Tidigare produktion recensioner
3Replacing the ailing Simon O'Neill at just a few days notice, Stuart Skelton was magnificent as Parsifal, wielding his powerful tenor with colour and nuance to show the progression of an innocent “fool” to enlightened redeemer. His best singing came in Act 2: when the seductress Kundry’s cajoling and pleading became almost unbearable, Skelton countered with a beautiful and thrilling outburst of high notes to assert his freedom. Parsifal’s final declaration of Amfortas’ redemption and his own assumption of the Grail Knights’ leadership was sung with tenderness and sympathy as Skelton modulated his voice with pianissimo.
As our operatic experiences continue to be framed by pandemic conditions, virtual and live landscapes abound with chamber works, reduced orchestrations, and adaptations. One overarching trend is the careful attention to filmic dimensions of digital premieres, nudging the game forward from the generally high production values of cinema broadcasts. In this context, Andrea Breth’s staging of The Turn of the Screw for La Monnaie (directed for video by Miriam Hoyer with sound design by Christoph Mateka) achieves a highly satisfying level of polish. At the same time, one recognizes a precisely executed live performance at its core – one that would be thrilling to experience in person. The nebulous atmosphere of Henry James’ novella supports Benjamin Britten’s handling of Peter Quint and Miss Jessel as deceased spirits who seem to retain influence over the orphans Miles and Flora. By contrast, the children’s world in the operatic score is peppered with realistic music-making moments like the song Tom, Tom the Piper’s Son, evocative of youthful naïveté. All the more telling, then, is Britten’s scene in Act 2 when the 10-year-old Miles is to perform beyond his years at the keyboard, his prowess suggestive of adult strength and abilities. Already during the Prologue Breth uses the piano as a prop and portal into the realm of the surreal. When the instrument in the orchestra pit opens up to include its counterparts and the narrator’s recollection unlocks a warped, multi-layered tale, a male actor slowly slides into the broken grand piano on the stage floor. Miles and Flora later slither out of the same space to sing the song about the piper’s son. As enacted, their simple song is anything but. Their innocence is scarcely palpable in this labyrinthine flashback, exquisitely realized through Raimund Orfeo Voigt’s unsettlingly stark and fluid sets. A pair of over-sized wardrobes later serve as portals to darkly imaginative spaces, creatively coordinated with blocking and gestures to emphasize a sense of the surreal. Ed Lyon delivered an arresting performance of the Prologue’s narration, capturing our attention and concern before his anonymous image takes on symbolic heft. Six male dark-suited doubles populate the production. At several moments we see them as voyeurs or lifeless reminders of something elusive or missing, while during an early instrumental interlude one emerges as the spinster Governess’s romantic dance partner. (All of the orchestral transitions are sophisticated and far-reaching in their visual treatment.) Sally Matthews sang a richly hued and deeply invested vocal performance as the Governess throughout, as did Carole Wilson in the role of Mrs Grose, both reinforcing the impression that the experience of the story strongly colours its retelling. This is also true of Julian Hubbard’s wildly disheveled and riveting performance of Peter Quint, who appeared as the source of anarchy and transgression from the outset. He dominated Miss Jessel, attractively and seductively sung by Giselle Allen. Henri de Beauffort and Katharina Bierweiler crafted essential and mature performances of Miles and Flora respectively in this intricate theatrical conception. Contributing provocatively against the grain of this tapestry of shattered innocence and concomitant distortion are the orchestral voices, at times pure or nostalgic, at others assuredly robust and genuinely effusive. Ben Glassberg conducted the mostly masked orchestra with firm focus to embody these human dimensions, connecting fruitfully above all with Matthews’ Governess and preventing the otherwise moribund tale from collapsing flat.
The second act is the real challenge for Scarpia, and Tézier was truly despicable here as his performance was fueled by believable emotions that provided psychological layers to the character rather than just playing up a clichéd monster as many other interpreters do. His Scarpia was also impressive and vocally impeccable. Of the rest of the characters in the opera, I want to single out Carlo Bosi’s Spoleta; Bosi possesses a rich tenor with a fair vibrato and a frightening personification of the role. Pierre Audi’s production is evocative and meaningful, exploring the power and control of the church and political order with a giant crucifix present in every Act. The first two acts are abstractions of the church of Sant’Andrea delle Valle and of Scarpia’s study, with a dramatic but effective use of lighting (by Jean Calman) that contrasts light and dark by playing with a black curtain and a cyclorama at the back of the scene. Most impressive was the clever dramatic setting of Tosca’s aria “Vissi d’arte” as Scarpia leaves Tosca alone after having given her a crucifix that she sings to.Carlo Montanaro conducted the orchestra of Paris Opera, giving a passionate reading of the score, but measuring the drama to avoid excessive mannerisms usually done in Verismo repertoire. In this particular approach, there was a perfect communion between the conductor and the singers, as if Montanaro were breathing with them during the lyrical legato moments. The orchestra and the chorus were undoubtedly at their best throughout. Ultimately, this was an amazing revival of the Paris Opera’s production of “Tosca,” with fine debuts by Agresta and Fabiano providing the main highlights.
