Bernhard Brechtold / Reviews

The State Opera's new production of "Fidelio" by Artistic Director Georges Delnon and General Music Director Kent Nagano lost its bearings Hamburg. What was that? And, even more urgent than the crucial question afterwards: why? Another opera director could have taken the guest director of this premiere aside in time to clear up the too many ideas and associations to get the piece up and running; another general music director could have held a discreet conversation with the guest conductor to resolve any hardening. But here, with the new Hamburg “Fidelio”, it was the directors of the State Opera themselves who took pride in Beethoven. The sad, stubborn result: the direction wanted to say too much, the music couldn't tell enough. And the singing staff, left alone in the middle of it all, didn't know what to do with themselves. Ramp parking and stiff frontal projection, as if Simone Young were still the lady of the house and as if every gesture without clichés was one too many. Applause was scarce in an opera that blossoms and enchants in its arias and ensembles. A drama, but very different than expected But for this magic, for this flow, Nagano found no suitable means in the ditch. He literally spelled out the orchestra through the music, stage by stage, a piece-work, not a unit that captivated, that responded smoothly to the singers and the moment, that offered colors, allowed storming and urging, lingering and breathing and enabled. No sharpness, hardly any sweetness, no terrible abysses, no breathtaking flights of fancy. It wobbled badly in places; the choir, too, normally stable and able to play, did not always find its accompaniment. The quartet "Mir ist so Wunder", a particularly blatant example, sang it but was far from it. As Rocco, Falk Struckmanns had format and full, not sedentary volume, while Simone Schneider as Leonore often acted in the danger zone of overdramatization. But it may also have been simply self-defense against the tutti, which was often flat and loud.

Hamburg – Which opera suited the world situation, which is characterized by violence and cruelty, better than Beethoven's "Fidelio"? A woman enters a prison in man's clothing to save her husband from dying, risking her own life: the story is a manifesto of freedom. The moral standards could hardly be higher – and with it the pressure to bring out the universal validity of the work in a production. The play premiered at the Hamburg State Opera on Sunday evening. Director Georges Delnon takes a different approach to his production. He takes a very personal look at the characters. For this purpose, Kaspar Zwimpfer built a rather dilapidated 1950s-style living room for him on the stage. The prisoners are stored between files in pharmacy cupboards, the excerpts are rolled out of the wall and back in again as needed. The entire action takes place in the middle-class atmosphere between a jukebox and a seating area. There the jailer Rocco sits at the typewriter or tries to tame his daughter Marzelline, who is in love with Fidelio, there Marzelline's unhappy groom Jaquino wants to force her sexual obedience, if not her love. Beethoven created the character of Florestan in a contradictory way: after months of imprisonment and torture, the man is about to sing a real heroic tenor role. With her, Christopher Ventris audibly reaches his limits. The bass-baritone Werner Van Mechelen is an agile, cynical Don Pizarro. Falk Struckmann, also a bass-baritone, succeeds in creating a touching portrayal of Rocco, who vacillates between followers and righteousness. Vocally, the soprano Simone Schneider stands out. She brings presence and drama to the Leonore with a rich, dark timbre, and thanks to Delnon's precise directing of the characters, she need only look down to hint at the anguish of her secret fear for Florestan. Every gesture speaks for Delnon, he hasn't over-staged anything. In the second act, however, he was a bit too frugal, as the participants often just stand there, although it is a matter of life and death. Nowhere does Delnon widen the view in the direction of utopia. General Music Director Kent Nagano conducting the Hamburg Philharmonic State Orchestra emphasizes the suprapersonal character of the music. The sound is classically slim and transparent throughout, ecstatic peaks, which the score also demands, are absent. Occasionally there is a lack of coordination between the stage and the pit, but this is compensated for by harrowing moments such as the delicate and at the same time hauntingly sung prisoner's choir. Can Leonore and Florestan find each other again as a couple? Delnon makes no prognosis. Instead, in the final image, he quietly tells of Jaquino's inner struggles. As if the madness of the world could only be understood by looking at private suffering. For the direction, Delnon received heavy boos at the premiere, while the audience gave Nagano, the singers and the musicians friendly applause.

Zum Auftakt schwere Kost: Das Stadttheater zeigt Benjamin Brittens Kammeroper »The rape of Lucretia«. Es geht um Macht und Missbrauch, um die Herrschaft des Mannes über die Frau. Um jeden Preis. Die Oper ist zurück. Mit Kraft und Seele, mit Herz und Verstand. Der Pandemie zum Trotz wird wieder musiziert im Stadttheater. Doch auf dem Programm steht nichts Heiteres, Sinnentspannendes in heiklen Zeiten. Auf dem Programm steht ein Drama, eine Dystopie im Zeichen der Realität: die 1946 uraufgeführte Kammeroper »The rape of Lucretia« (Die Vergewaltigung der Lucretia) von Benjamin Britten. Sie handelt von Macht und Missbrauch, von der Herrschaft des Mannes über die Frau. Blut wird fließen. Regisseur Christian von Götz legt sein Kammerspiel auf zwei Ebenen an. Er kreiert vor dem eisernen Vorhang eine Mär als Therapieansatz und nutzt dafür die beiden Erzählerfiguren: den weiblichen und den männlichen Chor (ausdrucksstark: Sopranistin Anna Gabler und Tenor Bernhard Berchtold). Die Frau leidet unter einem Trauma, ihr Freund will ihr helfen, es zu überwinden. Die beiden schildern sich die Lucretia-Geschichte, greifen in die Handlung ein und manipulieren sie, ehe am Ende die Frau jene Lucretia in den Selbstmorddolch stößt und ihr Freund seine Erlöserpredigt anstimmt. Offenbar steht der Mensch seit Jahrtausenden am Abgrund. Zuvor hebt sich der eiserne Vorhang. Drei versoffene römische Generäle zerreißen sich im Feldlager das Maul über die mangelnde Treue der Frauen, während sie es nacheinander mit einer Professionellen treiben. General Junius behauptet: »Alle Frauen sind Huren.« Folglich sind alle Männer Vergewaltiger, teilen die Erzähler später mit. Diese Aussage hat das aus Männern bestehende Regie-Team ersonnen, damit ja keiner ohne Schuld davonkommt. Und natürlich gilt: »Wir sind Lucretia.« Die Details machen das Bild. Am Ende gibt es dafür am Premierensamstag vom Publikum langen Applaus für alle Beteiligten. Regisseur von Götz setzt auf stringente Personenführung und morbiden Humor, wenn er Junius mit Sonnenbrille und Blindenstock ausstaffiert. Er kann nichts sehen, wirft aber Pfeile auf eine Dartscheibe. In der nächsten Szene am Pissoir ist neuerlich Treffsicherheit gefragt. Tarquinius muss schließlich kotzen. Das Bild hellt sich, als die Drehbühne das Schlafzimmer der schwangeren Lucretia freigibt. Hier scheint die Welt in Ordnung. Doch hinter der Fassade mit Blumenschmuck und gespenstisch großem Bettlaken lauert das Grauen in Gestalt des Schänders Tarquinius. Im Original-Libretto ist Lucretia keineswegs guter Hoffnung. Von Götz vergrößert damit die Fallhöhe seiner Figur, wenn sie nach dem Missbrauch auch noch eine Fehlgeburt erleidet. Das Philharmonische Orchester Gießen spielt unter der Leitung seines Generalmusikdirektors Florian Ludwig. Suggestiv wirkt der farbige Sound der 14-köpfigen Besetzung, konzentriert und stilsicher. Die Harfe bezirzt, die Querflöten schmeicheln, das Englischhorn glänzt im Solo. Typisch Britten: Auch in seiner ersten Kammeroper landet er einen Hit. Das »Good night« am Schluss des ersten Akts strahlt in sensitiver Schönheit. Das Ambiente besticht ebenso. Die schwarz-weißen Räume von Ausstatter Lukas Noll atmen etwas Klaustrophobisches, die schlichten Kostüme verfehlen ihre Wirkung nicht. Die wenigen Farbtupfer erzeugen Stimmungen, auch und gerade dann, wenn die Charaktere über Dinge sinnieren, die in dieser Inszenierung nicht vorkommen - etwa über die Arbeit am Spinnrad, obwohl auf der Bühne gerade eine Babypuppe gewickelt wird. Statt »Regina« die »Lucretia« Eigentlich war die Sängerriege in der letzten Spielzeit für Lortzings »Regina« verpflichtet, die dann wegen der bundesweit hohen Inzidenzzahlen ins Wasser fiel. Da niemand wusste, wie sich Corona weiterentwickelt und die Proben für die erste Oper der neuen Saison vor der Sommerpause begannen, nahm das Theater ein Kammerspiel ins Visier. Das Personal der »Regina« entpuppt sich bei der »Lucretia« als Glücksfall. Alle singen auf hohem Niveau. Grga Peroš gibt den Tarquinius mit Inbrunst. Der Hausbariton hat stimmlich zugelegt. Christian Tschelebiew verleiht General Collatinus Format, Kay Stiefermann dem Junius. Altistin Evelyn Krahe in der Titelpartie ist der Star des Abends. Schon lange hat keine Frauenstimme mehr im Großen Haus derart abgründige Tiefen ausgelotet. Anna Magdalena Rauer (Dienerin Lucia) verfügt über brillante Momente, Sofia Pavone (Amme Bianca) steht ihr in nichts nach. Das herausragende Ensemble krönt eine vielschichtige Oper, die niemand verpassen sollte. Solange es noch geht.

War reigns between Romans and Greeks and between the sexes. Benjamin Britten's chamber opera The Rape of Lucretia, which premiered in 1946, begins in Gießen with an army camp scene soaked in testosterone and alcohol, where all women are considered whores. Later we read that all men are rapists and that we are all Lucretia. In the end, however, Christian love domesticates archaic violence. The stage staff is reduced to four female and four male male singers - two of whom represent the ancient choir. The orchestra is an ensemble of soloists. Christian von Götz' stages the post-war work plausibly and impressively as a therapeutic event: the figure of the Female Chorus (Anna Gabler) negotiates a trauma with the Male Chorus (Bernhard Berchtold), and Lucretia (Evelyn Krahe) has to die so that the figure of the Female Chorus can live on. For the question of why Lucretia dies, although no one doubts her virtue even after her rape, he finds the solution of a pregnancy - not intended by Britten - and its bloody end through rape. Lukas Noll's stage design consists of variations of Lucretia's bedroom, with black Art Nouveau ornaments on white walls. The strict color scheme is rarely broken. There is no escape from this room, the place of rape is a murky everywhere. The army camp is also located there, a small (green) tent marks the outdoor situation. Under the direction of Florian Ludwig, the cast of the Giessen Philharmonic Orchestra, reduced to 14 musicians, delivers an impressive design work. Britten's music always knows more than the characters on stage, is dramatically wide awake and differentiated, accompanies, pointedly and interprets the action with clear impulses and movement patterns, quotes - approvingly or ironically - role models and is transparently omnipresent. The small body of sound in the pit stays in close contact with the action with dynamic sensitivity and precise tempo. The vocal parts are excellently cast, the ensemble plays and sings at an extremely competent and haunting level. Anna Gabler's expressive emotionality and Bernhard Berchtold's clearly commenting tenor steer the action and the audience's attention. Evelyn Krahe gives her versatile alto voice warm, melancholic, later pale colors of hysterical intensity. The fact that Britten wants to interpret the Roman Republic myth as the prehistory of reconciling Christianity makes the staging plausible in the character of the rapist Tarquinius (Grga Peroš) with a hyper-virile, expressive baritone. In an impressively static scene, he looks at the object of his desire as an ancient combination of Minotaur and Medusa: the god of terror demands his sacrifice. But sacrifice will conquer him. Sometime. The fight goes on.