? Sitka is an impressive tenor, and very persuasive. Already, he’s sitting on her: he’ll teach her new tricks! (‘Once desire takes hold, there’s no going back.’) Then Pluto/Aristeus offers her a joint (or is it hash pipe?) Only the dead know what living is for! She’s floating. Remember, her father was a god, she remonstrates. We’re all gods, he counters. What’s in that potion he’s given her. This Pluto, like a 1960’s death cult hippy, is getting her high.
Then a puff of smoke, and we’re back to suburbia. Orpheus wants to set their break-up to music- Offenbach’s dig at the banality of the music business. (Offenbach’s satire is full of ‘contemporary’ references, so director Helmut Bauman’s slips in ‘Wikipedia’.) There’s a character called ‘Public Opinion’, sung by Regula Rosin, in a masculine-shouldered striped suit. Offenbach’s embodiment of conventional morality, those sententious bourgeois spewing cant and hypocrisy. ‘Follow me, I will give you immortality’, she promises.

OLYMP, says the sign in the lift. Mount Olympia looks like a health farm, inmates ‘ wearing white towelling-gowns, everything high-tech, clean and sanitised.’What a pleasure to lie down and sleep’, (that’s their only pleasure.) As Venus (Annely Peebo) sings, ‘it’s her job to see that two people share a bed.’ But here even love falls asleep. Cupid – Jakob Semotam, dressed like an overweight cherub- creates ‘love’s longing’. The bad news is, no one knows us down there anymore! It’s brilliantly witty. Diana (Birgid Steinberger), she once a godess of many sagas, is now only a myth. Cupid protests, the’ve been there for 2000 years, and wants a generation change.
Jupiter (Martin Winkler), terrific bass, here outstanding comic actor, a self-parody, stifles all opposition, and sends everyone to their rooms. Jupiter, of course, is forever having sexual affairs- taking on disguises. His wife, the jealous Juno, is played (in drag) by Christian Graff, dry,camp, a gem of a role. He commissions Mercury (Boris Eder) to use his mafia contacts in the underworld to find Euridice.
Pluto arrives with a six-pack of champagne (Moet-Chandon): What a pleasure to breathe the sweet air of Olympus: his place smells of nothing but Lust. He’s accompanied by fierce ,black-feathered birds of prey, with ghostly white faces. Winkler’s Jupiter looks like some pensioned-off Roman general. ‘I am a legend’, he boasts. He fobbs off a scandal as just a newspaper slander; this is a ‘family concern’, ‘no carpets to sweep under’. Democracy! Cupid leads a rebellion , and Jupiter’s exposed as a sexual predator. (Juno insists he re-open the ‘Eurydice Abduction’ case.)
Orpheus arrives, Sigwald in his raincoat -freezing- and complains of having lost her, Euridice, -All is lost- his fake sentiment to the strains of Gluck’s Orfeo et Euridice. So Jupiter travels to the underworld -accompanied by his entire court!

The joke is that the Olypian gods -let loose in the Underworld- freed from the constraints of high-minded morality- have a hell of a time. And, ironically, Euridice, lured there for kicks, neglected by Pluto, is bored stiff. Euridice is in her boudoir, Koci in a black-lace bodice, using her hair-dryer, even under her arms. If this is what hell is like, she’d rather stay with her husband. My life is boring: where is Satan? Koci’s soprano is the high-point of the evening. She’s fumbling in her make-up bag, her legs covered in red-boa feathers; or some acrylic fur. Now she has to listen to Styx’s sad life story, his drink problem.
Jupiter and Cupid have arrived in Pluto’s Underworld. ‘Have you seen the prices at the bar? Jupiter peels-off some notes. Winkler’s face gloats with glee, eyeing the talent. A couple are copulating front of stage. (You can’t expect Public Opinion to respect privacy?) So ‘Public Opinion’ (Rosin) exits, literally carrying off Pluto , while Sigwald’s Orpheus is lured into a circle of dancing bodies, emerging with his pants down.
Juno visits Euridice in her ‘boudoir’- with hints of a lesbian interest. Followed by Jupiter, in an outrageous scene, transformed as a fly, more like a wasp. Jupiter, true to form, disguised for seduction. Her prods her with his tentacles- unbelievably Winkler is seen arousing himself- and ultimately couples with her.
In the classical story, Jupiter orders Euridice out of the Underworld; but will lose her if she turns around. So Jupiter now arranges a thunderbolt. Baccus -Evole! Orpheus, he’s mortal, but feels divine. Euridice proclaims to Baccus, if I’m to die, I’ll gladly have a bottle of wine in exchange.

FOLLOW THE ORCHESTRA: NO ONE CAN MISS THE CAN-CAN! The most spectacular can-can sequence this side of Paris is observed by Pluto and a gallery of revellers. Jupiter got her! 4000 years of his supremacy is over! And you claimed not to have kidnapped her! reproaches Juno. (She decides Euridice will become a follower of Baccus.)
The girl dancers, platinum blondes, wearing champagne-coloured bodices, their male partners, bare torsoes, leather harnesses.
Musically, under Guido Mancusi, Volkoper Orchestra and Chorus had verve and swing. Baumann directed a star cast, the furious comic timing , like clockwork, never faltered. This exemplary production, revived after seven years for Offenbach’s 200th, attests to Offenbach’s genius, the first ‘Grand Master’ of operetta. © PR 16.09.2019
Photos: Thomas Sigwald and Vienna State Ballet; Julia Koci (Eurydice); Christian Graff (Juno), Annely Peebo (Venus), Birgid Steinberger(Diana); Julia Koci (Eurydice); David Sitka (Pluto) and Ballet; Featured Image Vincent Schirrmacher (Pluto) and ensemble
© Barbara Pálffy and Dimo Dimov/ Volksoper Wien

Another Aida at Vienna State Opera. Still those magnificent sets (Nicolas Joel), monumental, hardly to be bettered. Verdi’s Aida is famous for its set pieces, the great processions in Acts 1 and 2. The background is Egypt, threatened by Ethiopian forces, preparing for war. Opening, high priest Ramfis is talking to Radames (Gregory Kunde), the captain predestined to lead the army; and the King about to appoint his commander. But the public spectacle – however awesome- is not all what the opera is about. Behind the scenes, the drama is played out by the main characters, keeping up appearances, driven between private passions and public duty. So Radames seeks military glory, but is obsessed with Aida, the enslaved daughter of the Ethiopian King. While Radames, in turn, is loved by Amneris, the Egyptian Princess who suspects Aida as her rival. And Aida is torn between her secret love for Radames, and loyalty to her fatherland and King.
Magnificent though the ceremonial may be, the great opening procession, (Su del Nilo al sacro Lido) in Act 1, seems a little top-heavy- those elaborate, authentic-looking costumes. Especially for the cast in the record temperatures of a heatwave in Vienna. So even with State Opera’s air con, the familiar pomp seems a little tedious. (Ouch!) Until the Radames Celeste Aida aria, in which he hopes, as victor, to be able to marry Aida, (yet an Ethiopian slave.) Gregory Kunde’s thrilling tenor- convincingly Italianate in intonation- was a highlight of the evening. Kunde’s Radames has nobility and dignity, yet his secret love is doomed.
Ethiopia’s invasion is announced, Radames to lead the Egyptian forces, Amneris, the Pharaoh’s daughter, desperately in love with Radames, proclaims in her aria Ritorna vincitor! But Ekaterina Gubanova’s mezzo is not robust enough; there’s not enough power in a role historically for big, dramatic, mezzo-sopranos. She sings expressing her feelings to Radames and is rebuffed. But when Aida enters, Amneris observes Aida’s confusion when she sees Radames.
As the despondent Aida, Elena Guseva’s Scene 1 aria doesn’t quite hit the heights. Return victorious! She too has said it. But his victory, his triumph, would be over her brothers. Yet she’s tormented, cannot forget she loves him. What anguish! When she can’t return to her father, (Ethiopia’s King, no less), and family. Aida’s distress is observed by the jealous Amneris exuding false charm. In the trio, Guseva sings movingly, confessing she weeps not just for her country, but for an undying love.

In the seductive ballet sequence, opening Act 2, Amneris is being dressed for the victory celebrations. Overlooked by towering, pyramid-like sandstone structures, statuesque figures, apparently naked, their skin mummified in gold paint, come alive in Vienna State Ballet’s graceful choreography. Gubanova, a slight figure, does have stage presence. In her aria awaiting Radames, she’s troubled by doubts about Aida. Is she really her rival? But though competently sung, her mezzo, in this role, isn’t interesting enough. ” A lot of different vocal colouring must make the complex character of the princess credible”, (according to Vienna’s programme notes.) So in her (Scene 2) duet with Aida – which should be a powerhouse of drama- she lacks heft. Their famous duet, in which Aida is coaxed into revealing her love for Radames, though well sung, doesn’t have the electric charge, between these passionate rivals. This was a low burn.
But. after the freeing of the slaves (at Radames request), Guseva, in Aida’s long aria, was impressive- lamenting ( O Patria mia ), she’ll never see her homeland again. Guseva was warmly received. Outstanding was Aida’s reunion with her father, the King (Simone Piazzola) disguised amongst the other slaves, begging for their freedom; also the climax with Radames, in his aria, torn between love and duty.

But, as always in Aida, it’s as much the magnificent choruses, ( Vienna State Opera’s and extra choirs), that are important. The triumphant welcome home for victorious Radames, Gloria all’egitto, is like a 1930’s Cecil B. DeMille Hollywood set, within Vienna’s huge stage. Costumes in Joel’s production (first seen 1984) are to be-wonder, in their ornate, luxurious finery, richly exotic colours. And those Priests in their cream top hats! (Radames is crowned and offered anything he wishes.) If the spectacle seemed too much of a good thing, the juxtaposition of the private narratives of the main characters played out against the crowd scenes is what Verdi intended.

So in Acts 3 and 4, the external spendours of grand opera recede, and the focus is on “the tormented humanity of the protagonists.” In Act 3, Amonasro has followed Aida come to meet Radames. Invoking the suffering of his people, conjuring up idyllic memories of their homeland, he tries to persuade Aida to get Radames to reveal the Egyptians’ plans. The Aida-Amonasro duet is quite outstanding. Piazzola somehow looks too young, and too good-looking to be her father, no matter. His ‘big, sensuous, agile baritone’ only appears in a few scenes, notably convincing the Pharoah he’s witnessed ‘King Amonasro’s death’. Now his beguiling rhetoric backfires, when Aida realises he’s intent on getting her to betray Radames. Her father angrily pushes her down. Guseva’s Aida cowers front of stage, as the Ethiopian King reminds her, she’s betraying her country, and for what? High drama, played out on a darkened, nocturnal stage, with only an upturned sphinx as prop.

Then, the Aida-Radames duet. In an equally powerful scene, Aida has to persuade Radames to flee with her. Radames – Kunde the other outstanding singer of the evening- remonstrates. She’s asking him to abandon his country, he, the celebrated victor over the Ethiopians, (her people, of course.) Somehow, using her charm, she does convince him to escape; she’s in love with him, after all. Maybe she actually thinks the only way out is exile? So he reveals ‘a path safe from the Egyptian army’. But overheard by Amonasro, in hiding, who emerges triumphant to reveal he’s the King (presumed dead). Of course, Radames will be rewarded…
But Radames takes exception, will not betray his country. This is the nub of the opera- a theme common to many Verdi operas, from Nabucco to Don Carlo : ” Does love for another transcend love for one’s fatherland?” Private happiness has to be subordinated to the common good. So Radames gives himself up to the guards, realising he’s been duped, and the enormity of his disclosure. (Amonasro and Aida flee, Radames, charged with high treason, condemned to death.)
Yet Amneris still loves him, desperately proclaiming his innocence, she accuses the High Priest and court of making a mistake. Gubanova is over-emotional, and her mezzo, though very competent, isn’t nuanced enough to hold the scene. Amneris is an example of how far those in power are prepared to abase themselves for love. (She a princess, he a General – having an affair with a slave!)
In the nemesis, Radames is joined by Aida in a death vigil – interned alive in an underground vault. The cell, in Carlo Thomasi’s set, resembles a concrete bunker. Outside sits the forlorn figure of Amneris. Aida sings to Radames of her vision of paradise. Morir! Si pura e bella. They are seen in one another’s arms, the unforgettably haunting O terra addio, tenderly sung by Guseva and Kunde, never fails to move.
Marco Armiliato ‘s conducting showed off Vienna State Opera orchestra in Verdi’s almost ‘symphonic’ score, with oriental-sounding instrumentation and melodies. And Vienna’s robust Choruses, thrillingly idiomatic. © P.R. 26.6.2019
Photos: Elena Guseva (Aida), Simone Piazzola (Amonasro); Gregory Kunde (Ramades); Ekaterina Gubanova (Amneris); Simone Piazzola (Amonasro); Featured image Elena Guseva (Aida)
© Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn

My Sister and I (Meine Schwester und ich) is the third Ralph Benatzky ‘operetta’ revived by Vienna Volksoper: the others, Im weissen Rössl (White Horse Inn) and Axel at Heaven’s Door. Benatzky’s were not strictly ‘operettas’- rather vehicles for his knack for composing hits. (Two numbers in Schwester were covered in the 30’s by nearly every operetta star.) Benatzky evoked a glittering, stylish world of the 30’s, the characters engaged in witty romcom. In fact, My Sister and I was a model for a new kind of “musical theatre”. Without pomp- no resemblance to grand operetta- it’s naturalistic, engaged with the psychology of the characters. And the musical numbers ‘arise naturally out of the rhythm of the conversation’. It was modern in incorporating the latest dances of the time: foxtrot, tango and shimmy. This Volksoper revival, directed by Robert Meyer, has it all.

It begins in a court house, the unexpected divorce of the ‘dream couple’ Princess Dolly (Lisa Habermann) and Dr. Roger Fleuriot (Lukas Perman), who she’d engaged to organise her library. She falls for him, she unaware the job, for him, is only a stop-gap. Somehow, he’s not impressed by royalty, nor her wealth! So she invents her twin sister -a shoe saleswoman- to win him back. The love story, upturning class, is universal, and a staple of comedy. (Reminiscent of Oscar Wilde’s Ernest?) Love has no face, social rank, or costume, the Princess later admits.
The story begins in flashback to the Princess’s castle library (two years’ earlier). And what a stylish set! art-deco black, gold panels, high french windows, purple velvet-covered chairs, the library shelves with a recessed gold statue. And those ‘thoroughly modern’ clothes. (In the number ‘All for you’, Dolly’s companion Henrietta’s (Julia Koci) chic burgundy dress matches the braiding on Perman’s mustard-coloured suit.)
He’s got 5,000 francs! Some for booze, some on patent shoes, he sings. He’s leaving without saying a word, she admonishes him. Habermann’s Princess is a platinum blonde, with coiffured curls, candy floss hair, wearing a peach-coloured chiffon gown, with a diamond-studded belt. Those chairs, I tell you, are a clever rip-off of Viennese jugendstil, Josef Hoffman’s (worth a fortune.) And the tables even include replicas of his exquisite, modernist silver ware. (‘You and I struggle in distress, they sing, Enough to make you cry.’)
The Count arrives, Carsten Süss in a grey-and-red plaid suit, with matching cap. Didn’t she read his letter? He sings of his acute longing; he’s travelled 100 miles! She retorts, proposal letters are pointless. He hears the Princess spent several evenings in the library? And, (to Henrietta), you still think she’s in love? Süss’s Count, grey-haired and paunchy, sings, wondering about her secret love. Why was he so high born?
The Princess herself – Habermann, in one of the hit numbers- sings, she’s fallen in love like a child: how ‘the world revolves around a little bit of love.’ But she won’t say who the man is.
In the library, he’s trying to work, while she’s whistling that tune! Is that how you spell your name, FLEURIOT. She’s made him a cheque for 10,000 francs. He can’t accept it. Has he no mother, no young ‘beloved’? She retreats to the piano. How did that song go, with Chopin and Radziwill. – So they were in love?- Wasn’t she wealthy, he poor! He taught music, she was a Princess. In their duet, she sings love’s not about appearances: Die Liebe fragt nicht nach Gesicht. But Fleuriot sings of a great divide between the Princess and himself. The music, Benatzky’s, is like champagne- bubbly, syncopated.

You must give a letter to my sister in Nancy – a saleswoman in a shoe shop! Dolly tells of her sister, who’s ‘already rejected a Count, Duke, and literary Professor’ – improvising the story as she goes along (the shop Filosel, name Giffard from the local directory). Dolly opens a bottle of champagne, which makes Fleuriot tipsy. ‘Today, my friend, it’s all the same love’, Fleuriot sings, sharing the bubbly with the servants- Volksoper Youth Chorus, stylishly choreographed. As Fleuriot, Perman’s voice (tenor) is that of a crooner, (doesn’t need the range here.) But he’s a natural for light comedy. The orchestra bristles as the Princess escapes, conspicuous wearing a cerise red outfit, matching cloak and hat.

That shoe shop in Nancy (France) really exists, the (Madame et Monsieur) fixtures, vertically arranged boxes, with actual shoes displayed. But the girl upfront is Irma (the vivacious Johanna Arrouas), who’s leading a dance rehearsal for a Review. Unbelievable, a masterclass in how to do the shimmy! Filosel the proprietor (Robert Meyer, Volksoper’s director), wants to know why she’s open so late. He’s endured six years of her men coming and going. While he’s nearly broke, her every affair’s a money-spinner: she’s saved over 47,000 francs.
In walks a lady in a red cloak. She’s very rich, but wants a job as a shoe saleswoman. He needs no extra staff, but she offers him 10,000 on account. She’ll pay him for the job! (But Filosel must vouch ‘Geneviève Giffard’ worked there for two years. ) What is she, a saboteur, or a bolshevik? Dolly returns and demands Irma’s dress off her back! Arrouas obliges, drops it, elegantly emerging in her silk slip.
Perman’s Fleuriot arrives, Dolly’s stint as salesgirl Genevieve is genuinely funny. He’s astounded by the resemblance, as she attempts to sell him some slippers. Can’t find anything: they had an “inventory” yesterday. He insists on paying, (11,500 francs). But she doesn’t know how to wrap them; lost in turquoise tissue. (She stares at him over the till; it’s as if he’s known her for years.) Habermann and Perman are magic together. The psychology is right. The man once intimidated by the princess. Now, no inhibitions, he invites her on a date…In the star number, ‘Once we’re alone Fraulein…that’s why I invite you for a glass of wine. (Ich lade sie ein, Fräulein.) ‘Let’s unwind’ soars on a high note. Volksoper orchestra sound like a 1930’s jazz band in cabaret . Mancusi, bopping in the pit, is having a ball.
The Count arrives, on the trail of his rival Fleuriot. What’s she doing selling shoes? He loves me, thinks I’m his sister? Are you insane?…Arrouas’s Irma, now in a gorgeous apricot, cream outfit, cut open at the bust, works on the Count. She, the gold-digger, appears besotted by him. He boasts of his Hungarian estate; the rest, about his cattle, unrepeatable. Arrouas, in her aria, is he making fun of her, a shopgirl? Their duet, how thrilling to be in love (wie beglückend ist es, verliebt zu sein), is a classic.
Fleuriot has overcome his inhibitions…But why didn’t he make it with her sister? (she wants to know.) The difference in class, too great to overcome. It’s a cue for the show’s signature My girl is just a saleswoman in a shoe shop,(Meine Mädel ist nur eine Verkäuferin.) Lukas Perman, just gorgeous! But he can’t stand that cerise dress! she has to change back. It’s a fantasy, fetish thing.
Back to the divorce court. She, whether Geneviève or Dolly, loves him just as much. He has a beautiful life, says the Judge. But Fleuriot hated it: horse-riding at 6 am, golf at 11, hours of Wagner in the evening! Perman’s aria is a tour-de-force. Then, when he wants to kiss his wife, she’s smeared in oils and creams.- ‘You will bear the heavy burden of wealth with composure.’ This Benatzky, once a world-wide hit, is as brilliant as cut-glass in Meyer’s stylish revival. English subtitles. © P R 13.5.2019
Photos: Lisa Habermann, Dolly (Princess Saint-Labiche), Lukas Perman (Dr.Roger Fleuriot) © Johanes Ifkovits /Volksoper Wien
Lisa Habermann (Dolly) and Lukas Perman (Fleuriot); Johanna Arrouas (Irma, saleswoman); Lukas Perman, Lisa Habermann (Geneviève), George Wacks (M.Camembert, customer); featured image, Lisa Habermann, Lukas Perman.
All © Barbara Pálffy/ Volksoper Wien

At Theater an der Wien, the Overture (Vienna Symphony Orchestra under Oksana Lyniv) introduces us to Joan (Lena Belkina)- hooded- in a high tech, steel kitchen, all mod-cons. Her father, Thibaut of Arc, (the distinguished bass Willard White), is having sex with, assumedly, her mother, over a kitchen table. Belkina’s Joan looks on in disgust- in her hoodie, a long, grey, boucle-knitted cardigan. There’s a row and a fight. She’s the moody teenager; you half expect her to bring out her phone. (That would stream her angst off.) But Belkina’s mezzo is powerful, that of a mature woman, her moving performance a tour-de-force. White, in a check shirt-jacket, black polo, is reading a paper, (Le Monde), disturbed by the world situation (war with England, France’s defeats, their weak King, and his successor?) He wants Joan married off to Raimond (Raymond Very) for her protection. The meeting doesn’t work out, Joan has another agenda. Very, as the straight, be-suited, businessman – to her, middle-aged – isn’t her type. (He does, however, have a gorgeous tenor.)
In a choreographed ballet sequence, young girls in pretty white dresses are being groomed by handsome young men in black suits, like young executives. The implications are gross- historically (15th century), girls were married off from twelve years old.
In one of many controversial scenes- a dream sequence- Joan is lying on her bed, her room like a Tracy Ermin installation, decked out with posters of female icons: a Warhol poster of Marilyn Monroe, one of Patti Smith, Women’s Rights slogans everywhere. It’s as if Director Lotte De Beer is determined to cast Joan as a feminist emblem, even if it confuses the historical narrative.
Joan, cut loose, escaping with her rucksack, is seen observing a religious order wearing ‘medieval’ smocks, like in an historical tableau. She stands apart- alien- as if from another world. But then her psychic disorder- or religious calling – positions her as the outsider. Belkina sits around moping.
Then Belkina, now in white – a night gown, or oversized man’s shirt- visits the court of French King Charles VII (Dmitry Golovnin). Though under existential pressure, he’s entertaining his beloved mistress Agnes Sorel (Simone Mihai). Neglecting his state duties, he’s unmoved by the mortally wounded soldier dragged in; or by the resignation of his chief soldier Dunois (Daniel Schmutzgard’s impressive tenor.)
The Archbishop (Martin Winkler) tells him about the defeat of the English, the French victory, and ‘the glorious maiden who inspired the soldiers.’ Belkina as Joan stands off-stage, observing all from a distance, as if she’s dropped in from a time machine. Nevertheless, the set for Charles’ court is elegantly designed, albeit minimalist, and the costumes in burgundy, splendid: even the oak tree is bathed in pink.
In the plot, Joan enters, telling the holy Patriarch about her visions that inspired her to lead the fight. On the King’s orders, she is put in charge of the army. Where are your parents, and where do you come from, they sing. Her father enters, White sceptical of his daughter’s powers, while the people’s chorus – Arnold Schoenberg Choir on marvellous form – sing inspired by her calling.

Act 3 (after the interval) opens with a sensation: an aerial battle, Joan and an ‘English’ soldier Swords raised, they’re in fierce combat, floating on wires suspended over the stage. Then they fight it out down to earth, Joan against the knight. She strikes him down, knocks his helmet off. Very realistic swordplay (using doubles.) Her sword raised, she’s poised to kill him, but cannot. He, Lionel, (outstanding Icelandic baritone Kristjan Johannesson), isn’t English, but, he explains, a Burgundian soldier who’s lost his land. They eye each other up. She sings, shocked by the passion aroused in her. No one is safe, why should she save him? Belkina seems to stagger, her faith is broken, (a condition of her calling that she sacrifice earthly pleasures and remain chaste.)
She’s made herself a bed on top of a stack of furniture (rather like her room.) He, (Johannesson), clambers up; t-shirt (burgundy), no armour, but amour. With you, oh God! Why has she given up the fight, got involved. Belkina and Johanesson are ideally cast, their duets outstanding, probably the high point. He fondles her thighs. (We think of Tchaikovsky’s own forbidden love: his homosexuality suppressed by his religious faith.)
Then we notice the white shirt soiled, the red mark. Alarm! Lost virginity; chastity, a commodity traded in patriarchy, tarnished . Blood-splattered sheets are pulled in all directions like banners, director de Beer making a big issue about this. And Joan is also compromising her inviolability as a saintly religious figure. Her father and his chosen suitor Raimond appear. White reads her diaries: Raimond however is understanding and prepared to release her from her engagement. There follows a problematic scene, in which the religious followers are seen fondling and fetishising the blood-red soiled sheets, as if they’re imbued with a religious power, (menstrual blood rumoured to have mystical properties.)
She cries out, oh God, my father! He, sneering, mocks her, you were heaven-saved? While the French celebrate Joan the victor, her father suspects her acts to be the devil’s work. White sings, vowing to clear her mind of Satan, even to her death. He forces her to publicly declare herself holy, and pure. Joan stays silent, conscience-stricken, aware of her guilt. The people’s chorus sing, Enlighten us, divided whether to stand by her, or renounce her.
Like a Lady Macbeth, she scratches herself, in self-disgust. She discards her sheets, pulls out her old clothes. Her soul is doomed, she sings…And gets back into her jeans and hoodie, and retreats back to her bedroom. A man has brought her down, but, she sings, there’s no doubt of the flame burning in her heart. Johanneson appears at the window and jumps through. There’s a wonderful duet, reaffirming their love.
From the sublime to the ridiculous. ‘Crusaders’, English soldiers in chain mail brandishing swords, burst into this 21st century household? Lionel is killed, and Joan is captured…
Oh, dear! The stage is taken over by a demonstration of female power through the ages: suffragettes, ‘Votes for Women’ placards, ‘Pussie Riot’, women protesting in hoods, England’s Elizabeth 1 (she’s 16th century, of course.) Belkina is pushed around, jostled from one to the other. The people are undecided whether she’s witch or saint. She’s tied to a tree. It appears, at first, as if she’s being stoned to death, but finally she’s burned at the stake, (reportedly, holding a cross, crying out to God, prepared to die.) Tchaikovsky historically correct, whereas Schiller’s play has her die in battle.
It must be said that, musically, this production was peerless. Oksana Lyniv conducted Vienna Symphony Orchestra passionately, eliciting wonderful playing. The cast was top rank. And the staging? (Clement & Sanou) Sumptuous, beautifully colour-coordinated in the mainly ‘period’ second half. But the agit-prop Feminist agenda? At times, Tchaikovsky’s wonderful score felt like the wrong soundtrack. PR.20.3.2019
Photos:Joan (Lena Belkina);Lena Belkina and Arnold Schoenberg Choir, Lena Belkina and Kristjan Johannesson (Lionel); Featured image: Doubles for Joan and Lionel (Helena Sturm, Sebastijan Gec)
(c) Werner Kmemitsch / Theater an der Wien

A new production at Vienna Volksoper of Wagner’s Der fliegende Holländer, Volksoper the home of Operetta, and Vienna’s second opera house. But from the Overture, even as a regular, I hadn’t expected such thrilling playing: top-notch woodwind, fiery brass, seductive strings; swept away on a glorious wave of orchestral swagger, Volksoper orchestra under Marc Piollet.
I’d expected ‘modern’ staging: Daland (Andreas Mitschke’s) Norwegian captain- his ship blown off-course – is at his desk; the ‘chorus’ of sailors, behind shipping crates. Mitschke’s Daland, grey-haired, in a long seaman’s coat, his bass resonates authority. Also impressive is his helmsman, Steuermann, his ‘boy’, who nervously pours his captain’s liquor. Brinkman, with a soft, beautiful tenor, sings of the storm keeping him away from his woman. Oh, dear south wind blow– absolutely exquisite, Brinkman a real find- and we hear it blow!
The stage set turns to reveal- out of the blue, or purple haze- the Dutchman (Der Holländer.) Marcus Marquardt’s grisly, bearded figure -as if blown from hell- looks every inch the Holländer, the captain of the Flying Dutchman, cursed by the devil to sail the high seas forever. Die Frist ist um; once every seven years, allowed to go ashore, to find the woman who’s true love will redeem him. Marquardt’s seasoned bass/baritone pleads with the fates. Nirgend ein Grab. No grave; no death. What unholy grave? But he has one forlorn hope: the Day of Judgement. When all the dead are raised. Nichts vergehen, eternal destruction. He raises his hands: DOOM.
The sets (Franz Phillip Schlossmann)- minimalist, functional -are panels of grey marble effect. Daland rebukes his Steuermann. Was he asleep? He saw nothing of the ghostly ship (blown by the storm into harbour.)
In the confrontation of the two captains – high drama- the Dutchman reveals he’s come from afar. How long? He doesn’t count the years anymore. Has no homeland; neither wife or child. But seeks ‘shelter for one night’, offering his ship with costly treasures as security: all his wealth for a new homeland here. These treasures- what price? -asks Daland. Have you a daughter? – His daughter Senta, the most valuable of his possessions, in this patriarchal marriage contract. South wind blow!. Thunder and storms are nothing to these sailors, Volksoper Chorus sing with terrific gusto.
By contrast (Act 2), what appears a ladies’ choir in high-school uniforms, (supposed to be in Daland’s house waiting for the seamen to return.) Senta, Kristiane Kaiser’s blonde, wears a blazer and blue skirt. The women’s choir is in impressive voice, led by Mary, Martina Mikelik’s stunning contralto. Senta, alone, self-absorbed, sings the ballad of the Flying Dutchman and his terrible fate. She fantasises it could be her destiny to be the woman to release him from his curse. She sings of herself as God’s Angel, as if in a state of ecstasy, Kaiser attaining a surprisingly high top note.
More down to earth is her scene with Erik, the farmer/huntsman she’s betrothed to, sung by Vincent Schirrmacher- looking very dashing in riding boots – who reminds her of her pledge and her duty. His heart is true to her, Schirrmacher sings with an Italianate passion, while she clutches a painting of a ship which- symbolically- he tries to pull away from her. Why is she frightened, it was only a dream, he reassures her. Schirrmacher, always beautiful to hear, but is he perhaps too light a tenor for the role?
Senta’s a pawn in the patriarchal pact. Her father suddenly appears. Kaiser stands as if star-struck. No greeting for him?- Who is the stranger? The Dutchman der Holländer, stands in a doorway, irradiated in a brilliant white light. Tremendously effective staging (Aron Stiehl’s direction.) Daland asks if it would put her out if the seaman lives with them. Would she be tied to him as his bride? – Still no word!- Kaiser is under a spell. Daland, leaving them, takes away a gold attache case.
Kaiser, in profile, reminds of a film noir movie star. She has an icy beauty. Her scene encountering the Holländer is remarkable. She sings of how, out of a remote, distant past, she had been drawn to him. He sings of feeling himself released from his hell. He stands before her in a gust of passion: how she always imagined him. He sings of her as his salvation. This is a tremendous scene. Kaiser surpasses herself, with searing high notes, against Marquardt’s, gruff, yet smooth, gravelly bass. Then, referring to her father’s pledge, will he find life-long peace with her?
They are both standing impassioned- their hands raised out- but not yet touching. He imputes her ‘virginity’. She, abruptly, her heart is true: pure until death! He sings, he has been reprieved from his hell. It’s as if their relationship is not quite earthbound. What a revelation! Kaiser, usually in less vocally demanding operetta roles, rises to the challenge of a Wagner heroine. And with Marquardt, distinguished in Wagnerian roles (Amfortas in Parsifal,2018, Wotan for Thielemann 2017.) Daland enters; he asks whether they are to be wed, his question superfluous.
That marvellous, swaggering, seafarers’ tune, opening Act 3, Helmsman leave your watch. (Brinkman appears asleep front of stage). Kipp und Sturm lassen wir aus. Steuermann komm und trink mit uns!. The stage is divided between sailors carousing behind their barricades (pictures of the sea), and the women on the shore, as if celebrating in a hen party, like sailors’ wives, beer bottles in hand. (Modern dress? Timeless, free from fashion.)
In the plot, the sailors invite the crew of the Dutchman to drink with them. But there’s no answer. They’re pale, white-faced, ghostly – not red-blooded, and rugged. The women, in disbelief, pass their bottles around. Kipp und Sturm. The stage is now immersed under an eerie red light. Daland’s sailors approach – standing at the edge of stage- as if looking out to sea: they appear to see the spectre of the fliegender Holländer. In a state of awe and terror. Terrific staging and choreography.
In an extended, but dreary scene- the only low, for me – Erik complains of her deception. She’s breaking her vow to be faithful. Oh, Senta, leugnest du. Good, but Schirrmacher, I repeat, isn’t really ideal for this role. Too effusive, declamatory, the wrong romanticism? Kaiser stands, looking away, in another world. Verloren, heil. Lost, in a state of suspended salvation.
Marquardt’s Holländer approaches, overhearing them. He thinks he’s being betrayed, his hopes disillusioned. Anchors away! He announces the contract is annulled. He releases her from her vows, hoping to save her from death. He’s accursed; his salvation is in eternity, Mein Heil in Ewigkeit .
But Senta insists she is true to him, faithful until death treu bist Tod.. Unbelievable, soaring high notes from Kaiser. She, in a trance, Kaiser as if sleepwalking towards the Dutchman’s ship: images of the sea – rear of stage – lit up under a cool, eerie moonlight.
You won’t see a better Dutchman in Vienna, Vienna State Opera’s (Mielitz) staging more elaborate, Volksoper’s more intimate. But it depends, of course, on the cast and conductor. Tonight’s cast and chorus were heroic, the orchestral playing inspired by Wagner’s muse. My love and fascination for this earlier Wagner- yet a masterpiece – increases with each viewing. © PR. 12 3.2019
Photos: Markus Marquardt (Der Holländer) © Johannes Ifkovits
Markus Marquardt as the Holländer; Meagan Miller(Senta), Chorus of Vienna Volksoper; Kristiane Kaiser (Senta);Featured image Stefan Cerny, JunHo You, Volksoper Chorus © Barbara Pálffy/ Volksoper Wien

Vienna Volksoper can boast the European premier of Wonderful Town: in November 1956 Leonard Bernstein’s second musical staged here only three years after its world premier. Yet, until 1955, Vienna was occupied by the Allies and Soviet Russia: Austria newly independent, neutral between the West and the Soviet block (its neighbours Hungary and Czechoslovakia only liberated in 1989/90.) Post-war Vienna was grim and austere, the world of Harry Lime and The Third Man. So imagine the shock: Bernstein’s jazz-influenced score, the views of New York, and of its beat generation – transported to this dystopa, by the super-cool, hipster, Bernstein, in white polo necks, notorious for disdaining collar and tie. Bernstein took to-and was adopted by – Vienna. (In the 1970s he regularly conducted the Vienna Philharmonic, famously persuading them to play Mahler.) So, to commemorate his 100th, it’s fitting that Volksoper should revive Wonderful Town – celebrating not Vienna, but his own New York.
Against a New York skyline, Volksoper orchestra (under James Holmes) conducted the overture sounding like a jazz big band with pizzazz: oh, those silky saxophones,and muted trumpets, Woody Allen (Manhattan) would have loved it. A group of tourists file through the stalls led by their guide (Oliver Liebl)- cleverly, they’re German-speaking. The place is Greenwich Village, the beat quarter, from the 1940s, home to poets, painters and jazz clubs. And Christopher Street- if Bernstein had known (in 1953)- a gay quarter, fifteen years later, the centre of Gay Liberation.
The choreography (Melissa King’s) for the opening number is stunning. They’re all in brilliantly coloured 1950’s gear. Come along, follow me… There’s a REAL jazz musician, a black guy in a pink candy-striped suit, Speedy Valenti (Cedric Lee Bradley), who runs the Village Vortex.
Ruth Sherwood (Sarah Shütz), red-haired, in a tailored suit, the serious one of the sisters, is carrying a heavy typewriter. As Eileen, the would-be actress, Olivia Delauré’s vivacious platinum, blonde, in a frilly, patterned frock, is like a starlet popped off a Hollywood film set.
The multiple screens of New York views (Mathias Fischer-Dieskau) open onto a grotty basement flat- below the sidewalk- with pink brick walls, faded settee, peoples’ legs seen walking through the skylight overhead. The room costs 100 dollars upfront; the long-haired Greek painter and landlord (Christian Dolezal) disappears as the room shudders like an earthquake: the overhead subway. With no curtains, the streetlight keeps them awake, the sisters sharing the bed, ogled by men above, (the apartment’s last occupant a sex-worker.)
They sing of their home in Ohio- one of Bernstein’s stand-out numbers- ‘Much too far away from you, Ohio’, home sick already. But, ever-hopeful, up early, they’re out job hunting.
To funky jazz piano, and percussion, we see commuters crushed together on the subway, a human phalanx. One of Bernstein’s sensational up-beat, jazz syncopated numbers, the crowd scene prefiguring the street-life of West Side Story. It bursts into a dance sequence, jaw-dropping, with Vienna State Ballet dancers joining the Volksoper Chorus. Fabulous jazz trumpet! What a beat! … “The excitement! Political awareness . Wonderful fashions. And the songs! What a beat”, they wrote. This is what hit Broadway in 1953.
In Matthias Davids’ direction, a fast-moving montage with the sisters each trying for job interviews, Eileen fights off the (Me-Too) director on the casting couch, while Ruth, the aspiring writer, is forever fobbed-off with her script. Finally, she sees Editor Robert Baker (Drew Sarich, a star in his own right.) He quickly dismisses her text- Go back home! Ruth’s cue for ‘A hundred ways to love a man.’ It’s wry and witty (even in German), and Sarah Schütz, a gutsy mezzo -soprano, has loads of charisma , an actress and chanteuse: musical performer, cabaret artiste, dancer. The story she’s written is a lead-in for a safari dance sketch, with lions roaring around the theatre through the theatre’s sound system.
Of a motley crew of Greenwich village eccentrics, ‘the wreck’, Loomis, is a would-be football player: Marcus Günzel, lanky, forever in shorts, and tailed by his fiancee, the diminutive, exquisitely sung Juliette Khalil. Günzel’s Loomis sings the show-stopping refrain, ‘I was good at football, (not a schoolwork.)’ Eileen invites her male suitors, including Chick Clark (Christian Graff) for supper, and phones Bob for Ruth. They’re all cramped together awkwardly on that couch.
‘You have talent, Miss Sherwood, but write about what you know’ (not safari parks.) He wants to help her, but she thinks she’s being brushed off. Why does he always go for that type, he sings, the quiet girl. Where is my quiet girl, the special girl. Drew Sarich holds the stage, exuding a masterful authority, the audience spellbound.
Then, by contrast, a sensational conga number. Ruth is commissioned to report on Brazilian sea cadets! Any excuse for young sailors in tight white uniforms and the show’s wildest dance routine. They follow Ruth out on the streets, she, eventually leading them to the apartment. Schütz- teasing, vibrant, a match for these professional Latin dancers, is finally tossed up and carried shoulder high.
Eileen, now hooked-up with Graff’s policeman, has an entire police station in love with her. Darling Eileen, they toast her in chorus. Meanwhile, Ruth, we see, street-selling for the Village Vortex (a play on the jazz club Village Vanguard.) Schütz excels in the star number SWING IT! Finger-clicking good, scat, jazz-inspired dancing, cool like in the 1940s and 50s when the word was coined. Great, up-tempo ensemble dancing, perhaps a forerunner for the Jets’ anthem in West Side Story. This is the musical soundtrack for the beat age.
Bob, it seems, has left ‘Manhattan Magazine.’ He sings a soliloquy In Love (Verliebt). He’s in love, can hardly think: he feels like another man. In love! This made my evening, the star number, the tune that stays in your head long after you leave: as in all the best musicals.
Then, the finale, VILLAGE VORTEX, a louche, erotic dance sequence. It begins with young men’s bodies laid out on stage. The opening, to a wailing clarinet, igniting into a ballet in a dance club, the Village Vortex come alive. The two sisters take the stage in a spectacular dance routine, while Lee Bradley, the black owner, reigns supreme, jiving on the roof of his Vortex. Finally, Bob cuddles up to Ruth, rather to her surprise. It’s a wonderful town, they sing.
This is a five star production of a relatively neglected Bernstein musical. But I can’t give it full marks. Not because it’s in German – that’s Volksoper’s policy – but because there were no English subtitles. (Frankly, there’s a lot of dialogue, and it would need more than voice coaches to translate New York humour.) This wonderful production is too good not to share with an international audience! © P.R. 7.1.2019
Photos: Olivia Delauré (Eileen) and Sarah Schütz (Ruth) © Stephan Floss
Drew Sarich (Robert Baker), Sarah Schütz (Eileen); Sarah Schütz (Eileen) with Vienna State Ballet dancers; Featured image Olivia Delauré, Sarah Schütz, Cedric Lee Bradley © Barbara Pállfy/ Volksoper Wien

Volksoper’s Hänsel und Gretel wasn’t the ‘pantomime’ I’d expected – the kitsch sets, garish colours- to appeal to families with children. But, though based on Grimm’s Fairy Tales, it’s no mere children’s opera. Humperdinck’s opera is a masterpiece of 19th century romanticism, as the Overture – a stand-alone in concert repertoire- attests (competently played by Volksoper Orchestra under Christof Prick.)
After the surrealist, Post-modern framing of Adrian Noble’s concept for Vienna State Opera, Volksoper’s set is an authentic 19th century woodman’s cottage. In the cottage, on two levels, the mother – no it’s Gretel ( Anja-Nina Bahrmann) – is weaving in the living room. Over her, Hänsel (mezzo Manuela Leonhartsberger), sitting legs hanging out from the bedroom above, playfully throws down missiles. Actually, though shorter, Leonhartsberger is sturdily built, with long brown hair, her mezzo, rather androgynous, and quite convincing. They are not at all children, physically, yet, especially Hänsel, they’re choreographed to move and act like children. In play and in their gestures they are astonishingly natural.
Hansel, in the living room, handles the jug of milk (given to them by neighbours) for Reisbrau (rice pudding.) He dips his finger in to savour the taste. (Imagine today’s allergen-phobic children drinking milk!) A reminder of the poverty behind the romanticised industrial age. Their mother (Elisabeth Flechl), stout, comely, enters carrying a back-breaking basket, furious they’ve been playing and not done the weaving and knitting, ‘child labour’ being a reality of life. Not a single broom done? In the mother’s aria, a moving tirade of despair, there’s not a drop of milk left in the jug. (She’d knocked it over, as she’s about to give them a beating.) They’ve nothing to eat. Tired of living, she falls asleep on her hands.
Peter (Martin Winkler) balding, jovial, a formidable bass, bursts in singing. Agh, we poor people, hunger is the best appetiser (Hunger ist das tolle Tier.) His song about the rich could be a forerunner for Anatevka. Ah,reich…kann leben. TR-LA-LA. He wakes her up: the larder is empty, but he’s come loaded with food. He’s sold all his brooms and got the best price. Now shocked that she’s turned their children out into the woods, strawberry picking, warning – he makes a sign with his broom- of the witch of Issenstein.
Act 2 opens in the forest, the set (Toni Businger) a wondrous green vision, a vividly realistic recreation of a forest glade. Das Mannlein steht im Wald auf…They sing the iconic folk tune – one of many Humperdinck classics. What has he done! Eaten all the strawberries. They’re both bouncing, gambolling, frolicking -constantly at play. But they have to fill their baskets before it gets dark. Something they hear is getting closer: when was the wood so gespenstig (ghostly), sings Hänsel, who spars with his fists. But it’s only the Sandman, actually quite charming: Gar nicht Arge- der klein Sandmann bin ich. Utterly enchanting, this scene of childlike innocence- not like some brats in the audience!- as the mist rises. Gretel gives him a kiss! They fall asleep after evening prayers. The veiled stage curtain reveals angels on a magical staircase, as if from heaven. They descend like a human form of exotic moths. Now they stand over the sleeping children- two of them join them. A vision out of this world. A rarity, the perfect synchronisation of Humperdinck’s sublime Traumpantomime music, enacted as ballet (Vienna State Ballet dancers.)
Is it a dream? Liebe Vöglein. Gretel awakes, at one with nature, rather like Siegfried understanding bird song (Wagner was Humperdinck’s idol.) The pines move away to reveal a cottage – looming closer. Quaint, surreal, as if on a biscuit tin, a glazed brown, like freshly baked. Some gingerbread gnomes stand either side. Wir knuspern: they pick off bits of the cottage. What’s it like ? Köstlich: wie suss, wie lecher. Delicious, sweet. How children are enticed…
A little window opens. They’re observed from the upper window by a witch. Ulrike Steinsky’s witch, hooked nose, in a peaked hat, in billowing layers of black petticoats, is fearsome. She grips them by the hand – what a grip!- Hänsel and Gretel each side of her. Hänsel pulls away, rebounds, catapults to the other end of the stage. She’s scary. Come little mice into my little home! Chocolate, marzipan, raisins, figs, almonds…Steinsky’s witch has a surprisingly high-pitched and lyrical soprano. They’re not getting away any time soon. Hänsel’s hand is pulled by the witch on one side, with Gretel, pulling the other, looking askance, disbelieving. – Come Gretel beloved… Hocus Pocus. She waves her wand, its illuminated tip lights up red. they’re hypnotised! Hocus pocus, bonus jocus! She wants to mix Hansel in with almonds and raisins. The oven is now bellowing smoke, red flames from under. She actually stokes the fire, her back to it, with her petticoats. She pokes Gretel with a long stick: Gretel is looking stoned.

The witch’s song, an aria, is sung under a spotlight. Then she ascends, rising up at the back of the stage. We hear Steinsky’s voice as if she’s in the audience; then she…can it be…swings across the seats in the stalls on a wire from the boxes – frightful! Now she’s back on stage, still singing, to an extended high note. Wizard pyrotechnics.
Hänsel is in a wooden cage (at the side of the cottage). Madel Gretel, looking down from a window, bringing almonds, feeds Hänsel. He breaks free, and warns Gretel, who plays stupid and asks the witch to let her look in the oven. Somehow they push Steinsky into the oven. Breaking into the house, they retrieve bags of goodies. Screams from the oven! Children appear at the window, front of stage, everywhere. Erlösst, befreit, fur alle Zeit! Freed for all time. Gretel remarks how their eyelids are closed. So she repeats the witch’s chant to break the spell.
Their mother and father approach from the side of the stage. The children, as if caught out, uncomfortable, play on a little guiltily: their innocence intruded on. All come together, front of stage, life-size, a gingerbread effigy of the witch. Gott sich gnädig zu uns neigt: When our need is at its greatest, the Lord holds out his hand.
This production was a joy start to finish, more so unexpected. The authentic staging has to be experienced; the synchronisation between Hänsel and Gretel, in Karl Dönch’s direction, was astonishing. Or was it just this cast? Volksoper Orchestra were very adequate: only here not quite comparable to Vienna State Opera’s. This is a production not to miss. © P.R. 29.12.2018
Photos: Ulrike Steinsky (the witch), Manuela Leonhartsberger( Hansel), Anita Goetz (Gretel); Anita Goetz and Manuela Leonhartberger ; Ulrike Steinsky (witch)
Featured image: Manuela Leonhartsberger, Ulrike Steinsky, Anita Goetz
© Barbara Pállfy /Volksoper Wien

Verdi’s Un ballo in maschera at Vienna State Opera. Still Gianfranco de Boiso’s ‘historic’ production with the trompe d’oeuil painted sets, perhaps mustier than when I saw them in 2016. But they’re in the spirit of the 18th century Swedish court.
Actually those sets I reviled are more interesting than I’d thought. The stage (Emanuele Luzzato) is done like a baroque theatre: a stage-within-a stage, with draped curtains either side. Within, screens and walls are skillfully painted to give the illusion of galleries, with actual pillars, and, back of stage, huge vistas. This illusionist, ‘mannerist’ art is appropriate for the court of Gustav III and for a masked ball where everything is not as it appears.
But the costumes (Santuzza Cali) are for real, extravagant and authentic: the courtiers lavishly dressed in cream silks, detailed in lace, in Act 1, when the chorus sing awaiting the King (Pose in pace). Ramon Vargas’s Gustav III is granting petitions (in this 18th century of Enlightenment, he’s a benevolent monarch.) ‘Power is good when it strives for joy and dries tears,’ he sings. He is ‘a good man’, but in the tragedy, a victim of his own weakness. He covets the wife of his friend and loyal secretary, Count Ankarström (sung by Roberto Frontali.)
In his aria – his private thoughts behind the public mask – Vargas’s lyrical tenor sings with great feeling. He thinks of nothing but Amelia: when will she beguile his heart to see her again. In the dramatic irony, he’s approached by Ankarström, his most loyal servant. Robert Frontali’s baritone is authoritative, plumbing splendidly rich depths, warning his life is in danger. The love of the people protects him, God is on his side, sings Gustav. Ankaström replies, in the aria Alla vita che t’arride, on your life so many depend, but will the love of the people always protect you from danger?
The King is supposed to banish the soothsayer Ulrica, but he’s intrigued after his page – the petite, exquisite soprano Maria Nazarova – sings a moving ballad. He will visit Ulrica, disguised as a fisherman, to have his fortune told.
The gypsy Ulrica, described as black, is actually sung by a black singer. Hurrah! Bongiwe Nakani made a strong impression, swathed in a burgundy and gold robe. Verdi’s gypsy figures – like Azecuna in Il trovatore– are sympathetic, social outcasts. Ulrica sings possessed by the devil Re dell’abisso: I feel his embrace. Nakano’s mezzo is mesmerising. For the sailor, Christian – the immensely tall, impressive baritone Igor Onishchenko – she predicts promotion and gold.
She’s also petitioned in private by Amelia, who seeks a secret potion to counter her uncontrollable feelings of love for Gustav; and the guilt she feels. Elena Pankratova, brunette, an immense stage presence, with an angel’s voice, is a soprano with with breathtaking power. Lord give me strength to placate my heart and find peace. But when she hears him sigh, she must follow him into the abyss! Magnificent!
The King himself disguised- Vargas sings a sea shanty – wants her to prophesy his future: ‘it will not harm us’, he sings (ironically.) Ulrica, thunders, he who challenges his fate will pay the price! Oh! ill-fated man. Ask me no more. But he boasts, he’d be happy to die on a field of honour. – No, you will die by the hand of a friend . – Is this prophesy, a joke or madness? E’ scherzo od è follia? Then, recognising the King, he who saved her from banishment, (and now tips her), ‘You are kind-hearted, but surrounded by traitors, she prophesies.
Act 3 opens in a graveyard, where Amelia has been sent to look for a herb ‘beneath the gallows’. (This may seem hocus pocus, but Verdi’s 19th century was rife with superstition.) Anyway, cause for a terrific aria. Amelia sings of this terrible place: her heart freezes. Though she may die here, she must do it. What is left to me ? Misere de Jesu. Then the King arrives (having eavesdropped on her meeting Ulrica).
Their duet is a high point. At least save my name! She belongs to another, who would give her heart to you. – (Vargas) If he stays away his heart will cease to beat. He sings of many sleepless nights: Heaven help me! He’d give his life for a word: I love you. – Yes, I love you, protect me from my heart! – Vargas and Pankratova are splendid together, a duo made in operatic heaven.
In the dramatic irony Ankarström approaches to warn of plotters; the King escapes in Ankarström’s cloak; and they, Ankarström and Amelia, are threatened at knife point. Amelia is now unveiled. Ankarström had an assignation with his wife! they scorn him, in one of Verdi’s great choruses, like mocking laughter.
Ankarström, shattered- deceived by both wife and friend- Frontali is outstanding in his aria. Seguitemi- Mio Dio!: This is how the traitor rewards the loyalty of friend. He sings of the memory of Amelia in his arms. All is past, nothing in his heart but hate. Love lost, lost hopes! Now he wants to be in on the conspirators’ plot. Revenge wins, sung to plucked strings, Ve’, se’ di notte; then with chorus, a rousing pledge of loyalty, a summons to battle.
Your tears won’t suffice : be silent adulteress! Amelia’s aria pleading for a last chance to see her son is a high-point of the opera, one of Verdi’s greatest. Opening with a cello solo, Kill me, but grant me one last request, let me see my son. Pankratova crosses her arms as if to cradle him. If you don’t grant this for a wife, grant this wish for a mother, Pankratova, harrowing, her piercing high notes appealing to the heavens. If she must die, then let her son close the eyes of the mother, who will never see him again. Tremendous top notes. Chilling. The audience were wildly enthusiastic, but isn’t there something crass about applauding such tenderness?
Amelia witnesses the plotters: feels something terrible will happen. She has to draw the name of the King’s assassin. Ankaström. Fate is just! They both go to the masked ball. As so often in Verdi, the private drama is hidden beneath the public celebration.
‘Let us live and dance’ has echoes of the revelers ball in La Traviata preceding Violetta’s tragic death. The irony is that, prior to the Ball, The King in his study resolved to give up Amelia and send her and Ankarström home safely. In his aria, ‘Let the sea separate us’.
But the King, ‘kindled by her beauty, will see her once again. Vargas’ King is suitably wearing black, with a red patch, like a heart: Pankratova’s Amelia in white, Frontali and the conspirators in green. Undercover of the masque, fancy dress blurring reality and illusion, the stabbing is swift and sudden.
Vargas, maybe not the most powerful tenor, but one of the most sincere and poignant. Mortally wounded, the King forgives Ankaström: he insists Amelia is ‘untarnished’, but will never forget her. Still the minuet plays on insistently, reverting finally to Verdi’s melancholy opening theme. The opera has some of Verdi’s greatest music. This cast was exemplary, Giampaole Bisanti elicited wonderful playing from Vienna State Opera Orchestra, whose chorus are invariably excellent in Verdi.
And Vienna’s stage sets notwithstanding, the costumes are spectacular, splendid, brilliantly colourful, lavishly designed. Each one worth a fortune in fabrics and skill. No wonder they’re not changing the production! © PR. 1.11.2018
Photos: Ramon Vargas (Gustaf 111); Boningwe Nakani (Ulrica); Elena Pankratova (Amelia); Maria Nazarova (Oscar), Ramon Vargas (Gustaf III), Elena Pankratova (Amelia); Featured image: Ramon Vargas (Gustaf)
© Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn

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

In Vienna State Opera’s new production (Karoline Gruber), the set looks like one of Trump’s palaces- 1930’s pomp, all black and gold, but smashed up: there’s a huge frame at the back of the stage, the glass in fragments. Objects lie around- symbols of whatever – resembling a Salvador Dali painting. Foremost is the funfair merry-go-round, and the playground horse: representing the wheel of fortune, a carousel whose bright lights offer the illusion of happiness.
How can Alexei (Misha Didyk) explain to Polina, his passion, that he’s lost all the money she asked him to gamble with? (Actually, she’s in debt to the Marquis, her former lover.) And she’s the step-daughter of the General, another heavily-indebted gambler. The General (tremendous Russian bass Dmitry Ulyanov), reads a telegram, and sings his grandmother is not well at all. He’s madly in love with the scheming , but penniless, Blanche, his floozy, Elena Maximova, wearing a shimmering white roaring-twenties creation with tassels. He’s hoping to inherit to marry her. And he’s also deeply in debt to the Marquis (Thomas Ebenstein), who runs an extortion racket, enforced by mobsters.
So in this aristocratic, rich-man’s world of bling, all isn’t what it seems. And although Prokofiev composed his opera in 1917 – the year of the Russian Revolution- red-jacketed waiters polish the marble-effect floor like serfs. One is on his knees, a bucket on his back, in a frozen pose like a street performer.
Yes! This is supposed to be (in Dostoyevsky’s novella) mid-19th Century Germany: Roulettenberg, the pun intended!
Didyk’s Alexei is black-suited, white-shirted- he’s meant to be a tutor, so the General berates him, he should have his wits about him and not play roulette. Didyk’s magnificent tenor voices Dostoyevsky’s deeply mystical vision: singing of a nightmare of six generations of debts passed on from father to son.
Seated on a gold bullet blown up to surrealistic proportions, Ebenstein, the Marquis, dressed like a gangster, in black jacket, brocaded waistcoat, and jeans, metes out credit to a long line of 1920s partygoers, and fashionistas – his enforcers in black-shirts.
By contrast, Didyk’s Alexei embodies Dostoyevsky’s Russian soul. In one of a number of soliloquies as arias he sings, he doesn’t know what’s happening to himself, or in Russia. The poet, he is indifferent to everybody else. And enigmatically, Hamlet-like, ‘You probably didn’t have a good heart, but the mind is irrational.’
In her Act 1 aria, Polina, Elena Guseva , a lyrical soprano with a powerful upper range- another magnificent Russian soprano- challenges Alexei: so you want to buy me with your money. She plays with the love-obsessed Alexei. No, it’s difficult to explain, he sings; he sits in his garret and muses. But led on by her, in his desire, he could devour her. Guseva, with her mousy blonde hair, wearing a navy silk gown, does, indeed look gorgeous. He sings, he’s burning with fever: but he knows it’s just impossible. She sits coldly. (Why should she force him to do that? No use to her.) Prokofiev’s music is spiky, brass and wind players bristling.
A glimpse of the Marquis’s strong-arm ‘debt collectors’: The General, in his gold-braided uniform, is still at the mercy of these spivs, one of them marking him with a pistol.
Then- in another episode- Polina, playing on Alexei’s devotion to her, orders him to offend the Baron and his wife. Who is that woman, the Baroness, to eye him like that! Polina, the paragon of 1920s cool indifference, just wants to have a laugh. Prokofiev’s music pointing up the subversive mood, veers from harsh metallic dissonance to lush romanticism. Didyk removes his shirt – waving it over his head like a soccer fan – baring his muscular chest.
Opening Act 2, the stage is dominated by a long banqueting table, but it’s covered in green felt like a gaming-table. The star turn is provided by Babulenka, the marvellous Linda Watson, in a white wig, who announces she would rather gamble away her fortune than bequeath it to anyone else. (And she seeks Alexei’s help.)
The General, Ulyanov in white, wearing black boots, soaked in vodka, slumped in his armchair, rails at his lost inheritance. He wanted to stop her; she waved her cane at him. She’d already lost 40,000; it was an insult to a gentleman.
The set is now a revolving stage of half-opened black doors, with enclaves of debtors: a gambler’s purgatory. There’s a message from the General to Alexei not to destroy him. And the General is warned by the Marquis of a bill outstanding: business is not doing well.
Alexei sings there’s nothing to be done. Such a mess: what will become of them. Didyk’s is a wonderfully expressive tenor. Oh, Polina, why are you shouting my name like that? Where is the Marquis- the rogue, he sings – now realising he has a hold on Polina.
Good day, my dear Alexei. Please put up with an old woman. Linda Watson’s Babulenka, frail-looking, is trailing a fur-like coat, which someone greedily tugs away. They- grotesque figures in glitter jackets- pull off her jewellery; sold to others behind the scenes, ‘fences’, or pawnbrokers. Please forgive an old fool; she bids them well. She will build a church. Down to her nightdress, they even rob her of her sticks as she exits.
She’s defamed the nobility, it’s all gone, moans the General. Meanwhile Blanche leaves him the day before the wedding. We see her, Maximova, dancing off the stage with a slick Latino, brilliantined hair and Valentino moustache. Ulyanov’s brutalised figure seems to choke to death with rage, collapsed in his chair.
(Opening Act 4) Didyk is sitting alone on the edge of the stage. Guseva’s Polina grabs him and pulls him to her in a passionate kiss. And she begins to strip. She sings of a letter from the Marquis- forced to leave immediately- having lost all his loans to the General. He will now waive the 50,000 she owes him. Now she has the chance of a new life. That rogue! How she’d love to throw the money in his face! She kneels, coaxing Didyk seductively. But he leaves (convinced that, with her money, he will win, and her too.)
Prokofiev’s score has a rhythmical momentum- a train of Fate inexorably moving forward. Now the stage is a fairground roundabout. The gamblers, party animals, throw up gold dust – coins from heaven- in a remarkably choreographed scene (Stella Zannou). Rien ne va plus. They are gamblers, obsessed, addicted. (One sings he’d lost everything on red.) The stage is showered in gold dust. Croupiers wear glittering emerald jackets The table is now closed. Alexei has won 60,000. He broke the bank twice. What a man!
Alexei, by himself, Didyk appears disfigured; he’s kind and good-natured, but keeps challenging his luck, one sings. The gamblers wear carnivalesque masks- their grotesque appearance reflects their inner torture. Clever staging, but all too extreme. Nevertheless, a tour-de-force of choreographed spectacle.
Didyk is standing triumphantly on the gaming table. He reaches up to heaven; goes berserk , (like you would if you won the lottery.) ‘Insane luck’ he sings, staggering like a cripple. Polina can’t accept his money.
In the powerfully enacted closing scene, Didyk sings he’s offering her his life. He’s paying a high price- 50 thousand: the Marquis’ mistresses cost less! Now she deserts him: he’s like the Marquis, just like him. But do you love me, she pleads. It’s always been hers, he insists. Then she throws it back. Take your money! He’s been corrupted, fallen for ‘a far more capricious mistress.’
The staging (Roy Spahn) was bizarre, a concept misunderstood, incomprehensible to all but Gruber. But what a cast, the leads, Russian and outstanding, Vienna State Opera orchestra excelling under Young’s baton. Prokofiev’s opera -he composed the libretto- is a revelation. The operas, too rarely heard, contain some of his finest music.© PR.20.10.2017

Photos: Misha Didyk as Alexei, Elena Guseva as Polina; Thomas Ebenstein (Marquis); Elena Guseva (Polina); Linda Watson (Babulenka); Misha Didyk (Alexei); Featured image: Misha Didyk
© Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn

Richard Strauss’s Salome, premiered 1905, provoked a furore, both for its scandalous subject, based on the play by Oscar Wilde, (Strauss’s German libretto), and the modernity of its music. Strauss broke the boundaries of tonality- the opera’s final cord shocking in its dissonance; truly revolutionary, years before Stravinsky’s iconoclastic Rite of Spring (1912).
Oscar Wilde,famous for his brilliant wit, was yet a moralist and commentator on society. He was fascinated by the Christian biblical tale, in its perverse eroticism and barbarism. Also Wilde’s aestheticism was preoccupied with beauty for its own sake, independent of conventional morality.
It’s appropriate then that Vienna State Opera’s stage set draws on jugendstil (art nouveau) design , suggesting a luxuriant decadence that defined the new art at the turn of the 20th century.
The tiered steps of the Colosseum-like stage set (Jürgen Rose) are covered in a Klimt inspired decoration, gold symbols in a mosaic of jewelled colours . Back of stage there’s a Japanese tree in silhouette , stylised as in a mural.
Salome- Herod’s daughter, who leaves the banquet in a surly mood- is described as seltsam (strange), like a woman who is dead. So pale, never seen her so pale, like a white rose. Grun-Brit Barkman, platinum blonde, is a slight figure, a slim, cool beauty- physically the adolescent young woman. Her soprano has a crystalline clarity, but colourless, somehow lacks reserves of dark passion: the psychotic capable of demanding, in revenge, the head of John the Baptist, who all but ignores her lustful advances.
Jochanaan der Taube (John the Baptist), the prophet who emerges as if out of the dead, is being held captive in a cistern, an underground cell positioned in the middle of the stage, guarded by Roman centurions. Salome, fascinated by the voice she hears from underground, demands to see him . Against Herod’s wishes, she persuades Narrabeth (Carlos Ozuna) to free him . Barkmin, a very physical actress, wearing an alluring white silk dress with embroidered gold decoration , all but seduces the Captain of the Guard. How terrible it must be to lie there, (beneath what looks like a drain cover.) She simply wants to see the curious prophet. Barkman’s is a light seductive soprano.
A wild figure all in black emerges, Jochanaan, (Zelijko Lūcik) in a black cassock, with long black hair. Lucik’s baritone has glorious timbre . (He’s frequently cast here as Nabucco.) He sings with enormous dignity and nobility. He, other-worldly, a spiritual man , is being tantalised by a silly girl. She sings of his ivory white skin. She wants to get closer. He doesn’t want to know her, the daughter of Herodias. But for her, his indifference is music to her ears. He pulls away from this ‘daughter of Sodom’. I’m in love with your body, sings this teenage girl (like she saw him on Facebook with her I-phone.) Get back, daughter of Babylon! He will listen only to the voice of God. It goes on, she, lewdly suggestive- his hair is like a vineyard, his lips red like a pomegranate- his repeating, there’s only one who can save him.
This Jochanaan, Lucic, seems relatively young, good-looking -not the gnarled, hermit-like figure we would expect. So their interchange- a sparring match between the monk and the profane bitch – has an electricity because plausibly dangerous.
Herod’s court assemble on the top of the ampitheatre steps. Herodias (Iris Vermillion) wears an outrageously plumed hat, her dress, exotic art nouveau design, out of a Klimt pattern book. With her husky mezzo, she has a camp manner; but deadly serious in demanding the blood of Jochanaan for repeatedly condemning her immorality: she wants him silenced once and for all. Now is the time!
But Herod, (Wolfgang Ablinger-Sperrhacke) is concerned about Jochanaan’s status as a cult religious leader, even rumoured to be a Messiah. Ablinger-Sperrhacke, dressed in splendidly patterned robes, comes over as effeminate and indecisive, lacking the heft of authority.
Herod want his daughter dance for him: Salome agrees, provided Herod grants her every wish. In the famous Dance of the Seven Veils , Barkmin is the real thing. Can she dance! It’s astonishing that the role makes exceptional vocal demands, while requiring formidable dance skills. Salome demands ‘the volume, power and stamina of a true dramatic soprano’, convincing as a young woman; and physically ‘the agility and gracefulness of a prima ballerina.’
Opening with an array of brightly coloured veils, the brilliantly choreographed movements become increasingly frenzied. Barkmin dances as if possessed, down to the last and black veil, her back to us as she faces Herod and Herodias naked full-on.

Herod admits he entered into an oath, ein Eid geschworren. But he demurs, holds out to the end. He offers her just about everything , from emeralds to the palace itself. But she still demands the head of Jochanaan on a platter. (Her revenge for his contempt of her?) Herod may well be frightened to hysteria at the unforeseen consequences; nevertheless Ablinger-Sperrhack’s lyrical tenor can hardly prevail over the sheer weight of Strauss’s orchestration. Vienna State Opera’s orchestra pit was filled to capacity with a full orchestra, (percussion including 5 timpani,tam-tam, tambourine, castanets, glockenspiel and xylophone.) Simone Young, highly regarded, is repeatedly invited back to conduct Strauss.
Shrill flutes and piccolo, stabbing intervals of woodwind, snare drum rolls: sounds out of a vision of hell. Barkmin holds ‘the head’ on a silver plate, front of stage. In her monologue, she sings, you didn’t want my mouth to kiss you: now she will kiss his mouth, bite on it like a ripe fruit. The stage is now bathed in a blood-red light. He spoke nasty words to her: now she can do what she wants. Barkmin is wearing a black gown , embossed in an oriental gold pattern. She gloats, I’m living , you are dead , and your head belongs to me. You have seen your God, Jochanaan, but never seen me. I was a Princess, a virgin, and you despised me . And the secret of love is greater than the secret of death. Und das Geheimnis der Liebe ist grosse als das Geheimnis des Todes.
In her aria, Barkmin’s singing is technically proficient , but lacking in that desperation, the sense of high drama -even of derangement or psychosis: Barkmin is too cool. I don’t remember any exceptional high notes. (And dramatic sopranos in this iconic Straussian role are legendary.)
Herod curses her as a monster , Ungeheuer, ordering her execution. We last see Barkmin, front stage, addressing the head at her feet. She has kissed his lips. A bitter taste. They say love tastes bitter. (Surely Wildean ?) Strauss’s orchestration uses dissonance, an ‘expressionism’, radical for its time, chilling in its intensity. Uncomfortable, prescient of the 20th century, its modernism with contemporary resonances.
Plaudits to Vienna State Opera for keeping Barlog’s magnificent jugendstil production. Even if tonight’s cast were not ideal , Simone Young’s Vienna State Opera Orchestra excelled.© PR. 16.9.2017
Photos: Grun-Brit Barkin (Salome) and Caros Osuna (Narrabeth); Grun-Brit Barkin (Salome); Zelijko Lūcic (Jochanaan); Wolfgang Ablinger-Sperrhacke (Herod)
© Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn

Cards on table. Il Trovatore isn’t my favourite Verdi. The plot seems too far-fetched, preposterous: the son of a Count rescued from a fire by a witch- the troubador Manrico, who falls in love with Leonora, the beloved of Count Luna, his arch-enemy. Unbeknowingly ‘Blood Brothers’. And it’s so bloodthirsty, with witch burnings, eye-gouging gore. And yet this gothic intrigue, of its time , so appealing to 19th century audiences, is much for our time. Against the demonization of witches, Azecuna, is so powerfully portrayed, she’s sympathetic.
We seem to miss the psychologically complex characters of Verdi’s later operas, yet this action drama is thrilling stuff, an exercise in Verdi’s orchestral colour. And the choruses are amongst the greatest in all Verdi.
Well, time for a rethink. Il Trovatore, of a trio of brilliant successes -flanked by Rigoletto (1851) and La Traviata (1853)-has been rather eclipsed: misunderstood, condemned for its sensationalism. Perhaps unappreciated for its unconventional, almost ‘modernist’, episodic format. As to Verdi’s incorporation of witches and gypsies- part of the 19th century obsession with mystery and the supernatural- could be seen as Verdi’s genuine interest in the ‘underdog’, the socially marginalised . Verdi espoused ‘freedom fighters’ against the corrupt political establishment. So Manrico, brought up by a so-called ‘witch’ Azecuna, is caught up in the ‘civil war’, along with ‘the gypsies’.
The episodes/Acts switch between establishment, aristocratic protagonists, and the dispossessed, alternative society, the itinerants. Manrico is a troubadour, a street singer, after all.
If any production needed to convince us of Il Trovatore’s worth, this Vienna State Opera production (Daniele Abbado) was it. And conducted by a great Verdian, Marco Armiliato, with a star cast.
The stage (Graziano Gregori) is ‘traditional’, a courtyard- sandstone-effect walls, bleached-wood – with balconies on either side. The soldiers’ uniforms, in the opening scene are vaguely modern. Ferrando, (the tremendous Korean bass Jongmin Park) incites his men’s hatred of gypsies, narrating the ‘official’ Luna family history. He sings of a ‘grisly old woman- clearly a witch- staring, with blood-shot eyes at a little boy’; and how ‘the old hag’ was driven out. What joy to hear lusty Verdi choruses- sung with robust fervour by Vienna State Opera Choir- even if it’s an exercise in machismo, and the message is racist. In the folklore of rumours and fear-mongering, some have seen the witch (Azecuna’s mother) crawling the roof tops, rat-like.
By contrast, Leonora (soprano Maria José Siri) is dressed in white, and a rose-pink over-gown. In her aria, she sings (to her maid) her man was revealed to her as if in a dream. Tacea la notte placida. One serene night suddenly she heard the sound of a troubadour singing a melancholy song, like a man appealing to God. Siri is warmly expressive, endearingly self-effacing, her pure soprano technically accomplished. The earth was transformed into heaven. Then, filled with apprehension, her voice rising, if she cannot live for him she will die for him.
Count Luna (George Petean), opening ‘The Duel’ episode, wears a red-brocaded coat. Petean, black-haired, bearded , looks swarthy; his magnificent baritone is a highlight. He sings, every fibre of his body is crying for her. But his reverie is jarred hearing the sound of the troubadour off-stage. (In the plot, Manrico approaches Leonora in the arms of Luna, ‘whom Leonora, in her excitement, had mistaken for Manrico’!) A trick of fate has brought him to her, she sings. Tenor Yusif Eyvazov (on very good form without Netrebko) appears in a crumpled beige suit. The men come to blows, in their jealousy, a duel takes place. Luna is overpowered, Manrico about to fatally stab him, is inexplicably held back.
‘The Gypsy’. Azecuna, movingly sung by mezzo Luciana D’Intino), is on all fours in the middle of a group of soldiers taunting her. Again the soldiers’ (Anvil) chorus- bravado male bonding, preparing for battle – is irresistibly catchy. Who brightens up our days, what gives them their courage, a young girl. (The soldiers are carrying an effigy of a saint.)
Azecuna (who nurses the war-wounded Manrico), sings in her aria, Stride la vampa the hair-raising story of her mother’s burning at the stake, surrounded by her executioners. D’Intino’s mellow mezzo is plaintive, vulnerably human. Verdi’s aria is sympathetic. D’Intino, gothic long black hair, carried away in emotion, hits terrific high notes singing how she felt a shudder through her at the death of her child. No, the Count’s son perished, her own survived, she assures Manrico. She urges him, every drop of Luna blood shed is revenge for her mother.
In Verdi (and librettist Cammarano’s) dramatic counterpoint, we switch back to the ruling classes. In Luna’s aria , believing Manrico is dead, Petean powerfully confesses his fear of Leonora entering a convent. He plans to abduct her, abetted by his soldiers, positioned in black uniforms on each side of the stage. He sees the Church as his rival- and deranged- seizes a crucifix. When Manrico appears- as if from the dead- it’s seen as a ‘divine judgement’. Leonora, Siri, in a poignant aria, sings to ‘he who offers consolation.’ And, as if in a dream, is confronted by her Manrico. The staging is spectacular, with Luna’s men raising – but refusing to use – their rifles, while Leonora sings to Manrico come from heaven, with Luna powerless to stop their escape.
An old woman is caught wandering around the camp. In a frightening scene, Azucena, caught in the soldiers’ ropes – lassoed like a steed- is interrogated. She sings, her aria a cri-de-coeur, D’Intino almost appealing directly to the audience. She has been poor all her life, but happy; everything she did was for her son, but he left her. Never has a mother loved so dearly. Then Petean’s Luna -reminded by Ferrando about the Count’s son captured fifteen years ago- realises she’s Manrico’s mother, and he’s in his power.
Fearsome! There’s a very real-looking fire in a trench at the front of stage- giving off smoke- and various men with burning torches. They turn her round and round in a gruesome ritual.
From the subplot, the marginalised, to the main protagonists: the aristocratic Leonora absconded with Manrico, the gypsy’s son: a bold subversion of the social order. Siri and Eyvasov in their duet are outstanding. ‘At such moments , you must allow sublime love to speak to your heart’. There’s a lot of feeling from Eyvasov. He kisses her affectionately (perhaps imagining his wife?) His spirit will be fearless if slain by his enemy, he sings.
They are interrupted by news that ‘barbarians’, the Count’s soldiers, have lit the funeral pyre. Eyvasov sings, Di quella pira, with impressive high notes, his heart is inflamed by the horrible blaze.
The scene shifts to Luna, planning a victory celebration, and plotting revenge. Where are you, heartless woman? Leonora begs him to have pity on Manrico: Drink my blood , but spare the troubador. His fate must be crueller than cruel, counters Petean. Più l’ami e più terribile divampa il miu furor! the more you love him , the worse will be my anger. In their duet, she almost screams, but you shall have me, cold and dead. Finally, submitting, she sings, she can tell Manrico that she it was who saved him. Petean gloats- repeat you are mine! ( She is his; he can hardly believe it.)
Beginning the execution scene, the stage is strewn with blooded corpses. Realismo! The tower where prisoners are held. In Leonora’s aria, her mournful sighs will fill his dungeon with hope, D’amor sull’ali rosėe; offstage, Eyvasov’s troubadour song.
A staircase out of the back of stage. Mother and son tortured. It is harrowingly moving: mother can’t you sleep? Eyvasov, not quite the show-stopping virtuoso tenor, rather sombre and soulful. D’Intino’s Azecuna sings, a dreadful weariness torments her.
Luna allows Leonora to persuade Manrico to escape. He reproaches her. What was the price? She, how cruel and unfair you are to me. In their sublime duet, she confesses she has taken poison; Eyvasov’s Manrico now tormented by his curses. Siri, with great pathos, she preferred to die with him than live with another.
In the nemesis, Luna orders Manrico’s execution. To be told by Azecuna, he was your brother; you are avenged mother.
The ending is Shakesperean – Hamlet, Titus Andronicus– a senseless blood letting , without remorse, the fulfilment of blind Fate. As opera it’s as great as any Verdi masterpiece. I thank Vienna State Opera for my conversion.© PR.13.09.2017
Photos: George Petean ( Count Luna), Maria José Siri (Leonora) and Yusif Eyvazov (Manrico); Maria José Siri (Leonora); Luciana D’Intino (Azecuna); Simina Ivan (Ines), Yusif Eyvazov (Manrico), Maria José Siri
© Wiener Staatsoper /Michael Pöhn

Marelli’s staging at Vienna State Opera. Grey marble slabs, built-up, line the stage – cliff-like, perhaps resembling a fortress; there’s a seaview; and a grotto, or is it a small lake? There are 5 Acts, over 14 scenes in Debussy’s Pelléas et Mélisande, and this, with some small variations, is the gloomy setting over three hours, with one interval.
Simon Keenlyside as Golaud, in modern hunting gear, is playing with his rifle as if to shoot himself. Keenlyside’s baritone is probably the star attraction in an impressive cast, with Alain Altinoglu, arguably the finest exponent of French repertoire, conducting Vienna State Opera orchestra and chorus.
The start of the first Act is shrouded in mystery. He’ll never find his way out of the forest, he sings. Thought he’d killed it, the boar. Lost –perdu– the dogs will never find him. There’s a boat right of stage, he wades thigh-deep through water. A woman, the glorious soprano Olga Bezsmertna as Mélisande, fearful, trembling, sings repeatedly, Don’t touch me! He insists on staying; she need have no fear of him. Who has hurt you?- Everyone, everything! She ran away, escaped . Je suis perdu. The crown he gave me, no she doesn’t want it anymore. She’d rather die. He announces himself as Prince Golaud.
So it’s a medieval tale brought up to date. He, a man like any other, hunting in the forest pursuing a wild boar. Yet she, Bezsmertna, red-haired, chic, is dressed in white designer suit? They’re both lost. It could be Resnais’ Last Year in Marienbad, everyone in an existential puzzle, trying to find their way out of a maze. Anyway, Keenlyside has impeccable intonation, Bezsmertna’s French is also very impressive.
In Debussy’s opera the interludes are nearly as important as the action. In Scene 2 their mother Geneviève (Bernarda Fink) reads Golaud’s letter to Pelléas, explaining that he’s married Mélisande; but vowing not to return if the family- the patriarchal grandfather Arkel- will not accept her. Geneviève sings of ‘the woman who keeps on crying six months after she married him.’ (The blinds backstage reflect the shimmering water.)
Arkel, (Franz-Josef Selig) one of the highlights, sings of the reverse side of destiny. He’d thought the bride he’d arranged would make him happy. But so be it.
Bezsmertna, now in white lace (a wedding dress) arrives in Allemonde and finds the darkness oppressive. Geneviève tells her she too had to come to terms with it. There could be a storm that night, the mist is lifting slowly. In the opera’s symbolism, everything is covered in mist.
Pelléas (Adrian Eröd), Golaud’s half-brother, literally bounces onto the stage. Eröd, as the ingénue, is a wiry figure in an off-white baggy suit. Eröd, a superb light baritone, though immaculately sung, physically lacks the aura of the romantic hero.
In Act 2 Pelléas and Mélisande are sitting at the back of this grotto, supposedly the abandoned ‘fountain of the blind.’ Bezsmertna appears to be hanging over the fountain- like a lake on stage- her long plaited hair actually submerged in the water. (Is it a hair piece?) Her hands trembling, she throws up the wedding ring- more symbolism- and drops it; and she’s up to her knees looking for it. There’s no need to worry about a ring! sings Eröd. What shall we tell Golaud?- La verité. The truth.
And as if simultaneously, Golaud has had a heart attack, while Bezsmertna is lying on the upturned boat. A wounded Keenlyside is carried in by seamen in oilskin coats. His heart seems to have been ‘torn out’; now he’s strong and healthy, he sings. She dotes on him.
In their powerful duet, Keenlyside and Bezsmertna’s are outstanding. She thinks he doesn’t love her. But there’s love in his eyes. He’s still young- albeit greying hair. Could she not get used to life there. It’s true you can never see the sky here, he sings. She saw it for the first time today. (More symbolism.) Besides isn’t it summer now? But Mélisande cannot stand the eternal gloom. Nor we.

Opening Act 3, we see Pelléas and Mélisande on a boat. Bezsmertna lies, reclining , dressed in white. ‘My hair is so long’, she sings. She was born on a Sunday afternoon at noon.- He too,(et moi.) He, Eröd, is lying beneath her. They are raising their hands in unison.
Yet, in Maurice Maeterlinck’s French libretto, Pelléas sings ‘he can’t climb any higher’ and Mélisande ‘can’t reach his hand with her lips’? Her hair is ‘tumbling down.’
But isn’t this supposed to be that medieval tale, the damsel locked in the tower; the young lover climbing the ramparts. Which doesn’t make sense in this modern reconstruction.
Marco Marelli’s staging is nonsense. In the libretto, Mélisande’s hair is ‘draped over the willow branches’. No he won’t release her tonight; she is his prisoner, he sings. He’s tying her hair to the willow branches. But where’s the tree, Marelli?
Here, sitting side-by-side, enveloped by her hair, he holds her hair behind his ears. Then, ‘she hears something down there.’- It’s the doors of the tower flying open. Then she, ‘Wait, her hair is tangled in the branches’.
Keenlyside’s Golaud arrives, and sings, ‘Mélisande, don’t lean so far out: you will fall!’ Don’t play in the dark , he admonishes them, You’re like children. But they’re both dressed in white – Eröd an off-white suit- and under spotlights.
More convincing is Golaud’s leading Pelléas down to the dungeons (steep steps back-of-stage.) They’re as if suffocating. Eröd sings of the air as heavy as paste. Suddenly Eröd rushes out into the daylight. Debussy’s music rises in a crescendo to describe the epiphany: the sight of freshly watered flowers. Golaud again warns Pelléas to stay away from Mélisande.
Keenlyside effectively conveys the man obsessed by jealousy: ruthless in questioning his son Yniold (Maria Nazarova) about his half-brother’s relationship with Mélisande. Do they like each other: do they often quarrel? Mazarova is remarkable vocally, convincing in the trouser role. But again the staging is anachronistic. Golaud bribes him with a ‘quiver and arrows’. Mazarova sings, they’re always crying, and how pale Mélisande is.Do they kiss? The boy is standing on a boat, precariously balanced, looking into a narrow window.
Later Keenlyside twists Pelléas’s arm. And turns to Mélisande, accusing her ‘great innocence’. (He knows those eyes.) When she tries to escape, he holds her by the nape of the neck, pushing her down. Geneveviève and Arkel are cowering for their lives. Selig sings, if I were God , I would have pity on the lives of men.
In Act 4 the family reunited, it’s to be their last evening. Pelléas will leave, as his father wishes. Selig, in an affecting arias, sings of Mélisande’s troubled look, expecting tragedy: ‘too young and beautiful to be inhaling death day and night.’
La dernière fois. Pelléas and Mélisande arrange one last meeting. Eröd sings, everything must come to an end. He’d been in a dream ; but he’d never looked into her eyes.
They finally declare their love for each other. Je t’aime– she sings it in ‘a voice from the end of the earth.’ Now that he’s found her, she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. Come into the light. She is heureux et triste, happy and sad. How beautiful in the dark: his heart is suffocating. Yet the stage is lit up?
Golaud’s prowls around back of stage, Keenlyside knee-deep in water. They’re embracing, Eröd in the water, Bezsmertna in the boat. (Not quite convincing.) Golaud kills Pelléas, and wounds Mélisande.
Act 5 is magnificently sung, but the staging again verges on the absurd. Keenlyside sings, he killed without reason, against his will; saw them embracing. Bezsmertna, still in white , raises herself up- but why is she in that boat, in ‘the lake’? The men standing on the shore?
Mélisande, can you forgive me.- But for what, she sings. She’s dying, but Golaud must know the truth. La Verité. Did you love Pelléas ? A forbidden love. Non. They were greetings of nothing. She slips into unconscousness.
There are three women, as if sleepwalking -now seven- in bright summer dresses. They push the boat out. There’s a brilliant sunrise. The most colourful moment of the evening. And there he is again, Kennlyside, playing with his rifle, now with his son.
Marelli obviously has a thing about water. With all the resources of Vienna’s stage, he could have done better. At least musically it did Debussy’s rarely performed opera justice. (Shame if Vienna has to live with this for another 20 years.) © P.R.1.7.2017
Photos: Featured image: Simon Keenlyside (Golaud); Olga Bezsmertna (Mélisande) and Adrian Eröd (Pelléas; Olga Bezsmertna (Mélisande); Simon Keenlyside (Golaud) and Olga Bezsmertna (Mélisande); Adrian Eröd and Olga Bezsmertna
© Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn

Rossini’s Elisabetta, regina D’Inghilterra (1815) was one of the first historical romantic operas. It hinges on Elizabeth I’s amorous attachment to her general (Duke of) Leicester, returned in glory from the Scottish campaign, but secretly married. And, in Rossini (libretto Giovanni Schmidt), to Matilde, the daughter of arch-enemy Mary Queen of Scots, Matilde disguised amongst the Scottish hostages…
But how can a modern director present this historical narrative convincingly- historical fiction maybe, but composed and written with authenticity in mind- without period costumes, and quasi-historical sets? Whereas directors have a free hand rejigging opera’s classics for a 21st century audience, with ‘historical ‘ operas there has to be a line drawn for the sake of credibility, if not good taste.
In spite of ‘borrowings’ from his previous operas, Elisabetta is a major example of Rossini’s ‘reform’ operas; the first with vocal ornamentation strictly defined to prevent ‘rushes of virtuosity’, the excesses of star performers. Elisabetta is serious drama (Dramma per musica) and not to be trivialised by a vain director’s concept.
Which is what I expected from Theater an der Wien’s new production, directed by Amélie Niermeyer. But I was wrong, although it is a ‘modern dress’ production, it is intelligent, tasteful, and highly effective. And appropriately Theater an der Wien is where Elisabetta premiered (1818) in Vienna.
To the strains of the overture, (reworked for the Barber of Seville), with vigorous, stylish playing from Ensemble Matheus’s original instruments, conducted by Jean-Christophe Spinosi, a headless gown- a tailor’s dummy- is wheeled on stage. Elisabetta (Alexandra Deshorties) is power-dressed in a black trouser suit, white blouse- like a managing director. The men, her courtiers, are all in sharply cut black suits and white shirts, some in patent leather shoes; ladies in black tailored outfits like sales executives, or caterers.
Chorus (Arnold Schoenberg Choir) sing extolling the lustre of power, as golden as the sun: the war is finally over. Yet for the Duke of Norfolc, (tenor Barry Banks), his power rages. No peace for him, his bid for Elisabetta now eclipsed by Leicester. Norfolc, Banks small but pugnacious, wearing a camel coat a cut above the others, is the arch conspirator.
The Queen announced, Deshorties’ movements are graceful, magisterial; she’s accompanied by her closest advisor Guglielmo (Erik Arman), in a grey mohair suit and spectacles, like an accountant. On is wheeled the bust of the royal gown of state. Now Elisabetta enters it; occupies it; assumes the role of Queen. Now Deshorties has an auburn wig. It’s all about her queenship as an act of theatre. (Yet this was a century before Louis XIV’s Versailles.) Elizabeth I, a great self-publicist, cultivated an aura of power: she embodied the realm. Later, the pursuit of suitors exhausted, she was the Virgin Queen with ‘the heart and stomach of a King.’
Niermeyer’s production uses these magnificent gowns -constantly floating around on their wheelbases- to symbolise royal power, as the crown jewels’ supernatural powers are passed on to their bearer. Yet, in this often moving production, Deshorties’ Elisabetta is seen as a vulnerable woman beneath the crushing weight and responsibility of royal power. And in the context of Rossini’s opera, the passionate woman in love, plotted against in court intrigues.
All of you about me, be joyous! Now she can breathe: even happier seeing Leicester again. Deshorties, now in that gown, her soprano is expressive, its power controlled, but capable of terrific high-notes when required. Her heart beats with joy: she will see him again. Lords of England! she sings of the most beautiful day of her life.
Leicester, (Norman Reinhardt, an accomplished tenor), is in a long over-checked coat, bearded of course, his smile exuding arrogance and insolence. He takes her hand. She’s beaming all over her face. Queen, we English fight with your name on our lips. She, to Leicester, extols what he has done for England, he must receive her personal thanks.
One of the captured Scottish noblemen turns out to be Matilde (disguised in a man’s suit), the woman Leicester had secretly married. Leicester is horrified and reproaches her for her recklessness: she and her brother Enrico were forbidden to leave Scotland. But Matilde, the outstanding soprano Ilse Eerens, sings of hearing rumours of Elisabetta’s love for Leicester. Her fear over the deception can she bear no more. Their duet is a tremendous dramatic creation: their hearts will endure their suffering.
Leicester reminds her, doesn’t she realise (as Mary Queen of Scots’ daughter), she’s Elisabetta’s sworn enemy? In her aria, Eerens a star performer, Matilde sings of an inner voice telling her she is born to suffer. Exquisite, with clarinet accompaniment, almost Mozartian in its intensity of feeling, plaintive , spiritual. She hopes for a moment without fear when her heart would jump for joy.
Norfolc wheels a gown past, eavesdropping on the clandestine lovers: he will betray them to the Queen. He will, he sings, make Elisabettas’s day, exposing Matilde and Enrico her brother.
The scene in which Elisabetta takes revenge on Leicester and Matilde is a dramatic highlight. Norfolc’s revelation of the secret marriage hits her unawares ‘like a sling’. She’s resolved the traitor must die. Her aria anticipates Verdi’s on a king’s private suffering (Philip II’s in Don Carlo). What should she do, the Queen cruelly deceived. Why should she, who has triumphed in Scotland, now be so unhappy?
In an imposing black and gold gown, surrounded by lady courtiers in billowing black skirts, Elisabetta sings she will get her revenge; but oh, so painfully. She announces, she will marry Leicester and as a reward and make him king. Leicester, dumbfounded, tries to decline her offer.
She explodes, Deshorties’ powerful soprano hitting the roof, cannot stand the deception any longer. Their secret is out! Matilde’s suit is stripped off, Eerens is debagged , revealed in her white slip, shamed. Now the crescendo , familiar from Il Barbiere di Siviglia, but what a different context! Leicester, Matilde, and Enrico , accused of high treason, are incarcerated. But Elisabetta is distraught, Deshorties’ face anguished, tearful.
The highlight of Act II is Elisabetta’s summoning of Matilde. Deshortie is now in white , Eerens kneels before her in her undergarment. They must be sentenced to death; pardoned only if Matilde writes that she renounces Leicester. She refuses, enraged: take only my life, keep your mercy, Eerens heart-rending. Their duet, interweaving their laments – Matilde’s heart drowning in tears, Elisabetta bewailing Oh, my God , my man! – sung to woodwind accompaniment, reminds of Bellini’s Norma (with Adalgisa) . But Matilde submits – Cruel Fate, how dearly we pay for life! – echoed by Elisabetta, appealing woman to vulnerable woman.
Reinhardt impressed in Leicester’s aria, he the victim of blind Fate. (He refuses to sign, sacrifice his love to save his life.) His exhausted body- Reinhardt’s white shirt dishevelled – demands peace; he collapses. Then he calls on heaven to free him from his suffering. Reinhardt’s is a beautifully lyrical tenor; he enacted the part, as indeed all the roles are well cast.
In the denouement, Leicester refuses Norfolc’s supporters freeing him by force. He will not rebel against the throne. In a powerful scene, the Queen herself visits him, not as Queen but as Elisabetta. He’s guilty of love; her rescue is his only hope. In a dramatic ‘Italianisation’, Norfolc enters with a knife, like a terrorist, but disarmed by Leicester. In a poignant aria, Elisabetta sings, let them embrace, these pure souls. Be free and happy for ever. And she holds Matilde to her bosom. Chorus sing, true love is not to be punished.
Now Gugliemo holds the Queen’s burgundy gown of state ready for her. Deshorties’ face, contorted with anguish, reveals the private suffering that goes with the role of sovereign. Earlier we see how conspirators dress up in three of the Queen’s gowns – a subversive act, also hinting perhaps at the Queen’s rumoured androgyny. But it is Norfolc who pulls apart the Queen’s gown revealing the steel hoops, fortelling an act of treason, the gowns as if imbued with the royal personage. A triumph of stagecraft! © PR 21.03.2017

Photos: Alexandre Deshorties (Elisabetta); Erik Arman (Guglielmo) and Alexandre Deshorties; Alexandre Deshorties and Arnold Schoenberg Choir : Norman Reinhardt (Leicester) and Alexandre Deshorties (Elisabetta); featured image Alexandre Deshorties
Photos © Herwig Prammer

Korngold’s expressionist opera, Die Tote Stadt (1920), a great success in its time, was described by Puccini as ‘the strongest hope of new German music’. But Korngold’s ‘essentially lyrical, neo-romantic style’ fell out of favour to austere modernism and the Schönberg School; exiled under the Nazis in 1930s, he was hugely successful as a Hollywood film composer. In Korngold’s post-war renaissance, Willy Decker’s (2004) production is the third of Vienna’s revivals.
The oak floors and heavy doors of Vienna State Opera’s handsome set suggest a mausoleum , where time stands still. Brigitta, the servant (Monica Bohinec) brings in a heavy glass case of memorabilia. She sings she has no idea what life is; has always lived alone, totally devoted to her master. Slumped in a leather armchair sits Paul (Herbert Lippert), a Proustian figure in an aubergine suit. ‘Certainly beautiful’ comments Frank (Adrian Eröd) of the portrait of Marie; ‘she was beautiful.’ Nein, sie lebt, Paul suddenly awakened, ‘She is beautiful’, and sings of his dead wife in a dead city. He sings of meeting a woman with an uncanny resemblance to Marie: yet pleads, God grant his dream and give her back.
Lippert filled the role at very short notice, replacing Florian Vogt. Perhaps lack of rehearsal time, somehow Lippert- at the very least adequate- didn’t have the vocal range , and at times strained. But, dramatically, enacting the part, it was a tour de force.
Eröd, formally dressed , his baritone always imposing, warns him, you’re a dreamer; he sees things. He’s raving over a phantom. His intense feelings have led him astray. Photos of Marie are scattered over the floor. Lippert holds up a huge poster-size image of Marie: who can understand the soul. Give her back to me!
Marietta, Camilla Nylund, a stunning, Nordic blonde, bounces in wearing a glamorous gold coat, vaguely 1920s . Immediately she feels stifled, as if she were in a tomb. Is the photo gallery of women he’s loved? Uncannily wearing the same dress (as Marie’s) , she provocatively lifts up her legs in his armchair. Marie? No, she’s called Marietta. What’s wrong? She’s tolerably well for someone by nature cheerful. She’s lucky in love. But what’s troubling him? He sings a song he’d heard in his youth, the story of lovers doomed to die. Their duet is a high point- Together our hearts beat in fear/ though sorrow comes ever near. (One of the opera’s more famous numbers.)
Nylund, at home in Straussian roles, is perfectly cast as Marietta, Korngold’s role similar to Strauss’s Arabella, free-spirited, carefree, her soprano both light and capable of enormous power. She comes from Lille, she sings. She’s a dancer: to dance sets her on fire, what passion. And she proclaims, Marie, her rival is dead, but she is waiting. Everyone, knows where to find her: at the theatre. So Marietta represents libido; the lustful Marietta the very antithesis of Marie, a source of morbid guilt for the fetish-obsessed husband.
And even if the 23 year old Korngold hadn’t read Freud’s Interpretation of Dreams , Freud’s psychoanalysis was in the air in early 20th century Vienna.
O, dream do not leave me, Paul pleads for his dead wife’s return to him. He’s left slouched in his armchair, the glass case of memorabilia on his lap. Back of the mirrored stage sits his double in he same suit. At first you wonder if it’s a film we’re watching. We see a vision of his wife, wearing the hair piece he fetishes: her voice (Nylund’s) sings, Our love is, was, always will be, Gluck, das mir verblieb, while Lippert sings repeating it. His alter-ego on the upper stage communicates with the now ghostly Marietta (Nylund) , who is entertaining a group of carnivalesque players all-in-white.
In Wolfgang Gussmann’s brilliant design, the stage ceiling tilts down suggesting the surreal. Phantom houses float by as Korngold’s multiple percussion effects describe the bells in his head. He tastes bitter pleasure: he missed her, Marietta, at the theatre. Bruges, he sings, pious city once lived in its virtue: now filled with a restless passion. Birgita (Bohinec) is seen carried away by a ghostly procession of white nuns, carrying a huge crucifix.
In this dreamscape we see a spectre of Eröd’s Frank perched on a roof top. She fascinates us, he sings.- She fascinates you too?- He’s fallen under her spell, Frank’s now deceiving him with Marietta. In the dream, a burlesque troupe in white evening dress, Vienna State Ballet dancers, perform a brilliantly conceived choreography.
Nylund’s phantom Marietta, in a top hat, is carrying a whip. Down with dull pretence, she sings , now approaching us from the lower stage. The troupe are supposed to be improvising the Resurrection scene from Meyerbeer’s Robert Le Diable, with Marietta playing the resurrected Helene: (Just so you know, Meyerbeer has fallen out of fashion.) She takes him, (Lippert), into her arms , and Paul, that Proustian figure, sinks back into his armchair. My reverie returns to the past, he sings.
They come running when she beckons- tremendous singing from Nylund- who wants to dance and sing Helene’s solo. On the upper stage , a ghostly spectre in black- Nylund as Marie- is stretched out across Marie’s crucifix.
Now the dance troupe are holding blood-red masks, as if enacting Paul’s subconscious torment, pulled between his loyalty to Marie and Marietta. Es war meine Gatin (She was my bride.) You look like her, but are unworthy of her . She’s spoilt his perfect dream. While a wall of icons show Marie displayed back of the stage, Nylund insists, I’m alive: live for pleasure! She mocks his piety, blind faithfulness. She bewitches him. Would he really give her up for his phantom? – BEGUILING WOMAN! He invites her; she will come o him in his wife’s house.
Come the Act 2 interval, after 1½ hours, Lippert’s voice is straining; his lyrical tenor at breaking point was no pleasure. In the ingenious set, the upper stage seems to get bigger as his fantasy world takes over.
Now , a huge blown up image of Marie faces us .In Marietta’s aria , Nylund, upstage, is on a mission, as if to exorcise Marie’s ghost. Leave us, do not haunt the living! She’s a real woman; in dancing she’s found happiness.
Against the enormous spectre of Marie’s ghost, a religious procession is taking place behind the stage screen. (Paul spends the night with Marietta, and is guilt-ridden.) Marietta mocks his piety in this psycho-drama of religious devotion to his dead wife and the passion raging within him. He protests, he believes in holy eternal love. She proclaims the happiness she’s found in dancing. She’s opened the locked door and found herself.
Finally , she siezes the glass case , removes Marie’s hair piece, (Nylund has had to shave her head bald), and sits over him lewdly. Then she hits him with it, the hair, and dangles it before him. Paul tries to wrest it, pushes her down, and eventually strangles her. Remarkable .Heightened by Korngold’s orchestration, with high-pitched wind instruments.
He awakens; Lippert is lying flat out on the stage. Brigitta opens the door: behind her brilliant daylight floods in. He holds up the glass case. The actress Marietta returns for her roses. A dream destroyed my dream, he sings. (Ein Traum hat mir den Traum zerstört.) He will leave this city of death: Leben trennt von Tod , wait for me in heaven, he sings.
Mikko Franck conducted Vienna State Orchestra and Chorus in an unmissable performance of Korngold’s infrequently heard masterpiece. The magnificent staging does justice to Korngold’s opera, the period, fin-de-siècle dress, spot on. PR 9.1.2017 ©
Photos: Camilla Nylund as Marietta; Herbert Lippert as Paul; Herbert Lippert; Featured image Herbert Lippert
© Wiener Staasoper/ Michael Pöhn

Hänsel und Gretel is no mere children’s opera. Richard Strauss, who gave its premier in 1893 Weimar, regarded Humperdinck’s opera as a masterpiece, as did Gustav Mahler. Humperdinck as devotee and assistant to Wagner composed a post-Wagner opera, at once listenable and complex, multi-layered and poetic: appealing equally to children and adults through its familiar plot and hit tunes. Hansel and Gretel are sung by adults, as if prefiguring 20th century child psychology: the notion that adults never quite grow up, our childhood fantasies locked away in the subconscious.
Adrian Noble, once Royal Shakespeare Company director, and behind a string of legendary West End musicals; now opera producer he directs Vienna State Opera’s fantasy-rich Hänsel und Gretel, using Anthony Ward’s imaginative sets. The stage curtain is a gigantic eye, the size of the whole stage- comprising clouds in motion (video Andre Goulding), its blood-vessels resembling trees. It lifts on a traditional late-Victorian living room, with Wedgwood cameos on the walls, and a Christmas tree in the corner. A family are watching black-and-white slides, a ‘magic lantern’, showing a fantasy world. This is the backdrop to the overture, sumptuously played by Vienna State Opera Orchestra passionately conducted by Axel Kober. The set moves away to show the adult-size Hänsel and Gretel in white walking into the forest.
A chalet, with father, Peter, (Sebastian Holocek) at his workbench, ‘the cobbler has leather, but no last.’ Gertrud (venerable soprano Donna Ellen) sits knitting. Nothing but dry bread! As Gretel, Chen Reiss’ soprano has a gloriously affecting clarity. How long since we had a square meal. Hänsel is rather big-built, Margaret Plummer in a ‘trouser role’ , but these are short trousers. Written for a ‘highly lyric mezzo, or full-bodied lyric soprano’, according to the programme, with vocal power needed to make this ‘spirited boy credible.’ But for me these voices are not sufficiently differentiated- although Reiss fits ‘the high, clear, bright, girlish lyric soprano par excellence’ called for – the very qualities Reiss drew on playing Janacek’s Cunning Little Vixen (in 2015).
The mother Gertrude arrives furious, and gives him a good slap: to see them dancing around as if in a village fete! She hasn’t knitted stockings; he hasn’t bound any brooms. She sends them out into the forest to pick strawberries. And if the basket isn’t filled…
Donna Ellen’s Gertrude’s lament about their miserable life is genuinely moving. O, God please send us some money. Not a drop of milk- she’d knocked the jug over in her temper- only water, she complains.
Tra la la: I’m home bringing good fortune, Gertrude. Everything tastes good when you’re hungry. Jovial, white-bearded, Holocek has a fabulous bass-baritone. The role of Peter Besenbinder could have inspired Anatevka‘s Fiddler on the Roof (although Polish shtetls are far-removed from this proto-Wagnerian world.) Yes, hunger is a tremendous thing. It’s been a wonderful day, hasn’t it; he’s sold all his brooms and bought food. Now, what’s for supper? She’s got nothing.
But where are the kinder? Their joy is dampened. He sings to her about the Ilsenstein witch in the depths of the forest, who gets her magic from the devil himself. She tempts children into her cottage with her magic cookies- then into the oven, out come gingerbread children. (Sounds like an advert for lebkuchen.) But this is all deadly serious, and they rush out to find their children before nightfall. Grimm’s Fairy Tales , on which the story is based, were known for their grisly social realism in an age, the 19th century, when young children were exploited as slave labour in factories and sold into prostitution.
We see the children’s silhouettes as if through a gigantic telescope in that magnified eye. They’re gaping in wonderment. Ein Männlein steht im Walde ganz still und stumm . They sing the opera’s signature tune (a traditional children’s song.) Her basket is full; mother will be pleased. Hey, do you see the wood…Kuckuck, eigentlich (an actual cuckoo). It’s all quite charming, evoking childlike innocence. She makes a wreath; they play games, eat all the strawberries lose track of time and their way. ‘Gretel ich kenn den Weg nicht mehr!’
The sandman, like a good angel (Maria Nazarova) , a platinum blonde figure in a trailing sky-blue gown patterned with cloud motifs, beckons them to sleep, Abends wenn ich schlaffen gehen. . Wonderful stage effects. A man-in-the moon amongst floating clouds; indicating heavenly paradise, moonbeams shower the stage; then, in a dreamscape, a balloon tree, and angelic girls in white dresses march in holding up white balloons.
There’s a doll’s house centre stage. Did you hear it, the heavenly wind? Did you smell that- the gingerbread cookies to entice them . The witch! In a crinkled shiny black dress , a white pinafore daubed in red hand imprints, wearing gook black spectacles. Michaela Schuster creeps up behind Plummer’s Hänsel, lassoes him with her thick rope and tightens the grip. Right of stage we see a surrealistic oven , the grille as if smiling, thin-lipped. And a huge cage suspended, with perched above, a giant bird of prey, its beak extended. Behind, in the shadows ghostly mannequins of children. She sings, promising great joy: she loves children (and intends to fatten Hänsel up.) Hänsel tries to escape; she casts her spell, he freezes and in a trance enters the cage. Humperdinck’s music is playful, ironic , with macabre hints. Schuster, her dark-toned mezzo self-ironic, sings gleefully, the little girl’s asleep; how the young sleep. Gretel, she’ll be tender and plump.
The witch story should be so scary as to send shivers up your spine- young or old (writes Oliver Lang in Prolog.) Schuster, tremendously powerful in Wagner, here creeps around like some camp fairy. Not really frightening: but our shock threshold has changed since the relatively tranquil late-19th century. Schuster does a tango with her broomstick, waving the broomstick around, swinging it like a baton. Behind, lightning forks and the clouds whirl at high speed. But this witch is hardly more credible than a panto dame! But, of course, you don’t get Michaela Shuster at the Brighton Pavilion.
Her plans to push Gretel into the oven backfires. Poor Gretel; the heat of the oven which scalds her hand looks real enough, but Reiss, acting dumb, gets the witch to show her around the oven. They push Schuster in : now she’ll be the roast. The spell broken, the children cast into lebkuchen emerge liberated; just look at all those children! Centre stage , there’s a gingerbread dame, they dance around, Hänsel and Gretel reunited with their parents. They sing, Wenn die Not aufs Höchste steigt, Gott der Herr sich gnädig zu uns neigt.. When the going gets tough …
This is the classiest pantomime you will ever see. But much more. Humperdinck’s score -originally composed as a short fairy tale piece of four songs- is an operatic masterpiece: a musical delight, its tunes ringing in your ears. Noble’s post-modern update, ingeniously based late 19th century, isn’t perfect, but infinitely preferable to those moribund, antiquated forest settings.© PR. 2.1.2017
Photos: Margaret Plummer (Hänsel) and Chen Reiss (Gretel); Donna Ellen (Gertrude)and Sebastian Holocek (Peter Besenbinder); Michaela Schuster (the witch); featured image Margaret Plummer and Chen Reiss
© Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn

Massenet’s Manon is not quite the Manon of Puccini’s Manon Lescaut. True the central roles are the same, Manon on the way to a convent, chaperoned by Sergeant Lescaut, here in Massenet, her cousin. And she’s lusted over by two rich, older men, the financier Guillot , then De Brétigny, a wealthy landowner who offers her the life of luxury she cannot resist. With Des Grieux, wih whom she absconds, it’s love at first sight. But whereas in Puccini the plot is to abduct Manon, in Massenet’s opera it is Grieux who is kidnapped in a plot by the old Count to preserve the family name. And it is Manon who tracks him down, training in a religious order.
This matters because Jules Massenet’s Manon is depicted as the transgressive woman who ‘corrupts’ Des Grieux. Adapted from Abbé Prévost’s (18th century) novel, (libretto by Meilhac and Gille), the context of Massenet’s opera is a 19th century dominated by religion and severe moral standards: Puccini’s is ambivalently modern, a free spirit, and tragically, the victim of men’s conspiracies.
Vienna State Opera’s updated Manon opens in a ‘Victorian’ railway station, huge arches, like the Musée d’Orsay , with a colourful period (fin-de-siècle) posters. However, Andrei Serban’s production (staging Peter Pabst) confuses with life-size cut-outs of ‘Victorian’ figures and ‘modern’ costumes; and Manon’s Paris is nearly up-to-date with neon signs and cars.
What’s important is the music, from the Overture there’s passionate, authentic playing from Vienna State Opera Orchestra, and Choir on magnificent form under Frédéric Chaslin. And in the key roles Marlis Petersen debuts as Manon and Jean-François Borras sings Des Grieux , both outstanding in a high calibre cast.
In Manon’s first aria (Je suis encore tout-étourdie), Petersen is ravishing, exploding with sheer joy as the girl seeing so many things at once ‘she has wings’. Petersen’s light soprano is utterly charming , and convinces as the innocent ‘girl’. She finds Guillot amusing (Alexander Kaimbacher in a business suit), posing as a comedian , but ruthlessly amoral. Isn’t he rather old for her, comments one of the women in the tavern. She’s protected by Lescaut (Adrian Eröd), who’s responsible for the family honour.
Manon, sitting on a railway bench, sings of how beautiful the ladies are in their expensive dresses and gorgeous jewels. But then, be sorry Manon, forget your dreams and desires. Petersen is captivatingly sexy in a nautical-inspired outfit.
Grieux hesitantly introduces himself and falls head over heels. Enchantress Manon, sings Jean-François Borras, in a three-piece suit, wearing a cravat, the romantic with long-flowing hair. But I am a pure girl who has done no wrong; others will put her in a convent. ‘That is the story of Manon Lescaut’. He can’t believe such cruelty, can’t allow her to leave. She’s his body and soul. Borras is some terrific tenor, (reminding of Johann Botha, albeit a Wagnerian tenor, who died in 2016.) They leave for Paris, united forever. What joy for their whole life long, they sing ecstatically.
In the second scene Grieux , in a red dressing gown, is at his desk; she, in a very sexy black corset, comes up behind, affectionately blindfolding him. He’s very afraid; writing to his father, he wants her to be his wife. Lescaut (Eröd) intrudes on their bliss, as if apprehending them en flagrante. Yesterday she turned sixteen, (‘Victorian’/19th century attitudes were quite different to ours.) Lescaut, accompanied by a disguised De Brétigny (Clemens Unterreiner), had come to warn her of his father’s plot to abduct Grieux.
Petersen, in Manon’s aria, sings she’s heard ‘the voice that’s lured me away against my will.’ She’d turned down Guillot; now she’s tempted to be De Brétigny’s mistress for a life of luxury. But she is weak and fragile. Petersen is kneeling on her bed, white-on-white, her hair in a long plait. She sings a maudlin farewell to the little table that had united them . They needed so little space for their love. He sings of his dream, En fermant les yeux, the sea and landscape, of waking up without her, Borras’s tenor lyrical, exquisitely sung. ‘Child, let go of me’ ; there’s a knock at the door.
Act three: we make out a windmill, ‘Moulin Rouge’, behind the stage curtain, with a 1960s Citroen projected crossing the stage: Paris with all the iconic neon signs. A huge billboard shows a cinema poster of a woman in low-cut gown, her breasts fondled by the lover behind her. Why is this being updated to post-war, 1960s/70s? To feed on the clichés of contemporary Paris?
The stage resembles some seedy club. Rosalinde the strip artiste; Eröd’s Lescaut depicted like Pindar the procurer, in a vision of flashy bling. Guillot, who offers ‘a jewel for a kiss’, contemptuously misogynistic, sings ‘woman is after all a wicked creature’.
Petersen’s Manon is seen in a black-patterned frock , holding a bouquet, behind her and around her a flower stand. My beauty has made me a queen, she sings. What an adventurous life I lead! She’s beautiful and happy. But, ominously, if Manon has to die one day, then with laughter on her lips; and, with a tremendous flourish of ascending high notes, as long as her beauty lasts. Men are literally lying at her feet. The Chorus sing, seize the flower of youth, for springtime is short.
Guillot is looking on, like Belmondo’s gangster in Borsalino , in white suit and white hat. Count Grieux (Dan Paul Dumitresco), tipped off by Guillot, tells his son he’s to enter holy orders. Manon, disguised, wants to know, did he, Grieux, suffer; did he talk about her, the woman. Dumitresco sings movingly, What happens after we experience love? Does the perfume linger. One forgets, one forgets…
In the moral scheme, Grieux is the victim of Manon’s lust. Grieux, now Abbé, preaching in a convent (Act 4) tells his father, he finds only bitterness in his life. He had a life? the Count responds, what experience has he had : he should marry ‘a nice girl’.
Grieux’s aria Je suis seul , is a highlight, wonderfully sung by Borras. Nothing gives him greater solace than his faith, but the thought of Manon’s name brings him back to her, (Ah, fuyez, douce image.) Manon, who charms her way into his monastery, begs for Grieux’s heart. To a background of church music, Forgive me, dear Lord.
In Act 4, we’re in the Hôtel de Transylvanie, a gambling den. Men, Lescaut, Guillot, playing cards at a side table; a long bar; another gambling table reflected in a huge mirror above. And Manon is one of the women at the bar. It’s all rather louche. In the 19th century stereotype, Manon is the fallen woman who can’t help but bring her man down. Petersen is lying on top of the bar, in a sparking silver gown. So we’re in no doubt of her moral lapse. Yet as foolish as you are, I love you, Grieux sings. She persuades him to gamble: you will have my entire being, my love and my life.- Manon, you astonishing sphinx. You siren!- Ever more money for Manon, she sings. Hers is a greed for life.
But she provokes Guillot by flaunting herself at Grieux, so that Guillot accuses him of cheating and calls the police.(For atmosphere two ‘molls’ are fighting on the floor like wildcats.) Count Grieux comes to rescue his son from the scandal that worsens from day to day. Manon, conscience-stricken, begs Guillot for mercy. They take them away, (of course, Grieux will be released later.)
The final Act, a huge chasm , a depiction of a prison; women, prostitutes, sitting on the ground waiting to be transported. Lescaut’s rescue plan is aborted, but Grieux and Manon left alone. As in Puccini, she can’t walk any further and collapses , (but here on the way to the harbour.) No, she will never see the distant lands, he sings ironically. She realises the goodness of his heart, why she has fallen so low. In their duet, happiness lies ahead of us again. (What a wonderful diamond! She’s still a coquette.) In her glittering gown, Petersen, laid out in his arms, is like a good-time-girl, or a streetwalker. The stage is bathed in red. © P.R. 7.11.2016
Photos: Marlis Petersen © Wiener Staatsoper
Jean-François Borras (Grieux) and Marlis Petersen (Manon); Marlis Petersen (Manon) and Jean-François Borras (Grieux) © Wiener Staatsoper / Ashley Taylor

The bald devil-like figure of Josef Wagner storms onto the Vienna Volksoper stage threatening, there will be no performance tonight. This is a clever reference to the fires that broke out in opening performances in Vienna (1881) and in Paris at the Opéra Comique (1887), where the whole orchestral area was destroyed- the devil’s revenge for Offenbach’s satrical representation of hell in Orpheus in the Underworld.
However, Renard Doucet and André Barbe’s production of Hoffmanns Erzählungen opens in Luther’s wine and beer cellar with a cheeky “Hell” sign. In the boozy atmosphere the Muse (classical inspiration for poets) is embodied in the genderless Niklaus (Elvira Soukop.) She urges Hoffmann, think of your writing, free yourself in art. He’s weak, she sings, but he responds to beauty and music.
Lindorf (Josef Wagner, whose impressive bass features as Coppelius, and Dr.Miracle, in the other tales,) is also in love with the singer Stella, and marks Hoffmann as a rival. Lindorf haunts the poet like an immovable adversary, as if to blame for all Hoffmann’s doomed love life.

(c) barbara pálffy/volksoper

In Adrian Noble’s acclaimed production for Vienna State Opera, Alcina is being performed by members of the Countess of Devonshire’s family. You’d have thought Handel’s opera was complicated enough without framing it. But Noble’s concept works well, opening in a fabulous Georgian ballroom, with copper shells bordering the front of stage (designer Anthony Ward.) How appropriate to set the opera in Handel’s time, especially as the guest orchestra in the pit- with soloists appearing on the stage accompanying the singers- is playing on original instruments: Les Musiciens du Louvre, conducted by Marc Minkowski. There’s a sense of urgency, dynamic, rhythmic playing, vibrato-less clarity and freshness, enervating the singers.
It was to be a costume drama like no other. Lady Devonshire , who sings Alcina, introduces her guests; liveried footmen attend dutifully. Georgian aristocratic society brought to life; but the background music is, from the overture on, Handel’s own. Astonishingly, a balloon, in claret and blue, descends, filling the stage. It’s a surrealistic moment, preparing us for the magical world of Alcina’s island.
The backstage panels open up to reveal a bright green island. This is paradise for the living, here heroes are nurtured for pleasure, sing the Chorus (Vienna State Opera Academy Choir.) A ballet, Vienna State Ballet dancers, in brilliant jewel colours, jade, royal blue, orange, purples- take the stage.
Alcina (Greek soprano Myrto Papatanasiu) is holding court: ‘played by’ Georgina, Duchess of Devonshire, it’s as if the London aristocracy have moved into an island location (but 200 years before the jet set.) Papatanasiu’s Alcina is very louche, built-up bouffant hair, in a long gown, with pinched waist. She’s fondly caressing her lover Ruggerio (mezzo-soprano Rachel Frenkel). But her man is actually cross-dressed, increasing the erotic charge. Papatanasiu, in her aria, sings, show them the words, the spring, the wells, where I sighed and offered you love.
Bradamante, Ruggerio’s betrothed, comes on a mission to rescue him, accompanied by her guardian Melisso. Bradamante (mezzo-soprano Margarita Gritskova) dressed as a soldier carries a sword; Melissa (Orhan Yildiz) also supposedly a soldier, but bearded, in a great coat, looks more like a 19th century revolutionary. They meet Alcina’s sister Chen Reiss (a spitting image of Papatanasiu as if things weren’t confusing enough), as Morgana falls in love with ‘Ricciardo’, ie. Bradamante disguised as her brother. Yet more complicated, Alcina enters with Ruggerio, who is, literally, under her spell. He doesn’t remember ‘Ricciardo’, nor any lover but Alcina Di te mi rido.
And Oronte (Alcina’s general) is jealously in love with Morgana, whom he imagines is in love with Ricciardo/Bradamante as his rival! Tenor Benjamin Bruns’ Oronte, unrecognisably gruesome, provides some of the highlights of Act 1. Morgana, promising to protect Bradamante, renounces her love for Oronte, whose passion for her gives him no peace. Reiss, a gloriously scintillating soprano, feistily rails at Bruns, you foolish man loving a woman! Even while she sings protesting her love, she could be denouncing you. Reiss is very sexy in the role. (The embittered Oronte intrigues with Ruggerio; enraged with jealousy, Ruggerio accuses Alcina of being unfaithful.)
Alcina’s impassioned response to Ruggerio’s reproach is a highpoint. In her aria, she sings, although his jealousy wounds her, she loves him regardless. How can his cruel heart so mock her. Her heart is scorned!
The characters in Alcina are human flesh and blood, with real feelings. Handel, unlike his (Italian) contemporaries, avoids simplistic stereotypes. Alcina is depicted not so much as devilish sorceress, rather as the desperate lover.
Act 2 opens with Ruggerio meeting with the disguised Melisso who gives Ruggerio a magic ring to break Alcina’s spell. (Thus Ruggerio is reminded of his love for Bradamante, and his feelings for Alcina voided.) The revelation is suggested by the stage now filled with descending small lights- clever, but also rather a beautiful effect. Ruggerio conspires to go hunting, so as to flee Alcina’s realm. In Verdi prati , affectingly sung by Frenkel , Ruggerio laments that the beautiful landscape is about to decay. Alcina invokes her magic to win back Ruggerio’s love. But in despair, she realises her power no longer works against the ring, ombre pallide.
Accompanied by a violin on stage, Papatanasiu movingly sings, how she senses Ruggerio no longer loves her. At first she seems to faint. Then, in her aria, Oh, my heart, invoking the gods of love, accuses him: the traitor, who she loved so much, leaves her in tears. She falls, but then her anger raises her to her feet: Oh, my heart, you are scorned!
Papatanasiu is passionate, demonstrative; enacts the role with expressive physicality. In Act 3, after meeting Ruggerio, and realising he’s leaving her for another love (his fiancée), she reproaches him, he merely feigned love . She calls upon the demons of the underworld for vengeance: but where are they? Vanquished. What is left, pale shadows. They do not appear. Papatanasiu raises her arms in anguish. Then picks up a silver jewelled wand. Stop my fleeing lover! Have pity even if no longer bound by her magic.
She’s desperate to stop Ruggerio leaving. Ma quando turnerai If he returns, she threatens, it will be in chains. She locks his arms in a grip behind his back. She mauls his cheeks; pushes him down like a dog.
Frenkel’s Ruggerio takes the stage commandingly, Gritskova’s Bradamante on one side, Yildiz as Melisso, his ‘tutor’, on the other. Bradamante strips off her soldier’s tunic, revealing her bodice, and emerging in a frock, coral pink: beautiful woman, Gritskova, her voluminous mezzo ‘full of belcanto elegance.’
Poor Alcina holds the stage, her captain Oronte (Bruns) strutting about , her forces overcome. In a poignant aria , Mi restano le lagrime , she’s left with nothing but her tears; the heavens no longer hear her. (Poor dear, Papatanasiu, she’s still wearing the same gown, distinguished by an excess of necklaces.) A footman hands her a decanter. Not whiskey, surely? She drinks.
The stage behind is filled with brilliant green grass, through which walks an elderly, blind-folded figure. (She had him metamorphosed into a lion, hence the profusion of gold curls.) Oberto is ordered to spear his father and cannot. May you be tormented with sorrow and torment, Alcina curses the reunited lovers Bradamante and Ruggerio. She has no need of their pity. Do not hope for mercy from us! (they respond.) Frenkel’s Ruggerio now drops the magic casket -it breaks, (it’s only plastic after all!) Who has restored life and liberty to us at the end of this terrible night, sing the chorus. Papatanasiu calmly takes her place on the couch to put together her broken urn.
The ballet – the gorgeous boys dance gloriously- bare-chested in their cream baggy pants; then standing in a line corralling the rest of the players to join the celebrations. And so the original ‘oak’ panels (of the Duchess’s ballroom) close the back of the stage. Hallelujah! All praise the glorious power of true love, against which the sorceress’s powers failed.
It was our good fortune that Handel’s score was justified on period instruments by Minkowski’s magnificent Musiciens du Louvre, the guest orchestra in the pit, while Vienna State Opera Orchestra were on tour in Japan. © P.R. 26.10.2016
Photos: Myrtò Papatanasiu (Alcina); Chen Reiss (Morgana); featured image Chen Reiss
© Wiener Staatsoper / Michael Pöhn

In Axel at Heaven’s Door, Ralph Benatzky’s ‘Hollywood’ based operetta, Axel is the luckless reporter who stakes everything on an interview with ‘unapproachable’ film diva Gloria Mills. So he endangers his engagement to Jessie, who’s conveniently secretary of ‘Scott’, Mills’ Film studio. She turns to Axel’s best friend for consolation, a hairdresser exiled from Vienna. Meanwhile Mills confronts the realities of stardom, in love with a sleazebag posing as a prince.
Benatzky’s 1936 operetta was one of the last in the genre, before many of its (Jewish) composers and musicians were driven out of Austria and Germany by the Nazis. Axel an der Himmelstür, based on the satirical comedy by Paul Morgan, famously depicted ‘Hollywood without exaggeration, guaranteed authentic’, the model for Gloria Mills being Greta Garbo.
Peter Lund’s splendid Volksoper production is film noir as musical. First half, the actors (and action) on stage are in black/white sepia tones, merging into the film projected on the screen behind. In the brilliant opening, the stage set, with art deco gilded panels, comprises a small cinema, for a private film-studio viewing of a Gloria Mills silent movie, Once upon a time in Hollywood , (authentically edited by Andreas Vancsics), with Volksoper orchestra in the pit. This cues into the first musical sequence, HOLLY-HOLLYWOOD: where everybody’s a star: nothing is real, Chaplin, can do it, Buster et al.
But Gloria Mills needs a script; so we’re taken on a trip of the Hollywood studio system. Closing in on Jessie (Juliette Khali) secretary of Scott Film Corp, where reporter Axel tries to get an interview with Mills. Andreas Bieber is nerdy, with wiry hair, in a plaid jacket. A film crew comes in complaining about the ‘impossible’ Miss Mills. The screen behind is constantly changing, with a cartoonist’s illustrations of Hollywood.
Gloria Mills (Julia Koci) enters from the side of stage, ‘I’m a star , how can I possibly moan.’ With boyishly short hair, she’s stunningly dressed in a clinging black silk gown, cut away at the thigh. (Zarah Leander, an overnight star premiering in the role, wore costumes cut so high, they said you could see her crotch.)
Her aria sings of the Movie Star: the idol of the century. (Her many film posters are shown behind her.) But, ‘in the depths of my heart I am alone,’ she confesses. In the role Julia Koci (who interchanges with Bettina Mönch) has charisma: that sultry, aloof star-quality, and vocally , she smoulders diva-like, confidently reaching high notes. (Axel is spotted, huddled under a table, and she, averse to the press, the paparazzi, has him ejected.)
Mills wants to resign. In a (mock) fur coat and a hat resembling a pelican’s beak , she confronts studio head Cecil McScott (Kurt Schreibmayer), an obvious satire on Cecil B. De Mille. A fascimile cut-out of the studio’s limousine knocks over an old man- in fact, Axel disguised by make-up artist Theodor- in a scam to blackmail Mills into getting him into her villa. Now, the old man invited to dinner, Axel’s at Heaven’s Door.
In the sub-plot, Theodor (Peter Lesiak) visits Jessie’s apartment. Modernist white cabinets: profiled against a side-view of a Bauhaus apartment block. Ihnen zuliebe I’ll do anything to please you, he sings: one of the show’s famous numbers, as Theodor appears to cut Jessie’s hair. But their love -as Axel appears- is ‘taboo’, they sing.
Theodor is an exile from Vienna. But the stand-out nostalgic waltz ‘Everyone wants to watch the real movies from Vienna ‘, Echten Film aus Wien is, in fact, a send-up of all the stereotypes: a parody of a Viennese song that’s ‘reconstituted as Hollywood corn.’ The Danube flows through the centre of Vienna; Schubert and Johann Strauss live in the same house; everything’s in English. The cast join a screwball line-up from Strauss to Kaiser William, the Prater and Stephansdom each side of stage. Vienna how it laughs!
(Closing Act 1,) a montage of headlines bring us up to speed on the gossip about Gloria. Will she leave him (Tino); how often does she use cocaine? The closing shot is of Axel entering the gates of heaven (Gloria’s estate), the screen now swirling clouds.
As Axel stands in Mills’ Hollywood palace making notes, we see on the white screen behind him a cartoonist’s sketch of the Hollywood star’s home. The back-stage screen (Sam Madwar) is used as if to illustrate his reporters pad.

(c) barbara pálffy/volksoper

But the screen lifts on -you’ve guessed it – a spiralling staircase, with five men in deejays , top hats and canes, leading into a dance routine led by Axel.Tenor Andreas Bieber excels as a comic actor: as a singer, he maybe lacks operatic range. He’s as meant to be, a musical entertainer, ideal for operetta.
For Act 2- we’re in Gloria Mills’ home- the set is gold-tinted. And -wow!- Mills (Koci) appears as a platinum blonde, in a lustrous gold creation, a silk gown, and a zebra-striped coat. Now, bathed in a gold light, the show stopper Gebundene Hände– tied hands spell out the end of passion, (or whatever.) Soprano Koci, who has some considerable talent, ended confidently on a gloriously sustained high note. The House erupted spontaneously, the longest applause of the evening.
In the preposterously complicated intrigue, Axel reveals his identity ; but when the Sheriff (Gerhard Ernst) arrives, Mills, like a true actress, shops him. The witty script (Hans Weigel) is forever referencing lines from classic movies. They exchange lines from Robin Hood , he being the Sheriff of Nottingham to Axel’s Robin, who gives him the slip. Mills learns that her beloved Prince is -surprise-a fraudster. Axel thwarts her suicide bid just in time; and she reluctantly lets him spend the night for protection.
Meanwhile, Jessie and Theodor have slipped into the villa: an excuse for the appealing duet ‘Just to please me’, (Khali and Lesiak.) In the ingenious set, we see them sneaking into the upper bedrooms ; later masked characters snoop suspiciously in and out, (are they after the diamonds?) A power cut suspending the alarm; police storm the villa; Axel is seized. In the police lock-up, Axel sings, ‘I must be in Sing-Sing allein (alone)’.- There is no singing.- But this is an operetta!
Axel is reprieved, ultimately everyone exposed. Of course, there’s a ‘Hollywood ending’ Gloria has to admit Axel spent the night with her for an interview. The Holly-Hollywood opening sequence is reprised; and ingeniously, just when we thought it was over, the full cast on stage do a fast-forward re-run. We see the main scenes recapitulated as if a film spool was being re-wound.
I should mention the musical arrangements (of the 1930s originals) were by Kai Tietje, and the Volksoper orchestra – unassailable in operetta- were conducted with real pizzazz by Lorenz C. Aichner. Incredibly, 80 years after its premier, this was a first for Vienna Volksoper. The revival of Benatzky’s operetta is a triumph thanks to Peter Lund’s imaginative direction and the ingenuity of Sam Madwar’s ‘stage’ design. Technically and creatively it would compete with the best in London or Broadway-except, ironically, it isn’t in English (except for the sub titles.) PR.15.09.2016
Photos: Bettina Mönch (Gloria Mills) and Andreas Bieber (Axel); Andreas Bieber and ensemble
(c) Barbara Pálffy/ Volksoper Wien
Photos featuring Julia Koci were unfortunately not available.

Borodin’s only opera Prince Igor – its ravishingly beautiful melodies famously used in the Hollywood musical Kismet– is now seldom heard, except for the Polovtsian dances. Yet its epic choral scenes and distinctive characters made Price Igor ‘the most important national opera since Mussorgsky’s Boris Godunov.’
Borodin aimed to compose a National opera, like Rimsky-Korsakov and Mussorgsky’s, based on Russian legends, in which Russia and the Orient would meet. Two musical styles are opposed, the classic Russian, against the beguiling Oriental – emphasised by Rimsky-Korsakov (Sheherezade), who assisted in the work. The styles are quite different, the Russian defined in the opening Prologue’s celebratory anthems.
Vienna Volksoper’s staging (sung in German) picks up on these differences, with a black and silver thematic for the Russians. With silver mirrors either side, the Choir (tremendous singing from Volksoper Choir) are dressed like crusaders, in silver mesh, holding up white crucifixes. They sing songs of rejoicing, fighting for homeland and faith.
Igor is an idealist who must prove himself in battle, in spite of bad omens, and his wife Juroslavna’s pleading (soprano Melba Ramos). Sebastian Holecek , a refined bass-baritone, physically imposing, warrior-like in an elaborate silver coat, looks the part. War is the prince’s duty he sings. Prince Galitsky (bass-baritone Martin Winkler) is entrusted to look after his sister, the Queen; Igor misguidedly lays his trust in him – Winkler, fearsome, bald-headed, powerfully enacted, imposingly sung.
Contrasted against the sober monochrome of the Russian believers, the Polovtsian camp is brilliant Technicolor. Act 1 opens to nymph-like figures in crimson, waving huge sunflowers- Vienna State Ballet dancers are utterly enchanting- symbolising the exotic orientalism , the dangerous lure of the east. Behind the dancers, the stage is ablaze with giant sunflowers, triffidly creepy, in director Thomas Schulte-Michels’ stage design.
In sumptuous red and gold gown, Konchakovna (Annely Peebo) the Khan’s daughter, in her aria, summons her man to her. Peebo’s mezzo is solid, attractively sung. Responding to her, Vladimir, Igor’s son – father and son now imprisoned- in a beautiful, internationally famous aria, sings, where is she, he’d give everything… Predictable lyrics, but Vincent Schirrmacher’s is a quality tenor, and with his oriental good looks, meltingly convincing, as he holds her shawl. Her father (the scheming Khan) would be glad to welcome him, but what would his father say?
Igor, of course, is in despair, blaming himself, he alone, for the defeat. In his aria, he sings of the freedom he’s lost; defeated, a prisoner, he’s failed his people; but he’ll come back to triumph and restore his honour. Holecek is an impressive bass-baritone, but perhaps, singing amongst these giant sunflowers, disadvantaged. In this surreal landscape, singing of how to rescue his country, he lacks some authority. But the audience was enthusiastic.
The point, presumably, of the exotic set is to emphasise the temptation, and accordingly Igor’s courage, in refusing to submit. (He refuses a Polovtsian’s help to escape; flight is unworthy of a King, he sings.) Whereas his son is enticed. Igor’s adversary Konchak at first tries to console him, that all’s for the best, that he isn’t a prisoner. Igor, could be Konchak’s ally, if he wanted ; together they would conquer the world.

Konchak (Sorin Coliban) in the Khan’s aria sings of what he can offer Igor. He’s cruel, sometimes resorts to any means, he admits. Coliban, a super-powered bass-borrowed from Vienna State Opera- suitably bearded, every inch the potentate, is absolutely the part, the standout role in the production. But even he appears a little absurd, seated in the middle of a giant sunflower. He offers Igor eternal friendship, the most beautiful women- (as long as he doesn’t threaten his land.) But Igor stubbornly resists. Hence the great feast in his honour: the singing, the Polovtsian dances.
On come the Polovtsian dancers- that gorgeous ‘Stranger in Paradise’ tune- an invocation of homeland, the dreams of youth. They have him trapped, Igor seated in amongst a harem, surrounded by man-eating sunflowers. The male dancers in purple do backwards somersaults; elaborate gymnastic contortions; breath-taking acrobatics from the women in cerise. Unbelievable! Headstands, twirling like break-dancers, on a tablet. These Vienna State ballet dancers are pulling out all the stops to impress us, and the captive Igor to give in to temptation. (But some people are never satisfied. This woman in front of me was actually checking her I-phone!) The balcony boxes next to the stage are now filled with exotically-dressed Polovtsian dancers, flashing electronic candles.
The second half (Act 3and 4) is a darker affair depicting the suffering of Igor’s people, tyrannised by Galitsky. The chorus of Russian soldiers, in vests and braces, is spectacularly choreographed. Are you happy, dear Prince, they mock their absent ruler; Galitsky, Winkler bare-chested, wearing a paper gold crown and red cloak, stirs up their revolt. Young women file in, one of them laid out centre-stage, in a mock rape scene. The bald Galitsky appears to mount her…
Cut to Igor’s wife, who in her aria pines, so long as he’s away she waits; where are the days of carefree happiness. Exceptionally sung by Melba Ramos, to oboe accompaniment, it reminded of Verdi.
A chorus of girls sing how some were seized and abused. Who is guilty? Who is the man? They’re afraid to say. But the truth must out: Galitsky does what he wants since Igor’s away. Protect us women! Princess Jaroslavna demands an explanation. Galitsky boasts, he’ll do what he pleases. Exciting tension between Melbos and Winkler! ‘The day of reckoning is not far off. Watch out!’ she warns him.-‘Igor is long forgotten’. If only she knew, he taunts her: ‘You’re too young, your husband is far away.’ Winkler’s Galitsky is sung with malice and a mocking laugh. She is too weak, and too tired to fight. Again Melba is tremendous in the part.
Troops sing of a curse broken out; the enemy is too strong. Now, brilliantly coloured, a line of Polovtsian soldiers punch the sky in triumph; more of them surge forward. The Khan is submerged in the midst of his concubines- we see their heads sticking out, encapsulated in a monster-sized flower shape. He’s standing knee-deep in women! Coliban swaggers, embodying the archetypal ‘oriental’ potentate. Igor tries to escape, but is recaptured. But Vladimir, persuaded to stay, the Khan spares his life. Ever cunning, Konchak offers his daughter in marriage, to guarantee Igor’s non-combat. (You’re my stepson from now on! To war and booty!)
Finally, we see Igor’s wife lamenting her man so far away; she invokes the great (river) Dnieper that controls Man’s fate. (A distant chorus is heard ; the Khan’s troops have released Prince Igor.) Igor and his wife re-united. In their duet, she’s incredulous; they’ve come to each other as if in a dream.
Skula and Yeroska, the clowns and turncoats of the piece, immediately change sides and call the people together to sing Igor’s praises. They rejoice in Igor, their saviour from Galitsky’s reign of terror. The opera closes assymetrically, as it began, with the Chorus, ‘We are the people!’
Surely Borodin’s opera, albeit completed by Glazunov, is a flawed masterpiece, inexplicably neglected. Vienna Volksoper’s production does it justice musically, for which Volsoper Orchestra under the distinguished Alfred Eschwe may also take credit. The cast was sterling, almost the measure of a Staatsoper roll call, without the big names, (except Coliban.) The Volksoper Chorus excelled, and Vienna State Ballet dancers are world class. What lets down this splendid revival is the (oriental) set. Those monster flowers are kitsch- ridiculous and vulgar; they detract from an otherwise distinguished production.
P.R. 22.3.2016
Photos: Sebastian Holecek (Prince Igor); Martina Mikelic (Jaroslavna), Sorin Coliban (Konchak)
(c) Barbara Palffy/ Volksoper Wien

Rossini’s The Barber of Seville (Il barbiere di Siviglia) is so popular as to ensure a full house, so Vienna State Opera could be forgiven for putting up any cast. (Not tonight!) Their stage set is a classic (original production Günther Rennert) that’s seen over 400 performances. But let’s not get snobbish: Rossini’s opera is a comic masterpiece, which even Beethoven, who composed only one opera, envied.
Rossini’s music- epitomised in The Barber of Seville– has an irresistible rhythmic quality, a perpetuum mobile. Like an engine, it drives the comedy along, building up steam for Rossini’s signature crescendos. Italian conductors especially are able to sustain this rhythm , enervating the quieter recitative scenes. Jean-Christophe Spinosi, conducting Vienna State Opera orchestra, achieved luminous, light textures. But not quite that inexorable perpetual movement.
Vienna State Opera’s set (designer Alfred Siercke) is a magnificent traditional Spanish villa on three floors, balconies centre. Serenaders troupe in. Count d’Almaviva (Antonino Siragusa) sings beneath Rosina’s balcony, ‘The sun rises to greet you; will you not awaken? Siragusa’s tenor is nothing special: for a bel canto role, rather dull, not going anywhere. (If this were a talent-spotting audition, it wouldn’t go to the next round.) Siragusa’s tenor is really struggling, not strong enough to transport onto to the top floor, never mind Rosina’s heart. He does get to that top note in the end. They clapped. The Chorus (as always at Vienna State Opera) are splendid as Almaviva pays them off.
Figaro (Christopher Maltman) enters from the stalls, side of stage. At last some real singing. Maltman, with his richly timbred baritone, simply takes over. Centre stage, he’s addressing us, the audience, in his iconic, dazzling cavatina ‘Day and night, I’m on call’, brushes, and combs and knives at his command. There’s an alacrity and bustling humour and mischievousness to his phrasing . And what fabulous high notes. Largo al factotum, Old and young ask of me here and there…Figaro, Figaro, Figaro, Figaro. Ah, what time he’s having. (Now he’s holding onto, pivoting from, a drainpipe.) ‘Fortune will always side with me: I am the factotum of the city!’ True to life: just a little money in his pocket, with a girl in Seville.
Maltman’s Figaro runs rings around Almaviva. Almaviva sings, he once saw a beauty, the daughter of a Sevillian merchant. Enamoured, he now stands beneath her balcony. I happen to be the envy of all trades, boasts Figaro, the man to go to. The balcony door opens. Rosina (Adriana Kucerová), a dark beauty, throws down some little trifle which her guardian and uncle (Wolfgang Bankl) slavishly picks up.
Almaviva serenades Rosina with a ballad, Siragusa’s light tenor, not put to the test, very pleasant. She looks down captivated. -Go on singing , my dear- Student ‘Lindoro’ (The Count’s alias) can give her no treasures, but he offers his faithful heart. How dearly Rosina loves her Lindoro, Adriana’s soprano forever being interrupted in the comic set up.
Figaro with Alamaviva, the Count promises a rich reward for Figaro’s ‘services’. Figaro exults, what a wonderful effect gold has on him. Maltman’s baritone soars exuberantly: at the thought of the metal , his heart is a volcano.
Isn’t that a brilliant idea? In their duet, Figaro’s ‘brilliant’ idea to get the Count into Bartolo’s house: the army being requisitioned in Seville, all the Count has to do is to dress up as a soldier to claim accommodation. Maltman, wearing a red hat, in short jacket and culottes, stockinged, and physically commanding, against Siragusa’s shorter, squat Almaviva. Ah, he feels the flame of love, sings Almaviva, while Figaro hears the clink of gold.
In Rosina’s famous aria, soprano Adriana Kucerová, sings Una voce poco fa, the sound of his voice has pierced my heart. Yes! I swear Lindoro shall be mine. Kucerová smiles radiantly, her coloratura confident: rather characterless , but charming. In their comic duet, Figaro sings to Rosina of a very beautiful, deliciously plump, high-spirited brunette he’s in love with, very nearby. She could give lessons in malice, he sings . But, in Figaro, she’s met her match. In their banter, Kucerová is fired by Maltman’s scheming Figaro; feisty, she’s really singing.
The plot you know: Figaro agrees to deliver her letter to ‘Lindoro’, but prevented by Bartolo’s arrival with Rosina’s music master Basilio, (very well sung by bass Jongmin Park.) Bartolo, spying on Rosina in her room , notices a missing sheet of paper, and assumes she’s written a secret letter. She’s deceiving him, a Doctor of his standing! As Bartolo, Viennese bass Wolfgang Bankl is well experienced in the role; beautifully sung, but he’s not nasty enough! After all, he’s her uncle and guardian, taking advantage of his niece: he even admits to Bartolo his hopes of making her his wife.
But Bankl is well up for the comedy, as in the ensuing scene, when Almaviva arrives as a drunken soldier. Almaviva, Siragusa now glamorously dressed in green and red top, breeches and boots, makes fun of Bartoli’s name. Bankl, taunted by Siragusa’s out-of-control drunk, insists he’s a doctor and exempt from fighting.
The Act finale is terrifically staged, as the police, (called by Bartolo) enter side of stage, and search the villa, taking over the upper rooms. Basilio, Rosina , Almaviva and Bartolo are all singing at cross-purposes. It all ends in marvellously orchestrated confusion. Yet musically, under Spinosi, Rossini’s crescendo perhaps lacked the controlled frenzy- that ecstatic orgasmic release of energy.
Disguised again as the cleric/music teacher in Act 2, Siragusa is good in the comedy, giving Rosina music lessons, while they flirt under Bartolo’s beady eye. But tonight, this tenor hasn’t got what it takes- vocal heft, agility, upper range- for this bel canto role. The scam with Bartoli, explaining why he’s replacing Basilio, is amusing enough. To distract Bartoli, Figaro shaves him, their conversation a cover for the lovers.
Kucerová’s Rosina, in her aria, sings ‘For a heart in flames, love will always triumph. Ah, Lindoro, if only you knew how my guardian enrages me!’ Very pleasantly sung, lots of smiles, very compelling, but maybe a little colourless. ‘Dearest, I trust you!’ The trills of her coloratura are, technically, perfectly accomplished, but it isn’t stirring, doesn’t enrapture.
The comic timing of the ensuing farce tightens relentlessly, with the arrival of the real Basilio, ushered away by Figaro. Bartolo susses the planned elopement; and Rosina, hearing malicious rumours (La calunnia) about Count Almaviva, agrees to marry Bartolo. In the plot, Almaviva assisted by Figaro, and under cover of a storm, crashes the ‘wedding’, revealing to Rosina that Almaviva and Lindoro are one. Bartolo, arriving too late with soldiers, has to bless the Count’s marriage to Rosina, Di si felice innseto . The frantic finale is consummately achieved.
Maltman’s Figaro, cutting a handsome, dashing figure, holds this performance together; stands out against an otherwise distinguished cast, except for Kucerová, on unexceptional form. Siragusa’s Almaviva is good as a comic, but this Count has no real stature that this social satire must undermine. Comparisons with Juan Diego Flórez in this role (2014) are odious, but this Almaviva was disappointing. Siragusa, with an international reputation, tonight lacked form.
Spinosi, conducting Vienna State Opera Orchestra and Chorus, achieved very fine playing, especially in the storm effects Act 2; but not quite the panache and rhythmic pace of the Italians who regularly conduct Rossini here (Marco Armilliato especially.)
The constant is Vienna’s traditional ‘Sevillian’ stage set -an historical artefact- that still could hardly be bettered. P.R. 8.1.2016 ©
Photos: Antonino Siragusa (Count d’Amaviva) and Christopher Maltman (Figaro); Christopher Maltman (Figaro); Adriana Kucerová (Rosina); Adriana Kucerová and Christopher Maltman; Antonini Siragusa (Almaviva) and Adriana Kucerová (Rosina); Featured image Adriana Kucerová
© Wiener Staatsoper /Michael Pöhn

To experience Die Fledermaus in Vienna, where Johann Strauss’s operetta premiered, is a special privilege. But you’d expect Volksoper’s production to be inferior to the more prestigious Vienna State Opera’s (Staatsoper). Not so. Both opera houses are funded by the Austrian government, so there’s some pooling of resources, notably those Vienna State Ballet dancers (as seen in the New Years Day concert.) Volksoper’s sets are not as lavish, but Volksoper’s audience is primarily Austrian, and they are connoisseurs.
Musically, Strauss’s score is almost symphonic in its orchestration, much admired by Brahms amongst other composers. The Overture, presenting Strauss’s richly melodic themes, is a masterpiece in itself . So Volksoper Orchestra (under veteran Rudolf Bibl) gave a good measure of the whole: very competent playing, the strings lacking the sheen of Vienna State Opera’s, but beautiful woodwind. Incisive, rhythmic, with a Viennese lilt.
Of course, Vienna State Opera’s Fledermaus has budget for a star cast: Volksoper’s less well-known internationally. But Strauss’s ‘operetta’ wasn’t perhaps written for singers with today’s phenomenal technique- although, arguably, the work, operatic in scale, with its subtle characterisation, benefits from virtuoso performers.
Volksoper’s cast very was adequate, with some exceptional singers in their roles. Elisabeth Schwarz as the chambermaid Adele, impressed from her opening scene , cast in the role of a ‘Cinderella’, reading her friend Ida’s letter, desperate to go to the Ball . She concocts a story about a ‘sick aunt’. Her aria, why did you make me a chambermaid, is a highlight; Schwarz is a petite brunette, but what a voice! Her soprano, light but confident upper range, impressed. In Act 3, in her ‘audition’ before impresario ‘chevalier’ Frank, she proves ‘she has talent’ with a virtuoso display of vocal and acting gymnastics.
Her employer Rosalinde (Ulrike Steinsky), curled-brown hair, pretty, but a little plump, is laid out languidly on her chaise longue. Unmöglich , she, Adele, has forgotten that Eisenstein, her husband, is to serve an eight day charge for insulting a policeman.
Alfred (Christian Drescher), the ‘opera singer’, madly in love with her, enters in a dapper grey suit, and creeps up on her . He’ll only go if he can come back alone. The tenor is forever practising his scales, but he, Drescher, is no virtuoso.
Adele continues with her story, until Eisenstein (Thomas Sigwald) arrives. Eisenstein is first seen arguing with his lawyer, who’s only managed to increase his sentence. Not especially sympathetic, Sigwald’s portrayal is testy, quarrelsome. The naughty man slaps Adele’s bottom- he’s seen her ‘sick aunt’ on the street- and bossily orders her get his food from the inn. Sigwald’s is an unexceptional tenor, but a good character actor. He makes Eisenstein a figure of fun. Not a nice man, he locked Falke out of a party, to find his way home in a bat costume.
Dr. Falke (Daniel Ochoa), slick, balding black hair- in fact, a notary- has a Slavic accent. in their duet, he needs to persuade Eisenstein to come to Orlofsky’s party, to implement his revenge. Ochoa’s a tremendous baritone, impressively refined. Although Sigwald is only competent, the duet goes well.
Rosalinde, expecting Eisenstein to be going to prison, sings how shall she bear her husband’s leaving home- (while secretly harbouring other plans). He joins in the duet, Oh, the terrible blow . But Eisenstein is Falke’s guest at the party! Adele gets the night off, after all.
Alfred arrives and usurps Eisenstein’s place, wearing his dressing gown, and taking supper. Alfred’s duet with Rosalinde, Liebe dich, is very nicely sung by Dressler, and especially the famous duet Drink with me, Trinke liebschen, trinke schnell’ . But it’s all going too fast for Rosalinde. Happy is the one whose life cannot be changed, sings Alfred lording it in Eisenstein’s chair, in one of many wittily ironic moments in Strauss’s very stylish libretto.
Frank, the prison director (Martin Winkler), who’s come to arrest Eisenstein, sees Alfred apparently in the role of the husband. Is the situation not perfectly clear? the trio sing, as Rosalinde goes along with the charade to get rid of the overbearing Alfred. (Alfred’s even prepared to go to prison for her.) Winkler, a formidable baritone, is absolutely authoritative in a marvellously comic role. Exemplary. Dressler and Steinsky, if not exceptional vocally, enact their stage parts with adroit comic timing.
The Ball of Act 2 is beautifully staged (Pantellis Dessylas), with terrific gowns (Doris Engel): no expenses spared, and highly professional dance sequences. Cleverly, ornate chandeliers and centre-piece statues with (late-Victorian) bulbous lights disguise the trompe-l’oeil painted columns and arches.
Prince Orlofsky, seems unusually old, but Annely Peebo is imposing with silver-blonde hair, wearing black pants, and oriental-patterned cloak. Orlofsky’s role is traditionally played by a woman. Here there are subtle lesbian overtones. Commanding, authoritative, totally convincing. She has Eisenstein in her control, dangling him like a bauble, plying him with vodka. When superb mezzo Peebo threatens ‘if I see anyone here bored, I throw them out,’ she’s refined, when you expected a roar.
So far, Act 1 had been only so-so . Until Orlofsky. Chacun a son goût aria has real charisma. Peebely sits on her couch controlling proceedings, standing at her side a black-suited ogre as her bodyguard. She expands, like some exotic man-eating plant, spotting Adele, who’s consumed alive.
She rebukes Eisenstein, who, disguised as a Marquis, exposes the disguised Adele. He should know better. ‘Olga’s’ manners, comportment, tiny waistline, are not what you expect of a maid. It’s marvellous ‘class’ satire. Orlofsky forces Eisenstein to apologise; she’s defiant in her ‘laughing song.’
Then his wife Roslinde arrives, dressed as a Hungarian countess. She, Steinski’s, in a flame-red dress and matching mask, furious when she recognises Adele in one of her gowns! She listens in while Eisenstein boasts about his watch he’s used in countless seductions. And Eisenstein, unwittingly, rises to a new challenge, the Countess, who determines to secrete that very watch.
Steinski, in the Countess’s showstopper, singing of her Hungarian origins, is a little disappointing. Kälnge der Heimat, when she hears the sounds of her homeland- bright, green fields- lacks that Hungarian feistiness. ‘Drinking the fiery wine of Tokay’ lacks verve, although Steinski, hits exciting high notes.
The Chorus numbers, featuring Orlofsky, however, are outstanding. Peebo launches into praise of champagne, the king of wine. And Brüderlein und Schwesterlein, shows off Volksoper’s excellent Chorus.
The climax, worth the cost of the ticket, is Strauss’s Thunder and Lightning Polka, featuring Vienna State Ballet’s Dancers. The off-stage backdrop is like a winter palace. Male dancers perform incredible somersaults: others kicking their legs high (in a cancan.) ‘Ballet’ dancers intermingle with chorus and cast in a spectacular choreographed Die Fledermaus waltz. They all collapse, a heap of brightly colourful costumes, and disperse.
The drab brick-lined prison interior of Act 3 couldn’t be more of a contrast. There’s a lot of dialogue , but even to non-German speakers -there are English surtitles-it’s witty and hilarious. Prison warder Frosch (Robert Meyer), cantankerous, and pissed as a newt, bets himself a glass of schnapps that Alfred (the tenor) will start singing again. Then Frank, prison governor as ‘Chevalier’, arrives from the ball, twirling around drunk, humming the Champagne melody. He collapses in his chair, cigar sticking out of the newspaper over his head. Frosch and Frank’s are an hilarious double-act, Laurel and Hardy prototypes. Eventually everyone converges on the prison. Eisenstein drops his Marquis disguise to interrogate his wife’s infidelity; but she trumps him holding up his watch, and he has to beg her forgiveness. Orlofsky , as ‘a patron of the Arts’, adopts Adele’s acting career. In the slickly choreographed grand finale, ‘Champagne was to blame for everything’.
Volksoper’s Die Fledermaus may lack the star attractions of the more famous Staatsoper’s, but it’s authentically wienerisch. Musically, and as stage performance, it justifies Strauss’s operatic masterwork. P.R.1.01.2016 ©

Photos : Günter Haumer and Vienna State Ballet and Chorus of Volksoper Wien; Thomas Sigwald (Gabriel von Eisenstein) and Beate Ritter (Adele); Annely Peebo (Prince Orlofsky); Theme featured image Annely Peebo and Thomas Sigwald
© Barbara Pálffy / Volksoper Wien and Dimo Dimov/ Volksoper Wien for Annely Peebo

The story of Anne Boleyn, second wife of Henry VIII, is endlessly fascinating. How Henry was so infatuated by her, he broke with Rome , and set up the Church of England , to engineer a divorce (from Catherine of Aragon.) Was it because Anne couldn’t bear him a son- only a daughter (to be Elizabeth 1, no less)- that she had to go? Were the revelations of an affair (rather a flirtation) with court musician Smeaton a trumped-up excuse? And the allegation of a ‘secret marriage’, prior to Henry, with Lord Percy, an attempt , by Henry’s advisors, to nullify Henry’s marriage to Anne?
Donizetti’s opera may be an operatic masterpiece. But, artistic imagination fired, he (and librettist Felice Romani) play fast and loose with ‘historical truth’. Whatever the foundation to these amours, Anne’s fate, to be imprisoned and beheaded, is a tragedy, which she forbears with great dignity.

Vienna State Opera’s Anna Bolena is a handsomely mounted period production, (directed by Eric Génovèse.) The superbly constructed stage set (Jacques Gabel) has stone courtyard and pillars depicting Windsor Castle. The lavishly detailed costumes (Luisa Spinatelli), richly authenticated English Renaissance, would justify a Cecil B de Mille Hollywood film set.
The cast excelled, with Edita Gruberova-a legend in Donizetti bel canto roles- in the title role. But Gruberova, in the first Act, sometimes strained in her top notes, sounded a little shrill. Perhaps she was saving herself for the ever-more demanding second Act, which Anna dominates. Here Gruberova, with her stage charisma, triumphed.
And, close-up, (I was close to the stage), I wondered, is she too old to be in the role of a child-bearing woman? But opera is all about the voice, and, as in theatre, we must suspend belief and banish insolent thoughts. Gruberova is a superb actress, as when (Act 1, scene 3,) she fights with all her will to deflect Percy’s advances, he swearing his undying love. (She admits she loves Percy, but rebuffs him, still loyal to Henry.) Here the top notes were a little unstable: the coloratura a roller-coaster ride. Celso Albelo’s Percy, handsomely bearded, has a beautifully rich tenor. Henry VIII (Marco Vinco), who has arranged the apparently chance meeting between Percy and Bolena, hopes to catch them out , so he can accuse Anna of adultery.
In Donizetti’s opera (Romani’s libretto), musician Mark Smeaton (Anna’s page) is supposed to have stolen a miniature of Anna, which he tries to return to the Queen’s chambers, unnoticed! Smeton (sic), mezzo Margarita Gritskova in a ‘trouser role’, makes the complex plot still more complicated. Slightly overacted, but ‘she’ has a boyish face, and the mezzo role is expressively sung. In a potentially farcical situation, Smeton jumps out of hiding , as Percy draws a dagger to kill himself. At which moment Henry enters! Marco Vinco’s Henry (Enrico), is taller than we expect, and, his long hair tied at the back, very elegantly attired in long leather coat and striped tunic. And what stage presence! In contrast to the puerile Smeton, Vinci’s Henry, with his formidable bass, exudes authority. And he’s very sexy.
Henry holds up the medallion and triumphantly shows it to Anna. She pleads, as if kneeling on a couch, while Henry continues to brandish her locket; then he grabs Anna by the arm and pushes her away. The Queen protests fiercely; ironically, she’s been brought down, not by her previous affair with Percy- who’s advances she has now rebuffed- but by a boy’s infatuation. Gruberova’s soprano soars powerfully in the tremendous Act finale, In quegli sguardi impresso . She tries to explain, but Henry will see her in court. Anna! Ai giudici! her last note is almost a shriek of horror.
Anna, now imprisoned-and deprived of her ladies-in-waiting- is visited by Jane (Giovanna) Seymour. Their duet provides one of the greatest scenes in the opera, although Donizetti would have us believe that the astute Queen did not know of Seymour, her lady-in-waiting’s, affair with Henry. In her aria,’ Oh, all-seeing God, have I deserved all this?’ now Gruberova’s in simple white silk, adorned against the gold of her crown. Seymour (mezzo Sonia Ganassi) appears pale, trembling. Awful- appalling: can I bring you happiness? The King is prepared to dissolve her marriage. But his message is, if Anna admits her guilt, he will save her life. – You would advise me to do that? – Do you want disgrace and death, counters Seymour. ‘Who is the ‘miserable woman’ Henry loves? She has brought unhappiness on me! May God punish her! Gruberova is formidable, shatteringly powerful. Now ‘the traitor’ kneels before her. YOU MY RIVAL, YOU MY SEYMOUR!
In this emotionally wrought scene, Seymour (Ganassi) sings, she sighs and weeps, but tears cannot quench her love, (Dal mio cor punita io sono). Ganassi, a high-calibre mezzo, is a match even for Gruberova. These two spark each other off: Götterfunken. Heavenly. Now Anna bids her, Go, unhappy woman, and take Boleyn’s pardon. She offers her compassion and love. He, Henry alone, is guilty. Outstanding duet!
Henry has told Smeton Anna can only be saved by his testifying to having an affair with the Queen. Smeton commits perjury and unwittingly signs his death sentence. With Henry’s discovery that Percy and Anna were previously ‘married’, the Queen will be convicted of multiple adultery.
Vinco’s Henry looks absolutely splendid in white silk, intricately patterned, gold-brocaded. Anne throws herself at his feet: you can kill me, but preserve my royal dignity. Her guilt is in valuing the throne higher than the noble heart of Percy. Her crime was to think there was no greater bliss than being a King’s wife.
We see Percy and Lord Rochefort (magnificent bass Speedo Ryan Green) imprisoned in the Tower; although reprieved, they determine to die together with the Queen. Rochefort deserves to die, he sings, because he persuaded Anna to aspire to the throne. Percy counters, Albelo’s tenor resplendent, Vivi tu . In their stirring duet, they will defy death. Loudly cheered, the ladies didn’t take all the awards.
By contrast, the Ladies choir in Anna’s closing scene, sing to a very solemn orchestral accompaniment, who can see the poor tormented woman without weeping. Anna is, as if in a delirium, haunted by her thoughts. Al dolce guidami . Gruberova’s voice is fragile, almost breaking. Anna imagines it is her wedding day; and the King awaits her at the altar. Gruberova appears in black, in a doorway, swaying, her ladies grouped around the stage. Anticipating the mad scene in Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor, Anne’s aria is disjointed. She’s dejected, begs forgiveness. What joy! Do not let me die alone…Accompanied by cor anglais, she’s now seated on the stage. Harrowing, heart-rending, Gruberova sings with consummate artistry. The voice of a lifetime’s experience in opera, especially Donizetti roles. The tumultuous applause seemed inappropriate- to the drama, the private anguish.
Then we hear a drum roll. What is that sound? why are they arousing her from her delirium. … the men are dying on her account, Rochefort, her brother, and Percy (who the King promised to save.) A pizzicato strumming: Smeton, where is his harp? The Chorus repeat, ‘Anna, her senses have left her again’. The strings are muffled , ‘like the strings of a dying heart’. Anne sings plaintively, Cielo, a’ miei lunghi spasimi , heaven release me from my suffering .
Tremolo strings: an upbeat brass fanfare, summoning the execution, sounds like a celebration. The people are greeting their Queen, she sings. But as the King’s marriage to Seymour is announced, she calls for heaven’s mercy on the guilty couple. Perhaps not the Anne Boleyn, observed by eye-witnesses, who faced her execution with calm dignity, devoutly reciting her prayers.
It is astonishing that Gruberova- in black, with her hair let down; unruly- looks radiantly young again. A great performance has transformed her like alchemy.
Evelino Pidò conducted Vienna State Opera Orchestra and Choirs. © P.R. 23.10.2015
Photos: Edita Gruberova (Anna Bolena) and Margarita Gritskova (Smeton); Edita Gruberova (Anna) ; Marco Vinco (Enrico VIII); Sonia Ganassi (Giovanna Seymour) ; Featured image : Marco Vinco and Sonia Ganassi
© Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Poehn

Jacques Offenbach, considered the creator of operetta, satirised the pomp of mid-19th century French society (Second Empire.) In Pariser Leben (La Vie parisienne) Swedish Baron Gondermark and his wife are victims of a scam: the womanising Gardefeu seduces his wife, while Metalla, a hooker, (and Gardefeu’s ex), distracts the randy Baron. How does this translate into a modern dress production? And French libretto (Meilhac and Halevy) into German? (Vienna has a great Offenbach tradition; many definitive versions of his operettas originated here.)
Offenbach showed a contemporary Paris for tourists, in a holiday mood, a Paris divorced from reality. So Volksoper’s (director/designer Michiel Dijkema) modern Paris has souvenir sellers, and street scenes showing the underbelly of Paris, an alternative Paris with streetwalkers, transvestites. It’s cutting edge, but we were expecting large sets, and glamorous revues. Where’s the Parisian elegance ?
Volksoper’s near-empty stage shows a sign for GARE DU NORD, and a stadium section jammed with tourists. How easy it is to travel around Europe, sing the chorus, rather half-heartedly. Sorry, the German dialogue- Achtung Gleich sieben over the intercom – doesn’t help, somewhat lacking in charm. Metella (Annely Peebo), an ‘Escort-Dame’, with a client, doesn’t recognise her former lovers Gardefeu (Daniel Prohaska) and Bobinet (Rasmus Borkowski) . Does she know them: she can’t decide. Nope, she doesn’t know them. Peebo’s Metella looks really tacky in a pink velour skirt, short check jacket, and ridiculously large hat.
In their duet, Bobinet and Gardefeu, in modern outfits, lime jacket , terracotta pants, (Prohaska) grey pants and blazer, sing, From now on we follow new rules of play, we’re looking for a woman of style today.
The supporters’ terrace of holidaymakers reappears: they disembark. The Swedes at least , (the Gondermarks), are elegantly dressed , Baroness (Birgid Steinberger) in a cream coat, Baron (Morten Frank Larsen) in brown overcoat. Gardefeu swops with the tour guide for his red blazer and cap- the Gondermarks ‘sold’ to him in a deal. As he claims his fee, asks what would they like: just between ourselves, no taboos. ‘Paris is open to us. So much lies in store’, they sing (with some irony.) Is the Grand Hotel in a good area?
The modern facades show a run-down district. A Brazilian tourist (Boris Pfeifer) in a white fur coat and hat makes out with the girls- very outré outfits- a parody of streetwalkers. (Sorry Pfeifer, weak-voiced, isn’t up to it.)
The ‘Paris’ ensemble, ‘All countries and creeds ‘ sounds like a promotion for multiculturalism. ‘Foreigners gather from all over the world looking for fortune,’ they sing. Not bad , the staging , the tourists divided into two groups, each side of Prohaska. But generally, it’s underwhelming, drab, lacking in pizzazz.
Incongruously, the Grand Hotel sign is suspended on the side of the boot shop. The ‘hotel’s always overbooked’ explains Gardefeu, so he’s bringing them to his private apartment, ‘the VIP wing of the Grand Hotel’. The Baron has a letter of recommendation for a ‘Metella’; he’s only a short time in Paris, can hardly wait. Morten Larsen’s bass is, at times, a little strained. (The Baron insists on a table d’hôte. So Gardefeu has to arrange guests to pose as members of fine society.)
Gardefeu, in an aria, confesses he’s in love with the Baroness. Prohaska is very acceptable, but this wonderful aria needs a real star. The Baroness has found a ring, Metella’s. Metella arrives, Peebo a peroxide blond in low-cut top, flimsy long skirt, the hat too much. But mezzo Peebo is impressive, in terrific voice. Especially when, reading the Baron’s letter of recommendation – he’s hoping for what she offered his friend- promises to give her reply ‘in two days.’
When the so-called ‘table d’hôte’ guests arrive, the outfits are so exaggerated, like drag artists, they could be out of an early Pedro Almodavar movie. On the menu are pizzas and ‘spritzers’. And this lot are drinking beer. So far no advert for Paris. However, a small van circles the stage advertising ‘Théâtre sur la Seine, Le nouvel Opéra’ -and with a French-speaking driver-the first authentic taste of Paris. The street vendors send up the nobility. Chorus sing Offenbach’s lambast on their intent to impersonate fine ladies, their manners only a veneer, false social hypocrisy. Rather well sung, but the setting is tawdry. Cecie ne pas Rue Covette ‘ as it says on the barely-visible poster.
The Baron in a duet with the ridiculously dressed platinum-blonde Pauline (Julia Koci)- purple midriff, flowing skirt, boobs protruding- barely keeps up with her. They sing ‘Love makes you feel like you’re floating on a cloud.’ At the party, the impossibly complex scheming is to keep the Baron occupied while Gardefeu seduces his wife.
In Offenbach’s plot, ‘the champagne flows freely’ (the Baron provides them with wonderful wine). But in this travesty, the guests are drinking beer out of bottles (?!) when the Baron goes off to enjoy Parisian night life. There’s one good moment: the mannequins walk out of a shop window (Maison du bon goût). But the bottle-swigging is crude and vulgar: out of keeping with the operetta- whatever the time period.
But, at last, (ending first half) there’s a glitzy black and white spectacular, featuring Vienna State Ballet: a pyramid of style. The dancers front of stage, guys in black one-piece cat suits, the girls in silver striptease, ermine pompons, white feather plumes. Then the boys, slickly choreographed, fall about fighting. On the staircase, men in black deejays and top hats, women in cloaks.
Then, the finale , the CANCAN, la piece de resistance: the dancing girls in their extravagantly plumed headpieces, skimpy bikinis, kicking those leggggs. The saving grace so far.
In the second Part (Act 4) we see the Baroness’ bedroom, with Gardefeu as if pouncing on her. Outside a poster for a Cancan Revue; beneath, over-spilled dustbins and people sleeping on the street. (What did they drink, they carouse.)
Steinberger’s cool, blonde Baroness sings, yesterday she was a tourist. Now she’s deeply moved by sweet dreams; gives herself over to her man. She’s sensed this handsome stranger. (He sings he’s not sure of love.) She’s no good as a mistress, she admits, but she’s in love. Prohaska is a pleasing tenor, but outclassed by the superb Steinberger. She swoops up to, sustains, her high notes confidently; but also warm and affecting.
But once she learns of the trick played on her, the Baroness determines on revenge, assisted by her visiting aunt (redoubtable actress Helga Papouschek) who, disguised as her niece, shares Gardefeu’s bed.
Metella eventually rejects the Baron’s advances , bored with her ‘professional life’. No longer the woman she was, she seeks a new life to be shared with only one man, Gardefeu. In a powerful aria , (perhaps Offenbach’s private agenda), Peebo sings movingly, Paris by night is an illusion. They’re all seeking their fortune. Yes, Paris by night is a machine- pleasure without scruples. This town’s a wild party that never ends. And, most condemnatory, Paris injects poison into our veins. …So we won’t have a night of fun, remarks the Baron.
All the dancers are now under a red light. The Brazilian and Gabrielle (the erstwhile prostitute), now engaged , raise their glasses to Paris, a lover’s paradise. (But we know otherwise.) So ‘that’s why the champagne flows’, in Offenbach’s number. The orchestra reprise the Cancan refrain, as the Swedish couple sit forlorn (at the Gare du Nord) awaiting their train.
Volksoper orchestra conducted by Sébastian Rouland was on excellent form. The problem was with Michiel Dijkema’s vulgar staging . The cast was generally good, some Steinberger and Peebo , especially . I can’t complain about the German version. Vienna Volksoper, home of operetta, is dedicated to making opera accessible to a German-speaking public. But I’d love to hear it in French! P.R. 18.09.2015 ©
Photos: Daniel Prohaska (Gardefeu) and Caroline Melzer (Baroness Gondermark ) ; Boris Pfeifer (the Brazilian) and Volksoper ensemble; Annely Peebo (Metella)
© Barbara Pállfy/ Volksoper Wien

Ralph Benatzky’s operetta Im weissen Rössl, about the lady innkeeper and her headwaiter, became a worldwide hit, as The White Horse Inn, ‘the first European musical ‘.From a once popular stage comedy to lavish musical spectacular, it’s success ‘was Wunderbares’ – wonderful indeed, as the love-infatuated Leopold sings in one of the hit tunes. Im weissen Rössl has at least five composers, including Robert Stolz, who sued in vain over the inclusion of his two songs.
Vienna Volksoper’s stage is a snow-capped Alpine backdrop- kitsch! But clever, when the framed picture postcard, back of stage , shows this (clichéd) mountain scene with white t-shirted joggers. And the moving stage has hilarious jagged waves cut-outs, with rowing boats crossing. Out they come, the tourist schleppers, headed by their bossy tour operator (Helga Papouschek) . She addresses the audience, letting us in on her tricks. Now, you’ve seen it all , she gloats.
The bill please, Herr Leopold. Boris Eder, looking absolutely gorgeous in black, they in white- No need to hurry! he sings in his first number, offering them the menus. The sunshine is like the tips he’s hoping to get. But, aside, ‘What a rabble!’
He’s in love with his boss, ‘hotel’ owner Josepha, who’s not interested. Her entrance is preceded by a clatter of dishes, and a threatened slap. What’s he looking at her like that for? Singing to Ursula Pfitzner’s innkeeper, Eder delivers Benatzky’s stand-out aria , ‘It must be wonderful to be loved by you , Es muss was wunderbares sein (based on a song by Franz Liszt). For once, he wanted to tell her what’s on the first page of his diary. She rebuffs him, ‘You’re here as a waiter not a Cavalier.’ Then, getting on his knees, he repeats the refrain, It must be wonderful. Her guests are parched! Everything must be ready when the steamboat arrives. Pfitzner’s soprano, in traditional dress, is pleasant, but not quite the dragon she’s reputed to be. And roses in water for her favourite, lawyer Dr. Siedler, (who will fall in love with his opponent’s lawyer Giesecke’s daughter.)
The steamboat arrives , greeted by the parlour maids of the White Horse, in the first spectacular, ‘It’s the smell of the season, filling up the tills.’ Giesecke , the underwear manufacturer (Bernd Birkhahn), turns out to be a pompous , arrogant Berliner. He sees a pretty young man , wearing one of his competitor’s designs- a one-piece, in pink! – and kicks him off the stage. The cantankerous Giesecke is forever moaning , ‘In Berlin they’re glad to see the back of the snow!’ He’s insufferable, everything you love to hate about Germans. (The Austrian hosts love to ribald their German guests.)
Siedler arrives. Down comes this miniature plane-landing on stage, as Siedler (Carsten Süss) is greeted by Josepha , with the show’s signature ‘The White Horse Inn where happiness greets you.’ Now at last the rather pedestrian dance routine bursts into hot razzmatazz (Vienna State Ballet). The rhythms let loose are jazz-influenced, but incorporating zither and lute Styrian folk music.
In a hotel farce reminiscent of ‘Fawlty Towers’, the lawyer Siedler insists on the room he’s reserved which is taken by (his rival) Giesecke; but renounces his claim when he sees Giesecke’s daughter Otillie (Renate Pitscheider). Meanwhile we see pleasure boats paddling across the stage, behind the commotion.
For Die ganze Welt ist himmelblau , The whole world is sky blue when I look in your eyes’, the classic by Robert Stolz, everything is bathed in pastel blue, as Siedler (Süss) dances with Otillie. Around them waft cupid figures with wings, and carrying arrows. And a ballroom light reflects moonbeams. Outrageous camp. But as a send up, a Monty Pythonesque group of cowherds look down from the picture-postcard frame backstage . Yes, the whole world is sky blue- magically rendered by Suss and Renate Pitscheider. (Not everything works- the cowherds descend for a hillbilly number.)
Leopold is slapped by Josepha for asking for ‘just one kiss’ -and what a slap! He refuses to take flowers up to Dr.Siedler- What am I, a man of the night, he retorts- and she dismisses him. Cue for Leopold’s melancholy, ‘I can’t bear to watch’. (If I don’t play a part it breaks my heart.) But as if poking fun, so things don’t get too serious, we see two mountaineers watching with binoculars (from the framed window above.) Boris Eder’s (Leopold’s) tenor hasn’t a very high range, a crooner, more than adequate for operetta: but he has got personality. And it’s very well acted, as in his advice to the cute bell boy, Never lose your heart to an ungrateful landlady. She, Josepha, in a reprise of the big chorus number, In Salzkammergut da kann man gut lustig sein ,(Once again the world is sunny)- another dance spectacular- she tries to persuade the grumpy Giesecke , standing side-stage, who’d rather be anywhere else. Pfitzner’s is a very pleasing soprano.
In Act 2, the comedy mix up thickens with the arrival of a stingy German professor, (bargaining for the cheapest rooms), and his daughter with a lisp (Franzisca Kemna), who falls for Sigismund (Peter Lesiak), who’s the son of Giesecke’s business rival. (If you must know, Sigismund arrives, supposed to marry Ottilie, Giesecke’s daughter; to patch up the legal dispute?!) Anyway, it’s an excuse for ‘Was kann der Sigismund dafür , das es so schön ist.
But, in the main plot, the principal romances , the highlight for me is the Robert Stolz number Mein Liebeslied muss ein Walzer sein. But when the violins play , my love song must be a waltz, sings Siedler sings to Ottilie . Carsten Süss is superb. And the song that says I’m yours can only be a Viennese waltz… Thrilling. Renate Pitscheider is also very good, and , of course , they break into a waltz, the centrepiece of waltzing couples.
In the plot, the Kaiser (Franz Joseph) is expected to stay overnight at the Inn. So Josepha schmoozes up to the drunken Leopold, to get him back. But on his terms. The Kaiser ( Wolfgang Hübsch) with his handlebar moustache like an old walrus, arrives , preceded by a brass band playing Strauss’s Radetzky March. Leopold flunks his welcome speech. ‘Good man, you seem quite addled- but I’m used to that from my Ministers,’ comments the Kaiser. (The Kaiser’s welcomed by a posse of ‘Maidens of Virtue’- old bags- who faint with excitement.)
But Hübsch’s Kaiser is a nice man and gives advice to his hostess Josepha , consoling her, when she realises Siedler loves Ottilie not her. Now she doesn’t want Leopold to go after all. Leopold, singing the melancholy refrain, ‘If I don’t play a part’, returns for his reference. So she dismisses him as her head barman , and hires him as her husband. Now I am the steed, he boasts. It ends – celebrating three engagements- with the show stopper Im weissen Rössl am Wolfgangsee, dort steht da Glück vor der Tür ‘In The White Horse Inn, where happiness greets you.’
It’s not quite an operetta, the central relationship is, dramatically, underdeveloped: rather an excuse for one song after another (many still vintage.) But this Volksoper production, directed by Josef E. Köpplinger, a reconstruction of the premier performance, is outstanding. Musically, Volksoper orchestra and chorus, under Michael Brandstätter, excelled. The cast too, although I’d liked to have seen the alternative leads. Especially commendable are the inventive sets and costumes (Rainer Sinell) . The classic musical, a mild satire on Alpine tourism, has been updated, with witty Monty Pythonesque sketches subversively commenting on the main action. The result is hilarious, a musical treat, unique to Vienna, authentically performed. © P.R. 14.09.2015
Photos: Sigrid Hauser (Josepha); Daniel Prohaska (Leopold); Carsten Süss (Dr. Siedler) and Mara Mastalir (Ottilie). Regrettably, photos of Ursula Pfitzner and Boris Eder were not available.
© Barbara Pálffy / Volksoper Wien

For an opera by a contemporary English composer, Thomas Adès, to be performed at Vienna State Opera is remarkable. The opera ,The Tempest, is based on Shakespeare’s play, but Adès hasn’t put Shakespeare’s original text to music. Meredith Oakes’ libretto is, it’s argued, ‘more singable’, because simplified, without the ‘more obscure and problematic words.’ Adès’ music is ‘exciting, sumptuous, uplifting.’ Fascinated by court music, Adès recreates Baroque forms; and, The Tempest being filled with magic, there’s an incredible range of colours in the score . But the music in Shakespeare’s play is in the poetic language. Adès’ opera doesn’t acknowledge its debt to Shakespeare’s Tempest, its near-identical characters and plot transposed from five-Act play to three-Act opera.
In Vienna’s co-production with the New York Met and L’opéra Quebec, the staging (Jasmine Catudal) is at first problematic: we face an opera house, as if mirrored, back of stage; a chandelier suspended; a miniature sailing boat foreground. Then a sensation: dangling acrobatically on the chandelier , a half-human figure, Ariel. Then a sheet, undulating, reflecting huge waves, the sea with bodies bobbing, fighting for their lives. (‘None were lost, all were saved’, so Ariel later relates.)
‘Hell is empty: all the devils here , a young woman, Miranda (Stephanie Houtzeel) sings, joined by her father, Prospero. The ship is wrecked, it groans: is this my father’s doing? – Miranda , you are my care : now listen to your father.’ This Prospero, (baritone Adrian Eröd), ceremonial cloak over one shoulder, bare-chested, tattooed , delivers his ur narrative. I was Milan, I was Duke: he loved his books, and neglected his Kingdom. (We see, spotlighted, backstage the brother , King of Naples, who usurped him.) Miranda was cheated, his narrative continues, ‘fierce the night , they were ‘abandoned on a ship the rats had quit.‘ The text by Meredith Oakes, closely paraphrases Shakespeare’s, frequently sampling from him. So why doesn’t Adès use the original?
Eröd’s Prospero looks like a deranged hippy, his chest painted like a Red Indian’s, while Miranda (Houtzeel) sings of the storm with no wreckage . Why have you summoned such sorrow here? Whatever the text, Eröd and Houtzeel could hardly be bettered, although Eröd’s light baritone seems youthful, and to quibble, Houtzeel is a mature woman, albeit beautiful.
Now Ariel descends on a suspended balcony, singing some indescribable bird song. Audrey Luna’s Ariel is a phenomenon, in a supremely difficult role that requires acrobatic dexterity, both vocally and, physically, in the body language . A whole set of movements require acrobatic skills. And, vocally, the American coloratura soprano is superhuman (in ‘a part only three singers worldwide can handle.’) She modulates from animal to human, reporting to Prospero the fate of the castaways .’They must not be harmed: I wish them charmed,’ insists Prospero . Audrey Luna , in a glittering cat-suit, now sits on Prospero’s shoulders.
By contrast, Caliban, all in black, and wearing dark glasses- like a Japanese WW2 guerrilla stranded on a Pacific island (no disrespect)- rather punky , his head marked by orange streaks. Thomas Ebenstein’s tenor, for Caliban, has a surprisingly high range, but Ebenstein’s tenor is one of the highlights. He sings the story of his mother’s island. He came to save them ,’showed you all the island.’ And he slept by her (Miranda’s ) side : soon she’ll be having ‘little Calibans’ , he taunts. Prospero, enraged- ‘But if you loiter near my daughter’- threatens his superior magic –Filth that you are.
Ariel, have you revived them? Ariel floats by, as if swimming across the stage. ‘Bring him (Ferdinand) to me .’ – ‘Shall I be paid?’ Ariel, ‘twelve years his slave’, is soon to be free. ‘Five fathoms deep your father lies,’ Ariel’s ditty haunts Ferdinand.
Ferdinand, (Pavel Kolgatin), literally rolls on stage: he has ‘suffered a sea change.’ Kolgatin, black-haired, moustachioed, in a white suit, sings ‘as I sat weeping…’ – a gentle-voiced, a lyrical tenor . Miranda rolls on to join him. ‘Are you spirit, are you a shade?’ He thinks he’s the only survivor. She, Miranda , sings, ‘I never knew a man could look like you’ (-hardly comparable to Shakespeare’s ‘A thing divine, for nothing natural I ever saw so noble.’) Prospero, observing them from above, now intervenes , putting the brakes on their romance. ‘Is this your daughter,’ asks Ferdinand. ‘Stupid youth! What’s the use,’ replies Prospero in Oakes’ clumsy text.
Opening Act 2 , courtiers sumptuously dressed, cross the stage, trance-like. ‘Alive, awake! in some place, where the storm has left no trace.’ The men are in evening dress. Unusually (for the The Tempest ) the Court includes women, in long gowns. Improbable. Front of stage, Trinculo and Stephano, in the sub-plot, the drunken sailors in Caliban’s revolt against Prospero.
Prospero observes them all from on high. Ariel confirms Naples and his brother ‘all safe on land.’ Gonzalo, court philosopher, (the wonderful bass Sorin Coliban) counsels ‘Sir, be cheerful, don’t weep.’ (Your son is surely in good hands.) Coliban, huge physically, is distinguished in a smart blazer, with a flower in the lapel- a Wilde figure, mocked by the courtiers (for his botanical interest in the strange island.) In his portrayal of Naples, Herbert Lippert, a very fine tenor, sings movingly , ‘Oh, hear me, Ferdinand, I should have died not you.’ The courtiers fall out amongst themselves, egged on mischievously by Ariel.
In the sub-plot, Caliban mistakes Stephano and Trinculo, for gods ‘dropped from heaven.’ Now Ebenstein’s Caliban , squatting, in a black, distressed, feathery material, looks simian, chimpanzee-like. Looking on, entertained by this freak of nature, are the courtiers overhead. Caliban, (paraphrasing Shakespeare’s great soliloquy,) sings, Friends don’t fear, the island’s full of noises … like playing a thousand instruments.’ Beautifully sung by Ebesntein’s lyrical tenor, and very moving. He sees innumerable riches , then ‘I wake and cry to dream again.’ The stage appears like an enchanted forest.
We see the sailors and Caliban running off with the sunken ship’s booze. We see Ferdinand strung up -a Christ-like figure -singing, lamenting the dream he’s had; only the thought of Miranda comforts him. (Prosaic lyrics.) Miranda approaches him : she sings, ‘Why do I weep,’ Houtzeel’s performance is a triumph. Movingly, she cuts him free. They embrace, begin to make love. Prospero looks on omnisciently, but he’s perplexed, disconcerted. He’s a magician, faith-healer, but , he laments, he cannot rule their minds. Theirs is ‘a stranger power than mine’, he sings.
Act 3, the stage is now dominated by a four-storey scaffold of silver tubing. Side of stage, Eröd’s Prospero, wearing a full-length great coat with medals of office- but still bare-chested- like an exiled general directing a battle scene.
The courtiers occupy all four levels, suggesting plotting amongst them: the conspiracy of Sebastian and Antonio to kill the sleeping King. Fantastically choreographed (Crystal Pike) , Ariel’s nymphs (Ex Machina dancers) unearth a magical banquet. Ariel swoops down in a harness, sprouting huge cactus-like claws. They draw their swords, challenging these spirits. Gonzalo cautions , what they did years ago has come back to haunt them now.
Prospero descends, ‘Souls in torment make your payment! He sings, in his aria, of the feats his magic has performed: ‘With my art I’ve dimmed the sun, broken Jove’s stout oak.’ But ‘Pride, pride, I’ll down my books, break my stave. I’ll rule in Milan beyond my grave’ deferred to closure. (Shakespeare’s ‘This rough magic I here abjure’ soliloquy, deemed his farewell to theatre, is broken up.)
Ariel sings of his feat, the spell works; and -beholding their suffering- ‘My heart would break if I were human. Mine did.’ Prospero confronts his brother and the court of Milan, and rights their injustice to him. Cleverly staged, Ferdinand and Miranda watch a projection of the courtiers, the wrongdoers. Now despair is past, reconciled at last, Eröd sings movingly, Prospero lamenting his lifework is nothingness. ‘Our revels are ended …the globe itself dissolve. Nothing stay, all will fade. ‘ (Shakespeare’s Act IV soliloquy truncated.)
In the subplot, a grotesque caricature of the Court intrigue, we glimpse the absurd sight of Caliban, dressed regally in a red cloak, with his ‘retainers’. To be brought down by Prospero’s magic forces. For the closure, it’s Caliban , left on the island, who has the last words. ‘They were human seeming’. Caliban, magnificently sung by Ebenstein, balances precariously on a tightrope ledge, his aria echoed by unearthly, celestial voices.
This cast is outstanding. Audrey Luna’s Ariel is a miracle. The staging is effective, if mystifying (the tiered opera house backdrop.) But I wanted to tell everybody in the interval -this is not Shakespeare’s text. (But how many native German speakers would know the difference. And how many English/Americans have seen, or read the play?) I may have my doubts about Adès’ opera -but there’s no denying the success of this, Robert Lepage’s, production. Conductor Adès and his opera were enthusiastically applauded by a full house. PR. 27.06.2015 ©
Photos: Adrian Eröd (Prospero) and Stephanie Houtzeel (Miranda); Audrey Luna (Ariel) and Adrian Eröd (Prospero); Herbert Lippert (King of Naples)and Sorin Coliban (Gonzalo); Thomas Ebenstein (Caliban)
© Wiener Staatsoper /Michael Pöhn

Why this obsession of 20th century modernist operas with social outsiders, criminals, anti-heroes (like Berg’s Wozzeck, or Shostakovich’s Lady Macbeth of Minsk.) In Paul Hindemith’s Cardillac, it’s a serial killer -but a goldsmith operating in the upper social milieu in 1920s Paris.
Hindemith’s music is quirky, with sharp woodwind, and lots of brass. But don’t be put off: it isn’t atonal or dissonant , ( rather, at times , like a 1930s/40s dramatic film soundtrack.) Opening with a chamber orchestra, ( Vienna State Opera orchestra conducted by Michael Boder), there are exotic instruments, and controversially, premiered Germany 1926 , the tenor saxophone is identified with Cardillac. Hindemith’s work was banned in in Nazi Germany (1933) as Bolshevist.
Sven-Eric Bechtolf’s production is to marvel: the staging (Rolf Glittenberg) could be out of a German expressionist film set- Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, or Nosferatu. Lopsided buildings in silhouette, skyscrapers at night , the effect of nocturnal gloom. Black clad bürgers (citizens) swarm the stage; the men in top hats, the women in long dresses: all in black, menacingly. They recall the respectable German middle classes caricatured by the painter George Grosz. But these are like vultures. The chorus of people threaten, if we come across a dead man in the street, we rage; there’s a murderer amongst us. They’ll seize him; force him to confess (ten, thirty , a hundred victims.) Anyone who laughs betrays himself. The crowd make way for the Provost, accompanied by two goose-stepping dignitaries in white masks. The new court has been set up, the ‘Burning Chamber’: redolent perhaps of National Socialism, (although the location for Cardillac is Paris.) The dark conformity (with its fascist overtones) is the background to the ‘individualism’, albeit amoral, of Cardillac, the renegade criminal.
Zur Tagesarbeit! An die Gewerke! A huge clock, centre stage, defines the lives of these modern slaves, the workers. Society, as in Chaplin’s film Modern Times , is a production line.
Cardillac is identified; they let him through. The Lady (Olga Bezsmertna ) sings she’s heard people talk about him, Cardillac, at court. She’s accompanied by the Cavalier (Gentleman) , Matthias Klink, who’s astounded by her beauty. Klink is a creepy , grotesque figure in black, thin as a rake , in white trousers. Klink, spindly, an Edward Scissorhands prototype, stands, waving her two fans (the decorative type.) He explains to her why Cardillac is treated with reverence, held in awe: he’s the goldsmith, but all who buy his jewellery are murdered. There’s always someone attracted by their beauty and murdered. (Paris suffers under a surfeit of crime, she comments, nonchalantly.) ‘Do you love me?’ she sings. – ‘More than my life.’ The deal is, he must bring her ‘the most beautiful piece Cardillac has ever made.’ Then she will be his.
In Scene 2, red drapes enclose the Lady (Bezsmertna) laid out decadently on an oval, black velvet pedestal. Bezsmertna, wearing a louche, black-feathered dress, sings ,in her aria, Die Zeit vergeht; Rose zerfiel : time passes, the rose has withered. ‘I want to be beneath him!’- Bezsmertna sensuous, erotic- will assuage her passion. On the screen behind her, a shadow waves her fans. She joins him; she accepts the belt he’s stolen; he lays it on her plinth, and starts to make love to her. The phantom shadow of a top-hatted figure looms over them; drums pound ominously.
Cardillac, Tomasz Konieczny, is sitting at his desk , behind him an elaborate antique cabinet. Mag Sonne leuchten! Let the sun shine: far beneath the earth, is created the gold that he’s now forging . Konieczny, that superlative bass-baritone, heard here recently as Wotan, from some such dark place,(Wagner’s Ring .) Konieczny has a rich sonority, like a long -matured wine, with complex notes.
Behind him could be Wagner’s ‘Mime’: Wolfgang Bankl’s long, white-haired gold dealer. As Cardillac shows him his stock, Bankl sings, his hands shaking, all his ill-fated customers are spirited away as if by the plague. Konieczny replies, What I create belongs to me. (Bankl will eavesdrop on the evil spirit in the deep of night.)
The Daughter (Angela Denoke) is alone, in a brilliantly lit ‘closet’, at the goldsmiths; red-haired, in a long gown, she holds a baby doll. Denoke, the most expressive of sopranos, her raw emotion well suited to classic modern roles, sings of how she was carried away in passion. She promised to flee with the Officer, whose car is waiting. But she takes back her promise. Nicht ganz gehör ich dir…halb nur. She’s torn, she’s loath to leave her father. She sees her father in his work like God in the act of creation. ‘Why do you caress your gold, and not me,’ she reproaches him. But Cardillac doesn’t try to hold back his daughter: he’s obsessed by the jewellery he’s creating.
So when the Officer (Herbert Lippert) buys a chain from him, Cardillac is compelled to kill him to repossess the piece; he cannot bear to be separated from his creations: with each new piece, he is rejuvenated.
And, when, in a bizarre scene, the workshop is visited by the King, Cardillac sings, what he creates is worthy of a king , yet is loathe to part with anything. He demands the King (Alexandru Moisuc), diminutive , exotically dressed, accompanied by a skeletal, vampire-like figure, returns the chain he’s chosen. Cardillac eventually,retracts, offering it reluctantly. But he would have murdered him.
In the denouement , Cardillac attacks the Officer (tenor Lippert) , but is unsuccessful, and the gold merchant, who connects Cardillac with the murders, raises the alarm.
The stage reverts to the stunning, atmospheric Metropolis – on a table in the corner, card players are mechanicallyh knocking back drinks like robots. Hovering over the city- more New York than Paris- is a gold neon top hat. The Officer, dangling the necklace (for Denoke ) is strangled with it by Cardillac, who stabs him- blood everywhere. Cardillac, accused as the culprit, a ghostly Konieczny protests, ‘it is heaven’s will he continue his work.’
The crowd’s movements are stylised- like mechanical puppets. Disrupt the night with drunken songs, the people’s chorus sing. Cardillac , at first disguised amongst the black, crow -like figures, defends the murderer, whom he knows. ‘His secret will be mine.’ But when they threaten to seize , and run amok, in his goldsmiths, he confesses. Ich war’s, ich bin’s : must his original creations die, while he lives?
They close in on him in a ritual mass stabbing. Too late, the Officer, his son-in-law, defends Cardillac : ‘Don’t you understand, he was the victim of a holy delusion.’ Denoke begs him to wake up, tries to revive him. We know everything, and love you regardless, she pleads. Konieczny stands, statue-like, wearing a gold hat, turned to stone. A hero has died , proclaim the crowd. He is sanctified, he knows no fear of men, they sing. It’s as if Hindemith (and librettist Ferdinand Lion) are honouring this Nietschian super-mensch – this anti -bourgeois figure. Ist er doch sieger und ich beneide ihn . He is victorious, and I envy him, sings the Officer. Centre-stage, on a pedestal, the monumental figure of Konieczny’s Cardillac , gold hat, gold gloves, holding a necklace. P.R. 25.06.2015
Photos: Olga Bezsmertna (the Lady) and Matthias Klink (the Cavalier); Tomasz Konieczny (Cardillac)
(c) Wiener Staatsoper / Michael Pöhn

Vienna State Opera’s Don Pasquale takes place in a night club. This, according to director Irina Brook, is to make Donizetti’s characters more accessible to modern audiences. ( She likes to tell stories in a language that she knows, ‘which is today.’) But where today do you find larger-than-life characters as Don Pasquale? Isn’t the result to make these ‘stock figures’ less plausible?
And the plot, stock comedy (opera buffa), is complicated enough. Don Pasquale, a rich, old bachelor, wants to marry off his nephew Ernesto for money. But Ernesto rejects the arrangement, prefers the poor ‘widow’ Norina. Now Pasquale wants to get married himself, and enlists his ‘friend’ Dr. Malatasta’. But Malatasta, in with Ernesto, contrives a complex scam, wherebye Pasquale marries the disguised Norina in a bogus marriage, to terrorise Pasquale.
Well, in spite of the objections of ‘traditionalists’ this modern updating works brilliantly. And the success of tonight’s production is attributable to the four leads: Michele Pertusi (Pasquale), Juan Diego Flórez (Ernesto) , Alessio Arduini (Malatasta), Valentino Nafornita (Norina). Although the characters derive from Italian improvisational theatre (commedia dell’ arte), Donizetti’s is more than buffo: “there is a sentimentality in the opera, a depth in the characters that make them capable of suffering” (argues conductor Jesús López-Cobos.)
Setting the scene , while the overture is playing, we see Ernesto and his girl (Norina) stealing in side of stage, Ernesto, (Flórez), taking a drink at the bar of the club (design Noëlle Ginefri-Corbel.) A butler in black deejay tears around frantically like a diminutive Basil Fawlty; and a long-haired drunk is ejected. Don Pasquale (Michele Pertusi) bald, paunchy, appears in a mauve smoking jacket. Pertusi’s acclaimed bass isn’t stretched vocally, but he’s very good as the put-upon comic figure. Dr. Malatasta (Alessio Arduini), tall, bearded , wearing a paisley coat- a wonderfully rich baritone- sings in his aria, (proposing Sofonia/Norina ), ‘She’s as pure as a lily in the spring.’ Meanwhile, he’s giving Pasquale – like a whale landed, a blubber of flesh- a massage.
Of the leads, virtuoso tenor Juan Diego Flórez is the real star. In his first aria- driven out by Pasquale, hopes of marrying Norina ruined – sogno soave e casto ‘, suffers while setting him free’. Flórez, very agile and physical, and with his stupendous tenor, is absolutely right for this serio/comic role. He’s an irrepressible bundle of energy.
In the change of scene to Norina’s boudoir -a surprise, like a dressmaker’s come designer boutique – Valentina Nafornita, in a baroque wig , is being dressed in a lavish blue silk gown, showing off her tall slender legs . She sings, breathtakingly, in her aria, how she has a thousand ways of winning her man, and will use any trick… Nafornita’s soprano effortlessly scales the top notes. She lands up on the sofa with her spinsterish maid. Then she proceeds to strip off layers, revealing herself down to her white bodice, posing like a lingerie model.
Her scene with Malatasta is a triumph, a comic tour-de force. Malatasta (Arduini) arrives to warn Norina of a change in plan: she is to entrap Pasquale, now Ernesto’s kicked out. Behind them a rail of outrageously expensive frilly gowns (costumes by Sylvie Martin-Hyszka), which Nafornita (Norina) samples. But Arduini also takes an interest in the dresses, and holding a brilliant yellow creation- trying it on- Arduini, bearded, looks not unlike Conchita Wurst. They, Nafornita and Arduini, strut around the stage as if enacting a cabaret number, planning their next strategy. Donizetti’s score, increasingly rhythmic- light and frivolous- increasing in tempo, reminiscent of a Rossini crescendo. Wonderfully idiomatic playing from Vienna State Opera orchestra under veteran Jesús López-Cobos.
There follows a haunting trumpet solo – one of the most beautiful in all opera- preceding Ernesto’s aria. Flórez, pouring a drink at the bar, bemoaning his fate, imagines himself betrayed by Malatasta and Norino. In his soulful lament, he prepares to go into exile (cercherò lontana terra). Cleverly staged, Florez sings accompanied by trumpet player (Gerhard Berndl) -as if in a blues club- playing from the next table.
After a make-over, Pertusi now in a wig, mustard suit and toning scarf, Don Pasquale is presented to ‘Sofronia’ (supposedly Malatasta’s sister.) Nafornita now appears all in black, as if fresh out of a convent, face huddled behind a veil. Pertusi’s Pasquale, mutton as lamb, increasingly ridiculous, tries to see behind her veil . Nafornita is quite something, and Pasquale has to be reassured she’s game. (‘She’s incomparably modest, created to make you happy.’) Pasquale preens himself, can’t wait, feels like a 20 year old again! ‘An unaccustomed passion consumes his heart’, (he even imagines the kids frolicking) . In the farce, Norina and Malatasta mock the idiotic Pasquale behind his back; besotted, he gullibly submits to a sham wedding sanctioned by a ‘notary’.
In Act 2 the bar’s had a refit, upholstered in leopard skin prints, the colour scheme candy pink. It looks like a set for La Cage aux Folles : as camp as blazes. There are designer bags all over the place. Sofronia (Norina) had condemned everything as out of date. From convent bride in black pigtails, Nafornita’s wearing a cerise glitter jacket, over leopard print, and shocking-pink leggings to match the décor. She’s forcing Pasquale into leopard’s paws slippers, and he’s helpless, stripped down to his underwear. ‘A hard lesson’ – nothing else will help: the only way to succeed, she sings. He tries to throw her out: ‘My poor boy, don’t be the tyrant and go to bed; sweet dreams grandpa!’ – Divorce! He’ll sue for a divorce: no marriage could be worse than this one, he sings. We see her holding him in an arm-lock, suffocating him with her pink boa. But he intercepts her note, a plot arranging a nocturnal rendezvous.
Now the club has been taken over, the chorus in brilliant colours like a pantomime. ‘The young bride has it her own way’, they sing. For Don Pasquale the pace is too much. E finita. He feels like a walking corpse, he sings. He’d sooner give Ernesto a thousand Norinas…Pertusi’s Pasquale, wonderfully enacted, the vain older lover, humiliated by scurrilous youth.
The highlight of the show is Ernesto’s serenading Norina, com’è gentil, gorgeously sung by Flórez, lamenting ‘How balmy is this April night; everything here is desire.’ Flórez is in a brilliant white suit, white scarf, like an Italian crooner – accompanied by a guitar player in black wearing a sombrero. Flórez -posing as if for a photo shoot -received wild applause.
Their duet ‘Tell me once again you love me (Tornami a dir che m’ami) is sublime. Nafornita’s now in a white, skin-tight raincoat, to match his white suit- but still in punky cerise tights. Such glorious music transcends the tinsel trappings. (Back of stage, surreal blue skies, glitter and feathers everywhere.) And in the farce, Pasquale appears in his mustard suit , waving a miniscule butterfly net, to catch them out. Norina and me under the same roof, never!
So Pasquale finally submits and offers Ernesto a rich dowry. The moral delivered by Norina: an old man who marries a young woman is not quite right in the head; and betokens woes without number. The ‘little monkey’ (Ernesto) has outwitted them all.
One ‘traditionalist’ critic rated the staging ‘course’ -compared to other Donizetti comedies here. If the alternative is stuffy ‘period’ costumes, I’ll go with this. It is over the top, but the high camp stage with pink palms and gold lights brings the comedy into the 20th century: transposing a defunct style (commedia dell’ arte) for modern audiences. It’s hugely enjoyable, hilariously funny. And neither the witty libretto (Donizetti with Giovanni Ruffini), nor Donizetti’s marvellous music have been compromised. P.R. 11.05.2015
Photos: Juan Diego Flórez (Ernesto), Valentina Nafornita (Norina) , Michele Pertusi (Don Pasquale); Valentina Nafornita (Norina); Juan Diego Florez (Ernesto); Valentina Nafornita (Norina/Sofronia). Featured image Alessio Arduini (Malatasta)
(c) Wiener Staatsoper / Michael Pöhn

If you’re expecting Shostakovich’s Lady Macbeth of Minsk to be a version of Shakespeare’s you may be disappointed. (Verdi’s Macbeth faithfully followed the play.) ‘Lady Macbeth’ however is synonymous with the ruthless wife who will stop at nothing: whose lust for power transgresses all law and decency.
This Lady Macbeth, Katerina, comes from a poor family, marries rich provincial merchant Sinowi: a childless marriage. There’s a tyrannical father-in-law Boris to harass her. But the daily monotony is interrupted by the arrival of the servant Sergei. His vicious, lustful amorality spurs them on, firstly disposing of Boris, then, catching the adulterers, Sinowi.
Shostakovich’s opera was banned (1936) on Stalin’s authority: denounced (Pravda) as ‘muddle instead of music’,’deliberately discordant’, ‘its sexual naturalism vulgar’. Katerina’s selfish individualism appeared decadent and bourgeois. And in Shakespeare’s there are no sex scenes. Stalin was anti-intellectual, and a prude.
In Vienna State Opera’s minimalist design (Volker Hintermeier), there’s a bed on a sloping stage. Angela Denoke’s Katerina is lying flat-out on the parquet floor. She can’t sleep. Denoke sings, that morning she had tea with her husband and went to bed. Bored to death! Denoke, red-haired, wearing a grey slip, grasps bedclothes to her, as if yearning for a child, or a man.
Boris (Kurt Rydell) fat, hands in his pockets, enters menacing, bullying . Has she nothing else to do – Shostakovich’s music is dissonant, brutal- pulling away the bedclothes she’s holding. He blames her for her childlessness: she’s ice-cold, passionless. She retorts Sinowi is incapable of fathering: impotent. Boris, the patriarch, is on his knees, pleading; then makes a pass; rebuffed, orders get the poison ready for the rats.
Sinowi (Marian Talaba) appears in a fur-collared overcoat: the chorus of servants lined up are sorry the master has to go away. Make sure she doesn’t forget me: Shostakovich’s trombones are almost laughing with derision. Talaba, a lyrical tenor, here under-powered, sings ‘Be sure no one seduces her.’ Sergei, Misha Didyk, blonde-haired, late 30s, in a light grey suit, slouches insolently. Sergei has a reputation with other men’s wives.
Highly expressionist music, played with passion, and great attention to detail, especially from the woodwind: Ingo Metzmacher, conducting Vienna State Opera orchestra, debuted here 2009 with Matthias Hartmann’s production. A woman is being raped in a washing tub-her clothes stripped-off, thrown up in the air. Sergei climbs in. It’s an ugly, frightening scene, but Denoke looks on spellbound. She rushes in, ‘You men think a lot of your services: women have to sacrifice their lives for their husbands.’ ‘Watch out, I’ll show you what a woman’s good for!’ Sergei- to a playful clarinet solo- pulls her, twists her arm: he wants to wrestle with her! Sergei’s (Didyk’s) face beams with mischief- evil lust. He’s wrestled Katerina to the floor- erotically close- until Boris intervenes . ‘What are we paying you for, louts’, as he disperses the servants looking on. Denoke is sitting on those sacks of rat poison front-of-stage. The music is bristling with a menacing vitality.
The bedroom: now there are silky white curtains back-of stage. Another day, no one to talk to, sings Denoke. A shadow looms. Time for bed, orders Boris: husband’s away, why keep the candles burning. In Katerina’s aria, she pleads, ‘Who will lovingly fondle my breasts; make love to me… ‘ Her life is ticking away without passion. Beautifully sung by Denoke with a sad tenderness. Now Sergei steals in, purposefully removing his boots. He climbs onto the illuminated bed, overlooking the sleeping Katerina lying on the floor. He’s lording it over her. Then they shadow each other, as if tangoing. He’s stronger than her, will tame her. -Stop it!- She’s afraid. (We see a couple dancing erotically behind the screen.) On the bed, they’re rolling beneath the bedclothes, and then rhythmically, to braying horns and trombones. ‘But Sergei! I am a married woman!’ Many women have said that, he laughs. And, insatiably, they’re doing it all over again.
So Katerina is the bored hausfrau. Her revolt is through sex. Katerina’s is that very modern plight, an existential crisis: not (yet) a mortal sin. Boris’s persistent sexual harassment -and his beating Sergei to an inch of his life- are the motive. Act 2 begins with Boris (Kurt Rydl’s richly expressive baritone) singing of how he’s feeling his age. He had a good life when he was young; and – kicking away the chair- Katerina needs someone to console her, (underlined by Shostakovich’s rudely burlesque wind instruments.) In the next scene Boris whips Sergei, the motion aped by the other servants, beating in time. (He may die on us, one sings.)
Later, Boris twiddles his cane at Katerina; he’s hungry, anything in the cellar? She offers more mushrooms.(Sergei is locked in the cellar.) As she serves, he pokes her skirt up with his cane. Mushrooms delivered , now she wields the cane. Boris falls off his chair, groping around in pain. He’s sinned, he confesses, but susses his was no natural death: only rats die like this when poisoned. ‘Who will take care of Sinowi when I’m gone?’ The men’s chorus kick their legs in a bawdy Russian dance.
A long orchestral interlude. In the bedroom , she dotes over Sergei , beckoning him to wake up. ‘Yes, kiss me ! Not like that! Till my lips hurt and the blood runs to my heart!’ Sergei reminds her husband is coming back. He’s sensitive! Wouldn’t he rather her married man? She’ll make a merchant of him. They’ll marry soon, she sings.
Denoke’s Katerina is languid; not strident, or grating. She emotes melancholy; suffers l’ennui , boredom. She’s no prototype Lady Macbeth, but relatively sympathetically depicted. Not the demonical ogre, but transgressive modern woman; hers is a crime of passion. She’s addicted to Sergei, but he, in turn, is a serial philanderer.
With her husband’s return- scored with urgent strings, strident flutes, ribald clarinets- Sinowi notices a man’s belt. (She ‘found it somewhere’.) She complains about the way he treats her; he threatens to beat her.- What does he know about love?- She’s tied him with the belt. Sergei creeps in, and soon they’re sitting on top of him, suffocating him. That’s that!- Sergei washing his hands- to the cellar with him.
They’ve taken over, Didyk in a black suit, Denoke in a stylish white gown. ‘We’re going to church now; everything will be alright, she sings . ‘Today is a our day, now and always. (Behind them white apple blossom.) But a drunken builder( Herwig Pecoraro) stumbles on stage singing his whole life’s a mess; Sergei was poor too ; why did Katerina take him, not me; and, looking for booze, finds Sinowi’s body in the cellar.
The scene in the police station is brilliantly satirical- one reason why the opera fell foul of Stalin’s censors. Bodies pop up, hit with truncheons as if they were puppets. ‘We are always on guard against vice’, they sing. An intellectual, roughed-up -smart coat, scarf, bespectacled, like Shostakovich- wonders why man has a soul and dogs not.
The wedding celebration – the couple seated above their carousing guests falling about, the priest swigging his bottle of vodka- is stormed by police thugs, eventually trampling the wedding banquet, kicking the food off.
Nothing prepares us for the final scene, the forced labour camp. The Gulag! Soldiers in greatcoats: wretched prisoners in threadbare, ragged clothing. ‘The road we travel in chains is never-ending and long,’ they sing. ‘Heat and cold torment us; no one has ever suffered like this.’ It’s deeply moving, totally unexpected. Katerina bribes a guard for vodka. She meets up with Sergei. But he reproaches her: your crime, have you forgotten it. She pleads for forgiveness, sings in her aria, it’s hard , when you’re used to luxury, the endless road is hard. But hardest to bear Sergei’s betrayal. We see Sergei making it with Sonietka (Monika Bohinec). He bribed the guard with money from the merchant’s wife, he boasts: can’t bear the sight of her. (But Sergei goes back to con Katerina for her stockings.) In a truly harrowing scene, women taunt her, the merchant’s wife, as they pull off her clothes. Katerina’s aria sings of a lake deep in the woods where the water is black, ‘black as my conscience’. Denoke, irradiated, motionless, is pointing up to the sky. She’s lost her mind. We see her staring into a cavern, and pushing herself and her adversary in. Both drowned. ‘When will the suffering end…’
The opera was banned by Stalin not because Shostakovich’s music was inaccessible- allegedly bourgeois, degenerate- but rather because the political message implied was unacceptable. P.R. 14.3.2015
Photos: Angela Denoke (Katerina) and Kurt Rydl (Boris); Angela Denoke with Misha Didyk (Sergei) and Kurt Rydl (Boris) ; Angela Denoke (Katerina); Featured image Angela Denoke
(c) Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Pöhn

Dvorák’s Rusalka is based on Bohemian folk-lore: the water nymph Rusalka, in love with a prince visiting her lake, wants to become human. But she will lose her ‘voice’; and the prince, cursed, will lose his life. The story could be a parable for the loss of innocence: indigenous peoples corrupted by modern invaders subsuming their cultural identity. The prince has found ‘a dumb woman in the forest’, they gossip . Rusalka, with the prince, remains unknown to him: fearful, and showing no passion. So the prince turns away -with the arrival of a ‘foreign princess’- to his own kind. Rusalka is stranded between alien cultures, neither a woman nor a nymph. Their love is doomed by the ‘curse’ of their incompatibility.
But operagoers visit Rusalka for Dvorák’s ravishing music; and would be reassured by Vienna State Opera’s traditional, late 19th century, modern-tweaked, production, directed by Sven-Eric Bechtholf. Rusalka (Olga Bezsmertna) begins staring out over a balcony, beneath, her father the wood goblin is being teased by water nymphs. Rolf Glittenberg’s set, on two levels with withered trees, cleverly depicts an underground, underwater world. In her aria , Rusalka’s feeling sad; she’d like to leave these watery depths: be human beneath the rays of the sun. ‘You want to be human?‘, her father (Günther Groissböck) interjects.- They have something called an immortal soul. ‘Don’t crave for a sinful soul’, he warns. But she craves love: sings of the man she sees bathing-without his clothes- in her presence. She knows that if she were a woman , she would embrace him and he would return her kisses. Erotic, voyeuristic? But it’s sung by Bezsmertna with unaffected innocence. Her wood nymphs would weep for her every night, warns her father. (Would they, the Prince is the very good-looking Piotr Beczala.) She will be lost forever, he forbodes. Groissböck- young Austrian, in demand- has a superlative baritone.
Now the opera’s hit number, that went viral for Dvorák (in the 1890s). In her aria Rusalka invokes the moon. You travel the world, looking down on the homes of mankind. ‘Oh moon, tell me where my beloved is, whisper to him that he may embrace me in his dreams, oh silver glittering moon…’ Bezsmertna sings movingly, without affectation, so plaintively. It’s meltingly sad.
‘Poor pale Rusalka’ visits sorceress Jezibaba (Janina Baechle). She pleads for a magic potion to release her. Baechle, huddled in dark furs, creeps around the stage picking up dead birds. She has elemental forces. ‘Is that all you’ve come for?’ Baechle’s is a formidable mezzo-soprano (a Wagnerian who sang Erda here recently.) If she fails to find human happiness, she and her lover will be cursed. Would she be voiceless for the price of her love?- Rusalka, defiantly, she’ll gladly be mute. (She thinks her human soul will overcome such obstacles.)
A voice is heard off-stage: Don’t shoot! We see a huntsman (baritone Mihail Dogitari.) The Prince knows she’s nothing but a spirit: will fade away. ‘Stay with me my faint spirit’; his hunt is over. Beczala is outstanding; his tenor has great power, but purity. Beczala leads in with Rusalka’s motif : Divine sweet dream! Bezsmertna’s Rusalka is in a white satin shift; he, Beczala, in a silver grey suit with traditional loden collar. The sisters sing one of their number is missing.
Act 2’s brilliantly lit stage is backed by a frosted window. The gamekeeper and cook sing about the strange creature the prince came across in the forest. The woman cannot speak, is quite pale. May they be protected from such ‘ill-fated love’.
Beczala sings ‘for days you’ve been laying at my side in a daze’. He stares into her eyes, but she’s enveloped in a dream. She, Bezsmertna, is laid out on a black velvet-covered platform. Why is he filled with anguish? Nevertheless, even if cold as ice, he must make her his. She, singing to the audience, feels no love for him, but cannot bear another to take her place.
The ‘foreign princess’ arrives, and intervenes reminding him of his duties: even a bridegroom is a servant. ‘And your beloved remains silent! Does she speak to you only with her eyes?’ Mezzo-soprano Monika Bohinec, brunette in a claret velvet gown, sequined midriff, and wearing a tiara. He’ll quickly make up for his neglect, he promises. (Rusalka looks on powerless, quivering.) Though his heart may belong to you, the honour is mine, boasts Bohinec’s princess.
Bezsmertna waltzes around the stage in a white wedding dress. Amazingly, and significantly, Rusalka doesn’t sing in this scene. The loss of her voice signifies the sacrifice of her individual self: the suppression of her cultural identity.
In this staging, a choreographed dream-like sequence, she stands overlooking a burlesque scene in which a rather plump prince (Beczala) in long-johns, jumps on the Princess (Bohinec) laid out in white on the ‘marriage bed’. Rusalka haunts them, in a prolonged motion, as if invisible: she’s a sprite after all.
The Goblin upbraids her. ‘You have fallen for the dazzling beauty of the world, alas!‘ For all her human form, a nymph’s blood flows in her veins. Groissböck’s goblin- in dark coat, with long platinum-white hair – forewarns her ‘Alas, poor Rusalka, human nature will become a curse to you. (Meanwhile, the human world is portrayed in a chic tableau. The Prince’s household in black outfits, bride and groom splayed out.)
‘Woe is me for betraying you,’ returning to her father, she’s found her voice again. Bezsmertna sings, hitting tremendous high notes. He has fallen for another, a wild , human beauty, and abandoned his poor Rusalka. Groissbock tears apart the wedding dress in a rage. Bezsmertna, powerful, impassioned, yet admits, ‘I was born of the cold water and have never known fire! I am cast out by you and lost to him.’ She’s neither woman or nymph: can neither live or die!
Meanwhile, the bitchy Princess sings asking ‘Where has she flown to, the one without a voice and a name. Bohinec back in her claret gown, taunts, will he embrace that sleepwalking beauty of his. Beczala sings enigmatically, how ‘he would break his vows to love only you’, singing of Rusalka’s cold, white beauty. Rusalka stands back of stage, as if reaching out to him. ‘Follow your chosen one to the depths of hell!’ thunders Bohinec.
Act 3 and again the double-levelled stage, upper storey balcony window looking out at the human world. Rusalka now sings from the underworld, bewailing her happy youth, condemned by her transgression to pine away in the cold waters. Didn’t you enjoy the kisses and find company in the human world, Jezibaba cajoles. Only human blood -his -can purge her and remove her curse. Excellent: chillingly sung by Baechle. But Rusalka rejects her: would rather suffer eternal torment. But he must know happiness!
She’s the outsider. A chorus of women sprites sing of how they will shun her; she will never be able to return to their world. The Goblin sings, it was the Prince who betrayed her: he’ll be avenged. There’s an enchanting, but problematic, scene in which the sprites hover over a body, their hands bathed in blood.
The Prince calls out to his ‘little white deer’; sings, night after night, he searches for her deep in the forest. Beczala, incongruously dressed – black frock -coat, silver trousers- like an old-fashioned crooner: Speak to me voiceless forest.
She sings, my dearest one, do you still recognise me?- He, if you are dead, kill me. If alive, save me!’ Suspended between worlds, she sings, she was once his beloved, now can only bring him death. A will-of-the wisp, her womanhood is defiled. If she were to kiss him now, he’d be lost forever. But he will pay for his deceit. Beczala, sings pleadingly, ‘Kiss me!’ He dies, petrified, as if metamorphosing into the trees.
His death was in vain, deems the Goblin. But Rusalka appeals to God to have mercy on his soul. Bezsmertna, who stepped in at short notice, was magnificent; and warmly applauded.
Tomas Netopil inspired idiomatic playing from Vienna State Opera orchestra and Chorus in a performance sung in Czech, authenticating Dvorák’s score. Vienna Staatsballet dancers added to a very special occasion. P.R. 10.09.2014
Photos: Olga Bezsmertna (Rusalka); Piotr Beczala (the Prince); Olga Bezsmertna and Günther Groissböck (Water goblin); theme image Olga Bezsmertna and Piotr Beczala
(c) Wiener Staatsoper /Michael Pöhn

Verdi’s Il Trovatore is one of a trio of operas -after Rigoletto, before La Traviata -that (beginning 1850s) launched Verdi’s worldwide fame. But Trovatore has fallen out of favour, reviled for a supposedly weak and implausible libretto, its scandalous ‘Church baiting’. Verdi’s contemporary critic Edward Hanslick scorned the sensationalised horror in which a gypsy brings up the son she rescues from a fire. In Verdi’s plot Manrico thinks he’s the son of gypsy Azecuna, who’s obsessed with avenging her own murdered child. The key theme is the deadly rivalry between unknowingly estranged blood brothers. The outsider (troubadour) Manrico and Count Luna (military commander) are on opposed sides politically, but also in love with the same woman, Leonora. Verdi’s love story is also a ‘parable of the repression of minorities.’
Vienna Volksoper’s Il Trovatore , a co-production with Bonn Opera directed by Dietrich Hilsdorf, has polarised opinion. So I’d expected a radically modern take. Not so. It was criticised as a tasteless spectacle, but well crafted. Arguably, the shock scenarios, derive from the material. The bloodthirsty scenes are justified in depicting the ‘Inquisition’.
In the event it is thrilling theatre, restoring the stage to Verdi’s mid-19th century context : gothic blood and gore, a mystery thriller of its time.
So I can’t understand why Vienna Volksoper wasn’t packed. No really big names, but the sets are splendid, the measure of the more famous Staatsoper, which invariably has full houses, and Volksoper Orchestra and chorus, under veteran Alfred Eschwé, are of the best.
The opening scene is pure spectacle, soldiers in colour co-ordinated burgundy and lilac; background authentically grey plastered walls. But it’s shocking- Ferrando, their CO stirs up the soldiers’ fear of witches and hatred of gypsies: setting the scene, underlying suspicions and racism. He sings of how a gypsy abducted and burned the Duke’s son; the witch- albeit life-size puppet- is baited and viciously bayoneted.
But the Chorus is splendid, Verdi a composer ‘at the height of this melodic vitality’. Indeed the Chorus- as in Rigoletto– have some of the most memorable tunes, (Trovatore’s characters perhaps less memorable.)
Verdi’s opera is unusually divided into ‘Scenes’. Purists might complain of ‘Director’s cuts’: the opera expurgated. But the episodes with introductory titles give a modern ‘cinematic’ quality.
So scene 2 (The Duel) Leonora is the focus, waiting for her troubadour. She’s warned by her friend of the consequences of the social mismatch. (Again a stylish set: four-poster bed centre, rear a wrought-iron stair well, refined regency silk-papered walls.) Leonora (Irina Oknina) is elegantly sung in her aria about the dream : not the most powerful of sopranos, but bewitching. And surprisingly, moving to the front of stage, she scales the heights: love is too great to put into words, her fate is defined in proximity to him. She casts off white satin layers: then in a ravishing aria -now with a wine glass in her hand- wearing only a white slip.
Manrico at Leonora’s window, observes her- in the arms of Count Luna. Mathew Hausmann, tall, black-hatted, croons every fibre in him burns of love: he must see her. He trembles, a heart gives hope. A voice off-stage, Manrico. Faithless! – She’s thrust between the two rivals. Manrico is Vincent Schirrmacher, effectively groomed as Italian. The two protagonists brandish their glimmering swords- the bed in between- Leonora at first separating them.
The Gypsy scene: Vedi! Le fosche notturne spoglie, the gypsies’ Anvil Chorus. A stage of black-clad figures, with a make-do statue of the Madonna on an oil barrel; left- stage a barred window. Azucena the formidable mezzo Chariklia Mavropoulou, sings of a woman burnt at the stake: the flames blaze to the heavens! As the female Chorus reiterate the men’s refrain- she emerges. Manrico, badly wounded, is on crutches, nursed to health by Azecuna. She sings of how she exchanged her own son- sacrificed to the fire -to rescue him. How her mother cried for revenge, her words engraved in her soul: how her own son cried so badly it was heart-rending. Mavropoulou, a fulsome lady, magnificently enacts her role. She sings, appeals to the heavens – kneeling- still consumed with grief. (God is this operatic!) -Manrico, then is he not her son? – She convinces him: has she not always given him a mother’s love. She was confused- reacting to her story- so overcome by emotion. The ‘accursed moonshine’ shone on him.
Manrico sings of how he wanted to administer the fatal blow to the Count; an unforeseen power stopped him. Now she offers him her dagger. He swears -without mercy- to avenge her and kill Luna.
In a grey-walled cloister, Count Luna hearing Leonora -presuming Manrico dead- intends to enter a nunnery, laments in his aria: everything is lost, but he ‘won’t let her become another Jesus’. She’s his! He sings of her beauty, her radiant smile. The Count is on his knees pleading- Housman finely articulated, but not the thrilling high notes. But what staging! He uncovers a marble life-size statue of Christ; unbolted, hides in its place. Red uniformed soldiers swarm in to abduct Leonora. Off-stage nuns are heard; they approach with candles. The Count jumps out from beneath a black cloak; and there’s Manrico holding his sword unsheathed. (Meanwhile nuns cluster behind the Christ statue for protection.) The Count clutches at Leonora. Soldiers raise their rifles as Leonora escapes with Manrico.
The witch hunters scene, in which Azecuna is interrogated, is shocking , but not gratuitous. (It anticipates Verdi’s Don Carlo where Flemish Protestants are incinerated.) Two black- hooded figures bearing placards are beaten in procession by soldiers- ironically accompanied by Verdi’s jolly Squilli echeggi la tromba guerriera. But front of stage, there’s a cage with a stooped figure being poked by inquisitors, a Priest attending. Azecuna is interrogated, put to the test. Gypsies have no roots, she responds defiantly. She’s handcuffed, plied by Luna with wine. She’s revealed as the child abductress- daughter of the witch they had burned. Azecuna cries out for Manrico. The soldiers, linked in a line, begin a ‘witches dance’. Azecuna is led to a fire. Macropoulu is heart-rending, chillingly powerful, but no way exaggerated.
Meanwhile (The Gypsy’s Son) Manrico and Leonora together at last, prepare to wed. He’ll think of her to his last breath (Ah si, ben mio. ) Schirrmacher sings eloquently, with beautiful diction. (Heavenly Chorus; Madonna foreground; we glimpse green lawns, people in flight, indicating war.)
In the Revenge of the Rivals, Manrico is led away blind-folded. Leonora positioned (centre stage) front of the bed, is seated blindfolded in a black coat, before her interrogator. In her aria, she reminds Luna of their previous love. Beautifully enunciated, Oknina’s Leonora, a lighter soprano, but no hint of strain. Her coloratura was beguiling. She’s shunted across the stage, observed silently by the Count. His only God is revenge, he sings. She begs mercy for Manrico. Her appeal enrages him. She swears to offer herself to him (while she takes poison unnoticed.) For him it’s a dream come true.
For The Execution, the set is a grey-plastered building. Manrico is sitting on a long bench with Azecuna now blind. Mavropoulou, hair -cropped, wearing large dark glasses, sings movingly she’s tormented by visions: the picture of the burning woman, her mother. Weariness bears down on her (Si la stanchezza m’opprime.) They find solace in Manrico’s troubadour song, D’amor sull’alli rosee.
Leonora has come to recue Manrico: but at what price? She has sold their love- he reproaches her- to his rival. She begs him to escape, or all is lost. Oknina is on her knees, the poison working too quickly. She collapses between the two rivals, confessing to Manrico, she chose death rather than life with another man. Manrico is carried away .
The closure is vintage Verdi. In his death throes, Manrico calls for his mother. Azecuna sings triumphantly to Luna, ‘He was your brother!’…’Mother, you are avenged!’ Her vow fulfilled, yet, dying, she calls for Manrico, her son.
This Volksoper co-production is a triumph of stagecraft and not to be missed. The cast was adequate, Mavropoulou unforgettable. This revival justifies Verdi’s Il Trovatore, ‘a phenomenon in Italian opera.’ P.R. 3.09.2014
Photos: Stuart Neill (Manrico), Melba Ramos (Leonora) and Tito You (Luna) ;Melba Ramos (Leonora); Janina Baechle (Azecuna) .Photos of the September 2014 cast were not available
(c) Barbara Pálffy / Volksoper Wien

Vienna Volksoper’s spectacular new production of Emmerich Kálmán’s Countess Mariza (Gräfin Mariza) opens with a gypsy woman singing, ‘Love is a fleeting drama.’ Against a stage covered in white fabric, Annely Peebo in traditional Hungarian dress, a black sequined gown, sings it’s a story full of music we danced. She’s accompanied by a gypsy fiddler. The stage is taken over by young gypsy dancers in black, who perform front of stage. My God ,they are sensational- members of Vienna State Ballet- and very erotic, the five virtuoso couples gorgeous looking.
The white sheets collapse to reveal a palace state room, furniture covered over. Count Tassilo (Daniel Prohaska), whose family are bankrupt, is acting as manager for Countess Mariza’s estates. He’s welcomed by children, dancing for him in traditional Hungarian costumes. While Prohaska’s steward is white- suited , his friend Karl is in a sharp double-breasted geometric pattern suit, and sporting patent shoes. Very roaring Twenties! The background is the 1920s financial crisis, post World War 1. Tassilo’s estate is being auctioned off; and they’re not the only family to go under, after the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian empire.
They reminisce of better times: the cue for the opera’s stand-out number, ‘Grüss mir die süssen, die reizenden Frauen in schönen Wien. Do you remember, when the evening falls, drinking a glass of wine, the sweet charming ladies? It’s a tribute to charming Vienna: the Danube, the waltzes, hidden alleys where couples linger. Mein Wien! Kálmán’s tribute has the measure of Johann Strauss. Tassilo’s romantic vision is sung by Prohaska, a very adequate tenor; but he looks good, and has charm.
Cut to Mariza’s welcome home party to celebrate her engagement to a ‘Baron Koloman’- he’s absent- invented to ward off gold-digging admirers. Another Gypsy song, one of the glamour highlights, with the men in cream suits wearing boaters, and the girls in 1920s shifts, very short and sexy. The stage rotates to reveal the Countess on the steps of her castle, surrounded by bodyguards in black hats and shirts, wearing dark glasses. Very camp. It’s brilliant staging. Come and set yourself free, play with feeling, party the night away! The gypsies are contrasted against the cream, gold set, two girls side stage, and the fiddler playing, black-hatted, looking very mean and moody.
Kálman’s operetta Gräfin Mariza, premiered in Vienna 1924, defined a new realism, with plausible characters, and gritty dialogue (A.Brammer and J.Grünwald.) Ursula Pfitzner’s Mariza, very modern, pulls on her cigarette. Her fiancée is ‘absent’; introduced to her new ‘steward’, she treats him condescendingly. Tassilo recognises his sister Lisa (Anita Götz) in the Countess’s retinue, but, ‘not a word’, Tassilo’s real identity kept secret. They ‘know each other’. The siblings meeting is a cue for Meine Schwesterlein. The stage opens up to a fantasy children’s playground, brought to life with animated figures.
The man the Countess is engaged to doesn’t exist. But a Baron Koloman Zsupan introduces himself! Thomas Sigwald, outrageous in a bright red brocaded blazer- looking uncannily like Graham Norton- rode straight to Budapest when he read he was to marry the Countess. He sings, he’d always dreamed of marrying a woman like her, only to be found in Hungary. His passion burns hotter than a goulash. His duet with Mariza Komm mit nach Varasdin is a showstopper. Suddenly, a whole row of Koloman look-alikes in red blazers and white pants lead in. They perform an ingenious dance routine, using over-sized garden tools as percussion instruments.
A disconsolate Tassilo, excluded from the ball, sings how he was once the Czarda’s cavalier. Prohaska is swigging on a wine bottle: it may all be different tomorrow. Background, a couple of gypsy lovers very uninhibited, are embracing; and lead into a gypsy fest extravaganza. The stage is filled with the Countess’s guests holding up umbrellas for a ‘When it rains’ ensemble.
The Countess in white is confronted by a gypsy offering her a glimpse into the future. Before the month is out her heart will be given. The man is not far away: a cavalier! Now Mariza moves from the castle steps into her dining room on the revolving stage. Tassilo – ‘her steward, he’s not there for her enjoyment’- now performs for her the Komm, Zigany number he’d refused after all. Their intimate meeting is ‘all very surprising’: he pushes the bottle he’s drinking from over to her, while she’s smoking one cigarette after another.
In the pause between the Acts, a little girl sings to the gardener, (telling her the story in a framing narrative), ‘The story’s over. They love each other?’ The old man replies, ‘if only it were so simple!’
The Countess reappears in a slinky grey silk jacquard skirt, low -cut blouse. ‘Yes, supposing you have all those millions, but you’re not happy,’ he sings. Dancing a favourite waltz number, they sweep into a room of waltzing couples – women in swirling chiffon, men in DJs.

Tabarins is the star number of Act 2. ‘Tonight at Ten, we’ll be at Tabarins’ Those sexy gypsy dancers- the guys in black hussar outfits, white commerbunds, against the girls in stunning white Charleston-era sheeny tops and head bands. (Now we know where David Rose’s The Stripper came from!) The dance troupe are a sensation.
Tassilo (Prohaska now in black DJ) warns Mariza, don’t you see all your friends are out for your money. But he is himself exposed by her admirer Prince Populesco: Tassilo is ‘the ideal Cavalier’. ‘To learn all that takes five hundred years at least.’ The Countess, furious, vows to crush him: leave him to me!
The stage revolves to a banqueting hall, the occasion for her revenge. (Simply the best staging I’ve ever seen here!) ‘Hey, Mariza, pull off your masterstroke!’
She knocks chairs over. – We hear the ‘Play on gypsy’ refrain- This gentleman is mad about romancing ,but she knows his game; and she throws money at him. Her only condition is he never speaks of love again. Tassilo sings, he fell in love once. She was a proud, fair lady. Komm, Zigany ‘Play with feeling – his number- show me what you can.’ Mariza sings -ironically- the gypsy’s refrain, ‘Before the month is out…’ (Pfitzner’s high notes are a little shaky.)
Earlier in the Sag mir, mein Lieb (Put on your prettiest dreams, be ready at ten), duet, Prohaska’s top notes were adequate, but not thrilling. She, Pfitzner, is pleasing and a little more. Their voices are fitted to operetta, not powerful, but as required. Kurt Schreibmayer’s Populesco, also ensemble, added ballast.
In the denouement, Sigwald, a terrific comic turn as Baron Koloman, reveals he’s only an actor. He’s actually in love with Lisa, Tassilo’s sister (Mariza’s once-imagined rival), who’ll marry him anyway. Sigwald sings well with Anita Götz’s very competent soprano.
The staging and costumes by Toto (in Thomas Enzinger’s production) are a world -beater- miles better than the rather threadbare affair for Kálmán’s recently performed Czarda’s Princess. Alexander Rumpf conducted Vienna Volksoper forces with panache, orchestra in snazzy black suits and red ties, attuned to Kálmán’s syncopated dance rhythms. Worth a trip to Vienna. P.R. 15.05.2014
Photos: Vienna Volksoper ensemble; Daniel Prohaska (Count Tassilo) and Nicholaus Hagg (Karl Liebenberg); Ursula Pfizner (Countess Mariza) and Daniel Prohaska (Tassilo) and members Vienna State Ballet ; Featured image Ursula Pfizner and Vienna State Ballet
(c) Barbara Pálffy/ Volksoper Wien

Giordano’s Andrea Chénier is the story of the poet of the French Revolution who sacrificed his life for his ideals. Giordano’s fourth and greatest opera, Chénier is described (by Vienna State Opera) as a ‘must for all opera lovers.’ For once this was no hype, the opera -new to me -was a revelation.
Through Chénier we see aspects of the French Revolution, from pre-revolutionary aristocracy to the reign of terror. Chénier’s commitment to freedom and humanity provokes enmity and suspicion. First at a pre- Revolution celebration at the Contessa di Coigny (where he falls in love with her daughter Maddelena); in the Jacobin Terror he’s a suspected counter-revolutionary on the run. Chénier is the artist always at odds with corruption and political repression.
In Otto Schenk’s design , Vienna State Opera’s stage for the Countess’s party has faux painted walls (resembling tiers of an opera house): front stage, the salon has antique furniture.
The valet Gérard (baritone Anthony Michaels- Moore) sings passionately, ‘You have fathered slaves’: how he hates their gilded house, their stylish gallants. ‘Your fate is sealed!’
Maddalena (soprano Norma Fantini) appears rather plump. She suffers in a tight corset; her servant Bersi (Alica Kolosova) thinks it’s absolutely superb. She also complains about her hideous petticoat: even if born a beauty, she now looks terrible. This is an unnatural world- the aristocracy- of artificial courtesies and sycophantic flattery. So her mother, white-haired, haggard, is greeted, ‘how elegant, absolutely charming’, ever youthful. It’s all flattery and teasing.
The poet, Andrea Chénier (Johan Botha) stands out, against the frills and frippery, in a navy jacket and culottes. Botha is unmistakeable to any opera lover, especially for his Wagner roles. He stands observing the show from the side-lines. They’re talking of ‘dark clouds’, impending revolution. But the ladies sing about the tomorrow they await in an innocent pastoral. Botha seems to scowl in contempt as a harp plucks in the background.
Maddalena, this figure of curiosity, asks how a poet is inspired by his muse. Chénier’s aria is a highpoint of the opera, and Botha’s lyrical tenor sublime beyond words. ‘Poetry, he replies, is as capricious as love; the muse is unpredictable, not to be commanded. He gazes up at the eternal blue of the heavens, the world bathed in golden sunlight, a boundless treasure. He extols his beloved fatherland. But the revolutionary poet criticises the Church, the Priest deaf to the pleas of an old man. And the nobleman does nothing against such poverty.
Turning to Maddalena, beautiful woman, do not scorn the words of the poet. ‘You know nothing of life, a divine gift, don’t deride it!’ She’s entranced by Chenier. (‘She’s a strange girl’, comment the other women.) Gérard is also deeply impressed.
A demonstration outside of starving peasants disturbs the party. Gérard resigns. The Countess’s guests will, nevertheless, return to their gavotte. Botha was enthusiastically applauded. Botha sang Walther in Wagner’s Meistersinger, the outsider to the guilds’ cant and ceremony: here the whole rotten feudal system.
Act 2 opens to a huge square, left stage café tables and chairs; a white statue; and an upturned carriage. A Revolutionary tribunal hearing. Gérard promoted to the Chamber of Deputies. Secret police agents -black-hatted, dandy- tick off a list of suspects: Chénier is included. In Chénier’s aria, Botha sings movingly of a power that says you shall be a poet. So, although advised to leave by his friend Roucher (Boaz Daniel) , his destiny demands that he should stay. And -bewildered by a lady’s anonymous letters-the name of his destiny is love. ‘Believe in love, Chénier.’ Botha’s rendition is ardent, captivating. Botha- his life undone- accepts Roucher’s pass.
Giordano’s music is a revelation- surging late 19th century romanticism, contemporary with Puccini (La Boheme, 1896) : an exhilarating experience, especially with Paulo Carignani conducting Vienna State Opera Orchestra and Chorus.
Through Bersi, her former maid- who shelters Maddalena, now sought by the police- Chenier makes contact with Maddelena. In their duet, Maddelena, in a white shawl recognises Chénier: ‘Do you remember me?’ Now Fantini is more shapely: the artificial padding she wore as a Countess’s daughter discarded. (The aristocrat’s clothing represented unnatural constraints against real feeling.) Their destiny was to meet again. She sent him the letters. She’s alone, in danger, and afraid. Will he, her last hope, protect her? Fantini is rather good. And Botha magnificent singing of their moment of blissful love. To an oboe accompaniment, she washed away his last cowardice: he’s prepared to die. Despite the danger, the Terror, they pledge to stay together; even unto death! ‘Magnificent moment of blissful love’, they proclaim in duet. (This has the measure of Puccini’s best!)
Act 3: a Revolutionary court. The window facades are blacked out, a crowd of observers looking on; but elegant furniture front of stage. There’s talk of France attacked on all sides, by Prussians, Austrians. Women are urged to contribute their jewellery; mothers to give their sons to France, the motherland. ‘Old Madelon’ -Monica Bohinec in an unforgettable cameo- sings how she’s lost both her sons. She offers her grandson- barely a boy- yet he’s instantly conscripted.
A creepy police informer is dressed in black hat, frock coat, breeches and boots- rather foppish with a walking stick. Gérard (Michaels-Moore) is barely recognisable in a dashing black tailored jacket, braided in red. In his aria, Gérard hesitates- disillusioned – to sign Chénier’s death warrant. Once he was driven by hate. But now realises he’s still a servant: all he’s done is change masters. He was a child of the war of liberation. Why does he no longer have faith in the vision? (He wanted to arouse a conscience in the people: turn the world into a paradise.) He has betrayed his calling; he is a libertine, still slave to his passions.
Madame di Coigny introduces herself, now in a simple white dress. He’s captured her lover Chénier. Now Gérard confesses he wanted her, even as a small girl – his life-long passion, he, the servant always eavesdropping. He grasps her, wants to bury his hands in the sea of her blonde hair. If her body is the price of Chenier’s life, then take her.
Maddalena’s aria, La mamma morta, poignantly sung by Fantini, reminds of Verdi (Amelia’s plea in Un Ballo in Maschera ).They murdered her mother in the doorway of her room. She was alone, in poverty, trouble and danger. Bersi prostituted her beauty to save her. In all this wretchedness, love came to her. But she offers to dry his tears and watch over him. Does he (Gérard) see blood all around him? She will help him forget. ‘I am love, love, love! Mine is the body of a dying woman , so take it!’ (Tremendous!)
Out of love for Maddalena and his earlier sympathy for Chénier, Gérard helps him escape; but Chénier is nevertheless arrested. Gérard accuses the Court of violating justice: of murdering poets. Michaels-Moore powerful, impassioned: his life is a ship on course for death, so be it. But he will fly the standard for his country. You will not drag it through the dirt: Chénier is no traitor.
The Marseillaise is heard in the background. Maddalena has offered to take the place of a condemned prisoner so she can be with Chénier. They run into each other’s arms. Chénier sings of his troubled soul, but she is all he ever desired. So they will go to the guillotine together: in the hope of a new life, together in death. Their final duet vicino a te is terrifically sung. The feeling is Wagnerian, reminiscent of Tristan und Isolde’s Liebestod, love in death. ‘Death! Eternal love!’, ‘death arriving with the sun.’ Maddalena (like Isolde) walks to her death. Strains of Wagner-realising something new is, after all, the reworking of the familiar- did not detract from discovering a major operatic work, Giordano’s masterpiece. P.R.9.05.2014
Photos: Johan Botha (Andrea Chénier) and Maria José Siri (Maddalena); Anthony Michaels-Moore (Gérard); Alfred Sramek (Mathieu), also featured image. Photos of Norma Fantini as Maddalena were not available.
(c) Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Poehn

Vienna State Opera’s spectacular period production Rigoletto (stage Pantelis Dessylas) opens in the Duke’s palace. The banqueting hall where the Duke is entertaining his Court has rich oak panelling; the costumes, late Renaissance, appear authentic. So Verdi’s plot is dramatically more plausible than those modern stagings using the Court as a Mafia analogy.
The opening scene sets in motion the tragedy. The Duke (Piero Pretti) sings boasting, he finds pleasure today, he may be with another tomorrow. And without scruples, proceeds to woo the beautiful wife of Ceprano, his loyal retainer. Pretti, well named, has an irrestibly mellifluous tenor. We’re in no doubt about his lechery, but he’s charming.
Rigoletto role is that of court jester -a Shakesperean Fool- aiding and abetting his Duke, and mocking his courtiers. But he’s victim of his own intigues. Rigoletto’s tragedy is inherent within the characteristically Verdian relationship between over-possessive father and daughter seeking independence and love.
Leo Nucci’s Rigoleto, short, red-haired, appears slightly stooped, in fact a hunchback. And he’s actually wearing a harlequin outfit. Nucci is an operatic legend, celebrating his 500th stage appearance (4th April 2014) and 35 years performing at Vienna State Opera. His Rigoletto is a special treat for opera lovers. His distinguished baritone has enormous timbre, and he inhabits the role with subtle characterisation. Nucci holds the stage firing his caustically witty ripostes.
But the tragedy is sealed by Count Monterone’s outburst, demanding an explanation of the Duke who’s dishonoured his daughter. Rigoletto scorns the slighted father. Monterone curses both master and servant, but it’s Rigoletto who is haunted by the curse.
Act 2 , returning home, Rigoletto is accosted by Sparafucile, a professional assassin, (in whom Rigoletto sees a reflection of his own life.) Rigoletto’s aria -deeply troubled by the curse- is a highpoint of the opera. It reveals insights into his complex nature, the demon that drives him. To cellos and double basses- unsettled, disturbing- Nucci sings movingly, we are all alone. Rigoletto compares himself to Sparafucile: Sparafucile murders with his dagger, he uses words. He repeatedly sings , mantra-like, the old man put a curse on him . Now echoing Shakespeare’s anti-heros- Richard III , Iago- sings Nature has made him vile. How terrible it is to be crippled. But he may not weep. His young, handsome master orders him ‘Make me laugh’. If he, Rigoletto, is evil, it is because of him.
But here-(at home) -he becomes another man. Now upbeat orchestral strings: his daughter Gilda appears. His love for her humanises him. Gilda (Valentina Nafornita, a charming brunette ), complains she ony ever goes to church. – ‘Don’t remind a man of the happiness he’s lost’. His wife died. Only she is left to him, his mercy.-‘But what grief,’rejoins Gilda, ‘Calm yourself father.’-‘Only you are left to me.’ In a powerful interaction between Nucci and Nafornita, Rigoletto, Verdi’s obsessive father, ‘You are my family, country, universe.’ She’s been there three months, hasn’t seen the town. ‘Is the door locked?’ – ‘Always. Your precious flower will never be broken.’ . (Rigoletto instructs the housekeeper, Giovanna, she needs to be vigilant.)
Gilda confides in Giovanna (Juliette Mars), she’s been seeing a young man in church, (‘a student’). He’s generous, and refined. She doesn’t want a nobleman; she’d love him all the same.
‘Say those sweet words again!’ The Duke (disguised) has insinuated his way in. Pretti’s tenor is melting, melodious. ‘She is the sunshine of his soul’. Physically, Pretti is short and slight in relation to Nafornita, who’s seated on the garden bench, he standing over her. Their duet is well delivered. Their voices melt; she coos along. (The Duke is shameless, such is the power of rhetoric!)
In Gilda’s aria , Let his name be engraved on my heart, Nafornita is accompanied by a flute solo: jaunty rhythms introduce the well-known Caro nome, ‘Beloved name, may you always remind me of love…’ Nafornita’s display of coloratura is pleasing , but (standing left of stage by a well) she sounded a little shaky at one point. (She was unwell.) Elsewhere, Nafornita’s gorgeous stage presence and acting compensated.
We see the sumptuous palace interior; tables strewn with chess sets. Pretti sings angelically, he’s overcome by her virtue. And sententiously, she has been stolen from him. (The Duke’s courtiers have abducted the secreted-away Gilda, believing her Rigoletto’s mistress). With saintly indignation, he sees her tears as she calls to ‘her beloved Gualtier’ (his disguise). Terrifically sung by Pretti in a rich red velour house coat: the devil has all the best tunes.
Chorus- Vienna State Opera’s excel in Verdi- sing, ‘He has discovered a rare beauty’. In one of the great Verdian choruses- ‘They carried her out…blind-folded the girl.’ They actually sound quite charming. Verdi gives them a jaunty swagger, mocking their false bravado. The Duke sings of the poor girl: love summons him (Possente amor) . Chorus repeat (ironically), why is he so agitated.
Nucci’s scene, searching for Gilda (end Act 2) is harrowingly well played. They mock him, ‘Poor Rigoletto! What’s new, jester?’ They taunt him- Where can she be?-Verdi’s strings sardonic, almost laughing, jeering. Nucci, hunch-backed, is pitiful in his jester’s costume. In his aria -The girl you abducted last night is my daughter- their contempt changes to embarrassed silence. Rigoletto begs for pity; he can only weep. He pleads, have a heart. Then, a long sustained note, ‘You are fathers…’, accompanied by a superbly played cello solo. It was powerfully rendered. The applause for Nucci went on and on.
Gilda is brought in. Distraught, shamed. She’s been deceived, but confesses her love. Rigoletto sings, have no fear my angel. We are alone, speak. Gilda admits she saw the young man every sunday in church. She said nothing, but their eyes spoke. He came to her secretly yesterday, then left. But she ‘was filled with hope.’
Nucci sings poignantly, he hoped she would rise up as high as he, Rigoletto, has fallen. Weep my child to my heart! He swears to avenge the honour of fathers. Terrible vengeance is his one desire. The jester will strike him down. (The Duke sings, side of stage, he suspects me.) The scene ends tremendously, Verdi’s conflicting voices in ensemble.
Opening Act 3, an imposing rocky stone building (the Tavern). Maddalena (Nadia Krasteva) salaciously tempts the Duke. ‘All moral sense vanishes in the act of love.’ There is no doubt of his deception of Gilda. The Duke is incorrigible: ‘Come here and hear his heart beating.’ She is leading him on- dangling her legs- all thighs. Krasteva’s mezzo is excellent!
Now the Duke’s iconic aria La donna e mobile… ‘Woman is as wayward as a feather in the wind. Her pretty face is deceitful, whether weeping or sleeping.’ It’s insolent, bragadaccio, misogynistic; and accented by a soaring clarinet solo. Outside they’re overheard by Rigoletto and a despairing Gilda. He’s given Gilda time to get over him. Would she still love him if he were deceiving her? Besotted, she continues to love him. (Later Rigoletto negotiates with Sparafucile: Kill him and he’ll double the reward.) Again we hear the Duke’s swansong. Cruel misogyny! Pretti, in a grey swashbuckling outfit: Lamentable the man who puts his trust in a woman! But it is superbly sung, reaching thrilling high notes. Well applauded.
For Rigoletto the moment of vengeance is here at last. (A storm brewing, a sack is delivered.) ‘Take a look at me, the jester. Now he is at my feet!’ Then he hears the Duke’s refrain, as if mocking him, from the balcony, (La Donna e mobile), so beautifully sung by Pretti. Insidiously alluring, satanic?
So who’s in the sack instead? Impossible! She left for Verona. We hear Nafornita, her voice feeble. She deceived her father. She loved him too much; disguised to save the Duke, must die for him. Crushed, Rigoletto, declaims, ‘Oh terrible God!’ She has been struck down by revenge. Pathetically, if she goes, he’ll be left alone. The sheer abjection of human despair- man juggled by fate- is akin to the desperately pitiful King Lear picking up his smitten daughter Cordelia. In Verdi, fusing music with high drama, the scene cannot fail to move.
Nafornita performed in spite of illness: against the towering performance of Nucci, and Pretti’s virtuoso tenor. Jesus- Lopez Cobos, distinguished in Italian repertoire, encouraged Vienna State Opera orchestra to their Verdian best. And that glorious Chorus! P.R. 4.4.2014
Photos: Valentina Nafornita (Gilda) and Leo Nucci (Rigoletto); Valentina Nafornita and Piero Pretti (The Duke of Mantua); Featured image Piero Pretti (the Duke)
(c) Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Poehn

Late March in a stormy, cold Vienna, Spring has been postponed. Doom and gloom also on the stage of Vienna State Opera’s Berg’s Wozzeck. Alban Berg’s opera is based on George Buchner’s stage pieces concerning the (1821) criminal case of a barber who stabbed his woman to death. Wozzeck, a low-ranking soldier is forced to work privately for his captain , and volunteers for his doctor’s experiments, so he can support Marie and her child by him.
But Berg’s modernist opera -the first complete ‘atonal’ opera- is a work for our time, not just early 20th century, but recognisable now. Berg was moved by this man, ‘maltreated, spurned by the world, plagued by visions, who murders his lover, and drowns himself’. Berg’s opera – modernist-like Schnittke’s plays – tells the story through episodes, over 3 Acts , each five scenes. Berg’s music heightens the emotional atmosphere in these individual scenes, incorporating old and new musical forms. And (for 1925) its social realism radically depicts scenes from everyday life. An indictment of social injustice, Wozzeck ‘widened the notion of opera still living off stylised costumes and standardised characters.'(Schoenberg)
The Captain (Herbert Percoraro), pampered in the barber’s chair, waffles away with patronising advice. Wozzeck- so the Captain smothered in lather- ‘always looks so frantic’. A decent man with a clear conscience does everything …with control. Herbert Percoraro, a lyrical, high -pitched tenor, emits a manic laugh- against Mathias Goerne’s deep bass. Ja wohl, herr Hauptmann, Wozzeck repeatedly nods. Mathias Goerne has played the role of Wozzeck so often he now embodies the character. Physically, Goerne looks demonic; his large, staring eyes have a haunted look.
The Captain taunts him, Wozzeck has a child , unblessed by the Church: Wozzeck is a good man but has no morals (ein guter Mennsch, aber er hat kein Moral.) Wozzeck rebuts him ‘suffer the little children to come unto me.’ The law of God, poor people don’t see it. Morals! We are poor people; try practising your morals with no money. Goerne, standing glowering over the Captain waves his razor menacingly. Pecora rejoins, he’s a good man, but he thinks too much – often repeated of Wozzeck (the lower classes’ thinking could lead to revolution.)
This brooding violence re-emerges in the following hunting scene. Wozzeck tells Andres the place is ‘haunted’: the story -almost comical – how one evening a head came rolling down, someone thinking it a hedgehog.
Marie (Scene 3) watching a military band from her window, sees the Drum Major. He glances after her: soldiers are handsome fellows. ‘Come boy, you’re just a whore’s son,’ she sings. She’s a pretty maid, but she has no husband. As Marie, Evelyn Herlitzius is a ravishingly expressive soprano.
Their home resembles a shack in a southern U.S. movie – Depression era. Wozzeck looks in through the window – a striking contrast to the Drum Major. Wozzeck sings of his visions, ‘There was shape in the sky, all glowing. It came after him!’ (She goes to look after her son.) Herlitzius, tremendously powerful, rails, ‘This man’s obsessed, he didn’t even look at his child.’ All this thinking is driving him mad. And, desperately, ‘God , what it is to be poor.’ She can’t bear it any more. She’s frightened.
Wozzeck’s other way of earning money: the Doctor (Wolfgang Bankl). Doesn’t he give him three groschens a day! Has he eaten his beans? See, you’re philosophising again. (‘You see in nature…) Wozzeck is on all fours, like a dog. Bankl’s white-jacketed doctor is a chilling forerunner to a Nazi War Camp doctor. Wozzeck mistakes the Doctor’s interest in his visions for human sympathy. But Bankl triumphantly declares,’You’ve got a perfect mania- a classic case. Just keep being good.’ With his hypothesis, he’ll be famous.
In the scene between the The Drum Major and Marie, the Major (Herbert Lippert) appears at Marie’s s door. She mocks his swagger. He forces himself on her. She fights him off- like a wild animal. Then, unable to resist him, they copulate.
Opening Act 2 , Marie is with her boy. Again the expressionistic painted stage set, grey with cloudy abtract shapes in black; or are they dirt-engrained walls? Marie tries to hide the earing ‘she found’. Wozzeck interrogates her- ‘it must be gold?’- but relents. Plaintively Goerne sings , ‘Nothing but drudgery under the sun. We even sweat as we sleep.’ But he offers his pay and money he’s earned on the side. She sings, I’m not a good person. What a world! She could kill herself. Herlitzius, overwrought, affecting, is sensational.
The Doctor and Captain’s meeting in the street is comical. The strutting Captain (Bankl) in a top hat looms over the Captain (Percoraro), who, breathless, is trying to catch him up. ‘Permit me to save one life! Here’s you, bloated, fat, subject to aploplexy…’
Wozzeck, what’s your hurry. You charge through life like an open razor!‘ They mock him over his wife’s affair with the Drum Major. (The Captain admits he was once in love too.) But Goerne pleads with harrowing pathos, she’s all in the world he’s got. ‘God in heaven, it almost makes you want to hang yourself.’ To the Doctor,’He’s a rare specimen, this Wozzeck.’
Wozzeck confronts Marie, hints at her affair: her red lips have no blisters. ‘You were with him!’ -‘What if I was?’-‘You bitch!’ He’s about to strike her, but Goerne, again philosophical, sings movingly on the human condition, ‘Man is an abyss. It makes you dizzy looking all the way down.’
Wozzeck is outside a cheap tavern, brandy-soaked. It’s effectively staged, soldiers dancing with local women, huddled together on a cramped raised platform. Berg’s music seems to subvert the waltzing rhythms. He walks in, as Marie and the Drum Major appear and openly flirt, kissing passionately. The dance ends, Wozzeck’s about to go over. Goerne sings he’s comfortable here; but death would be as comfortable. Earthly things are in vain…Everything rots away; then, hiccupping, ‘his soul stinks’ . A fool cavorts: why is the world sad.
In the soldiers’ barracks, there are lines of men’s bodies either side of the stage. Wozzeck can’t sleep, sees flashes, hears the refrain ‘Oh, God, lead us not into temptation.’ The Drum Major bursts in, picks a fight with Wozzeck and brutally strikes him. He’s left bleeding and brooding.
Opening Act 3 Marie is sitting in her room , desperately seeking consolation in her bible, identifying with Mary Magdalene seeking forgiveness. Then- the stage set excellent -an expanse of flint grey water and skies. Marie and Wozzeck are walking by the ‘pond’. Wozzeck sings enigmatically,’you won’t need it in the morning. ‘
There’s a horrid moment as Herlitzius jerks- like receiving an electric shock- and topples. Goerne sings of how red the moon is… He has cut her throat. No one else can have her. Tot! A tremendous wailing sound emanates from the orchestra; a long sustained note, hellish drums, an ominous knocking.
We see Wozzeck sitting at the entrance to a tavern, a hole cut out of the expressionistically painted wall. Wozzeck, drunk, clings to a woman, with his bloodied arm. (No shoes, she can go barefoot into hell.) They all come out, repelled by the blood on his hands.
Wozzeck returns to the pond. ‘Alles still..still und tot.’ Wading in, he sings incoherently, Marie, what is that red band around your neck? But the red moon will betray him. He can’t find the knife; imagines himself all bloody, as if washing himself with blood. (The Doctor and Captain, passing, think they can hear someone drown.)
The final scene shows children playing. Does the boy know about Marie:’Your mother is dead, out there by the pond.’ The boy is seen fading into the expanse of blue cloud: perhaps the outsider, philosophising.
Wozzeck is the victim of a modern, ‘capitalist’ society- poor, down-trodden, exploited; and psychotic, driven mad. If Wozzeck has to be experienced, this current production could hardly be bettered. Directed by Adolph Dresen, Herbert Kapplmueller’s staging, evocative, atmospheric, is not distracting. The cast distinguished, Berg’s orchestration is endlessly fascinating, and to hear it performed by Vienna State Opera orchestra (conducted by specialist Dennis Russell Davies), a privilige. P.R. 23.3.2014
Photos: Featured image Evelyn Herlitzius (Marie); Mathias Goerne (Wozzeck); Evelyn Herlitzius (Marie) and Monika Bohinec (Margret); Mathias Goerne (Wozzeck) and Evelyn Herlitzius (Marie)
(c) Wiener Staatsoper/ Michael Pӧhn

Johann Strauss’s music, was never more popular, with the New Years Day waltzes beamed worldwide. But are the Operettas rather outdated? Not this gleaming new Vienna Volksoper production of A Night in Venice (Eine Nacht in Venedig) . Strauss’s score is gloriously tuneful, its arias evergreen; and, libretto by Die Fledermaus’s F. Zell and Richard Genee, it still works as great theatre. (A packed house responded to the witty dialogue with spontaneous laughter.) And there’s nothing second rate about this cast, nor the very smooth sound of Vienna’s Volksoper orchestra.
The preposterous plot of lovers’ intrigues- further complicated in a Venice carnival- centers on the visit of the Duke of Urbino, a notorious womaniser- aided by his personal barber (Figaro?) Caramello, seeking Barbara, the frisky wife of elderly senator Delacqua. To thwart jealous Delaqua, Annina -actually Caramello’s lover- takes her mistress Barbara’s place. And the servants- Ciboletta, the Senator’s cook, in love with Pappacoda- manipulate their masters. But whereas in Die Fledermaus the champagne is to blame, in A Night in Venice, it’s the carnival. Alle maskiert, Alle maskiert, wo Spass, wo Tollheit und lust regiert.‘ The masks and disguises of carnival are opportunity and excuse for fun, wildness and desire.
It opens with a pageant around Pappacoda’s traditional (Venetian) macaroni stall- quaint outfits with pointed hats. Behind, backstage, there are cut-out floating waves on wires, and- in Hinrich Horstkotte’s clever design – there’s an ingenious network of canals across the stage. Annina (soprano Mara Mastalir), posing as her mistress Barbara, appears in a pink gown singing magically of frutti die mare (she’s a fisherman’s daughter.) Barbara, on a jaunt, Manuela Leonhartsberger, appears only briefly. Ciboletta the cook (Johanna Arrouas), nattering away, is a fine-voiced soprano (Volksoper ensemble). Caramello, the Duke’s assistant, tenor Jorg Schneider, is a big boy. The operetta’s comic lead sings the famous Komm in die Gondel (end Act 1) and the Laguna Waltz (Act 3). Caramello’s ‘quite a fellow’- bouffon hair, eccentric moustache, culottes, and orange boots- sings he’ll do anything to get Annina back in his arms. Her song of loyalty doesn’t ring true. The quartet of disguised pairs, Ciboletta/Papacoda and Annina/Caramello, introduce the Alle maskiert number: (fun, folly, and …sex!)
The Duke of Urbino introduces himself. ‘My greetings to the fine city of Venice. Nature made you a place for love.’ Vincent Schirrmacher’s entrance lifts the production to a higher level. His is a very impressive tenor, authorative, in the traditional (Viennese) operetta style. He’s got star quality. Schirrmacher’s dressed in a purple glitter outfit, Venetian headpiece, white cravatte. Good looking, perhaps oriental -it doesn’t matter, he’s got charisma, and such a voice. He’s never seen Barbara unmasked, so he’s taken in by the disguised Annina. ‘The moon has filed a suit before the Court’, he wafts. The costumes are ingeniously designed so we can see behind the masks.
The Chorus, Volksoper’s, crucial in the scheme, have some of the plum numbers. ‘For who knows what tomorrow will bring…’ extends into ‘Man is pre-occupied with three things: Love , wine and coffee.’ Si nette tutto in sacce. Bring it on.
The interior of the Duke’s palace looks surprisingly opulent -Volksoper is Vienna ‘s second opera house, after all. The Duke, Schirrmacher, is dressed in very glamorous gold orienatal robes. Annina, Mara Mastalir, the other star of the show, sings she will do what it takes to lure her man. Mastalir’s soprano is beguiling, with outstanding technique. The Duke, pursuing her- the disguised Annina – around the stage, is tantalised. But why so cruel, Barbara? She sings, don’t get so close : I spoke (only) of a rendez-vous…The music loosens all restraints, Schirrmacher croons.
The second Act staging -given Volksoper’s relatively modest resources – is remarkable. A screen descends. There is a sensational framing of the cast as if on a boat. It’s like a floating box, around them and behind, Venice waterways, projected onto the opening white screen. Very effective.
Who doesn’t know of the doves of Saint Marco, sing the Chorus. They set an example for any couple. In the ensemble, some cast are waving tall rods which appear like doves fluttering. Hilariously camp.
The highlight again is Schirrmacher’s aria, ‘Ah , how lovely to gaze at the lovely ladies…As rash as the ebbing tide, their flights of fancy; no one knows what they’re thinking.’ Lovely ladies, Schirmacher’s gorgeous tenor rises.
In Act 3 the ridiculous senator Delacqua is looking for his wife Barbara everywhere. There’s a lot of dialogue in operetta, interspersed between the musical numbers. And thus ‘operetta’, transported to America, was a forerunner to the musical, especially from the 1930s the Hollywood musical. But this dialogue is German -although there are English subtitles- and it’s very witty. Agricola, asks Delacqua is that a man? ‘No but she wears the trousers,’ explains Ciboletta, his cook . ‘Now I’m confused!’ The old senator (Hubsch) wanders in a daze, repeating ‘I’m looking for a woman, I’m looking for Barbara.’ He’s told, your wife will turn up on Ash Wednesday, when the disguises are discarded. So the show closes with the repeated refrain, ‘It’s carnival all around. Whatever bores us will be ridiculed.’ It’s an extravagant looking set, and the carnival costumes are respendently colourful, intricate, top drawer.
This new Vienna Volksoper revival of Strauss’s A Night in Venice must be recommended. The production is traditional, but so is carnival. The cast were polished, the leads Schirrmacher and Mastalir outstanding. Volksoper chorus were exemplary, and the Volksoper orchestra refined, but under Lorenz C. Aichner, not quite their best (as under Volksoper’s director Albert Eshwe.) P.R. 4.1.2014
Photos: Mara Mastalir (Annina) and Vincent Schirrmacher (Duke of Urbino) ;
Featured image Group shot ensemble
(c) Barbara Palffy / Volksoper Wien