Frühere Produktionsrezensionen
23Hilarante en femme sensuelle pour la Chatte et en nerveux Ecureuil, Amandine Portelli se fait surtout grande comédienne, montrant une aisance vocale dans sa manière de varier son timbre de voix.
Amandine Portelli assume toute la sensualité -et davantage- du duo félin passant avec vigueur vers la voix de poitrine, mais elle sait aussi passer du rôle de la Chatte à celui de l’Écureuil avec une voix nourrie de souffle et de dynamique.
Curieux mélange que celui qui raccorde à l’intrigue d’Angelo, tyran de Padoue une Joconde qui n’a guère l’occasion de sourire mais meurt d’avoir voulu rendre il sorriso estatico à son ingrat bien-aimé. C’est pourtant grâce cette mixture de mélodrame hugolien et de folklore vénitien, concoctée par Arrigo Boito, qu’Amilcare Ponchielli parvint à s’imposer dans le monde lyrique, et ce « grand opéra à l’italienne » est sans doute la seule œuvre de lui qu’on peut espérer voir en France. La Gioconda est déjà assez rarissime dans notre pays, et il faut saluer la volonté de Nicolas Joël de l’inscrire au répertoire de l’Opéra de Paris. On était a priori moins enchanté de savoir que cette nouvelle production n’en serait en réalité pas une, et qu’on se contenterait pour l’occasion de reprendre le spectacle créé en 2005 à Vérone. Quoi ? ce Pizzi, qui avait certes fait l’ouverture de la Bastille avec des Troyens jamais revus ensuite, mais dont la deuxième et dernière création in loco était un médiocre Samson et Dalila en 1991, on allait donc nous le ramener ? Et pour nous montrer un spectacle qui a beaucoup tourné (sa dernière resucée remonte à octobre 2012, à Rome) et déjà connu grâce à non pas un, mais deux DVD sortis en 2006, l’un capté aux Arènes de Vérone (avec Andrea Gruber, Dynamic), l’autre au Teatro Réal de Madrid (avec Deborah Voigt, TDK) ? Au moins cela nous aura-t-il évité de voir revenir Giancarlo Del Monaco, auquel avait jusqu’ici été confié les opéra italiens fin XIXe siècle, mais on pouvait néanmoins nourrir quelques craintes. Plus de peur que de mal, finalement : pour la première représentation d’une œuvre méconnue, peut-être est-il préférable d’opter pour une production claire et respectueuse du livret, sans chercher midi à quatorze heures. Il faut reconnaître à Pier Luigi Pizzi le mérite d’avoir composé une mise en scène d’une parfaite lisibilité, avec des costumes d’un goût irréprochable, et un décor auquel on reprochera surtout son implacable symétrie et le bruit qu’occasionnent les allées et venues du chœur. Plus proche des eaux-fortes de Whistler que des toiles ensoleillées de Canaletto, Pizzi nous transporte dans Venise la grise, une sorte de « Bruges du Sud » pleine de canaux et de ponts (qu’on retrouve même sur l’isola deserta du IIe acte). Un peu encombrante, ce meuble omniprésent, bocca di leone pour les dénonciations, piédestal, autel, banquette propice au rapprochement et lit funèbre à la fois. Pour une vraie direction d’acteurs, on repassera, mais tout cela fonctionne, le spectacle est beau à défaut d’être révolutionnaire, avec un ballet de la Ronde des Heures très réussi, qui bascule dans une esthétique Années Folles, avec robes pailletées et couple de danseurs passés à la peinture dorée (excellents Letizia Giuliani et Angel Corella, qui accompagnent le spectacle partout où il est repris).
Revealed to the Parisian public at the start of the season with a very personal reading of Eugene Onegin 1 at the Palais Garnier, a reading evidenced by a DVD at BelAir Classiques , Dmitri Tcherniakov had no intention of tackling Macbeth so quickly ; he nevertheless accepted Gérard Mortier's proposal and took up the challenge admirably. Here, then, is a totally renewed conception of the work which uses new technology, transposes the drama, its stakes and its characters into an undetermined place and time, with originality and modernity. Author of this sensational staging set to the millimeter, but also suggestive sets and costumes with sober and refined lines, Dmitri Tcherniakov manages to treat the subject and tell a story as if it were a variation that s would move away from its theme, without ever losing sight of it. The eminently “Lynchian” atmosphere that emanates from this achievement with cinematographic sequences, where supernatural elements and nightmarish impressions hover, give this drama all its power and keeps the viewer constantly on the lookout. Dimitris Tiliakos is a Macbeth with meticulous and elegant singing, a worthy heir to Renato Bruson and Leo Nucci, possessed by this role of terrorized, easily influenced and self-destructive assassin. In that of Lady Macbeth, Violeta Urmana , very involved scenically, offers a vocal composition of the very first order. The voice is wide, the timbre fleshy, the bass and the treble respond to the call (only the D flat of the Somnambulism is avoided) and for the first time in ages, the vocalises of the Brindisi are executed with ease, accuracy and pleasure ! Despite his age, Ferruccio Furlanetto is a solid Banco, Stefano Secco a luxury Macduff, while Alfredo Nigro(Malcom) and Yuri Kissin (Medico/Domestico) are prime silhouettes.
Whether we like it or not, there is definitely a “Tcherniakov Touch”. The productions of the young Russian director Dmitri Tcherniakov are indeed recognizable at first glance. The decors are sober, rather cold and desolate and give off an intense atmosphere that oscillates from the heavy to the ethereal. The very "Ostalgia" costumes have trendy East German cuts in predominantly beige colors and crowd movements are magnificently managed. Moreover, the scene is magnified by the remarkable lights of Gleb Filshtinsky , whose work we must salute. That said, this aesthetic does not necessarily suit all productions. If we find his account with Eugene Onegin 1, this type of setting and the rereading of the work that accompanies it are apparently less in line with Don Giovanni 2, without even mentioning the total misinterpretation obtained on the Dialogues of the Carmelites 3. If they are absent from the final scene, the choirs are vocally excellent throughout the work. Dimitris Tiliakos ' Macbeth is scenically magnificent. Elegance, deep humanity, it bewitches. If its treble suffers from turbulence, its singing teems with subtle and infinitesimal nuances which we delight in abundance. His “Sangue a me”, in particular, is dark, velvety and terrified all at once. In Lady Macbeth, Violeta Urmana is fair and convincing, despite tense highs that do not spoil a safe singing and in adequacy with the role. Stefano Secco stands out in Macduff and wins the favor of the public. Ferruccio Furlanetto , meanwhile, commands respect in Banquo. The orchestral direction ofTeodor Currentzis serves the work and a beautiful balance reigns between the strings and the brass. This young leader is to follow.
L’Opéra national de Paris delivers everything one could want and more in an exhilarating production of Puccini’s Tosca, directed by Pierre Audi and first performed there in 2014. Set in nineteenth-century Rome, a time of political turmoil, the opera navigates complex themes of love, competing political ideologies and violence. These themes, coupled with Christof Hetzer’s mystical set design and Robby Duiveman’s superb costumes, create an electrifying atmosphere that sets the tone for the entire performance.
„Zoe Nicolaidou est la lumière de l' Amour, une lumière mozartienne rassurante“ Palais Garnier
Harmoniques somptueuses, ligne de chant impeccable. Toutes ces qualités on les retrouve chez le contralto chinois Qiu Lin Zhang, probablement la plus belle Erda au monde actuellement.
“Ramë Lahaj, joven, guapo y de aspecto noble, es el perfecto Alfredo. Su hermoso color de voz y su musicalidad nos hace olvidar como a veces queda algo ahogado e incluso un poco fuera de tono en las notas finales. En ocasiones incluso da la sensación de traspasar la cuarta pared convirtiendo sus arias en recitales cantando directamente al público.”
“Déjà remarqué in loco dans Lucia di Lammermoor en 2016, Rame Lahaj possède ce « Giovanile ardore » qui caractérise son personnage. Le ténor kosovar campe un Alfredo bouillant et passionné. La voix a gagné en ampleur, et l’aigu en assurance, comme en témoigne le contre-ut tenu qui conclut sa cabalette. Le timbre est solaire et la ligne de chant se pare quand il faut de subtiles demi-teintes.”
For almost 20 years, George Benjamin has been thinking about composing an opera. In that time there have been plenty of rumours of him collaborating with leading playwrights, but it is only now that he has found the right person to work with: the British dramatist and translator Martin Crimp. What they have produced, the "lyric tale" Into the Little Hill, premiered under the banner of the Festival d'Automne in Paris, is as entrancingly beautiful as anything Benjamin has written.
The Paris Opera presented a revival of their own production, directed by Ivo van Hove, which, along with set designs and lighting by Jan Versweyveld, costumes by An D’huys and projections by Christopher Ash, have created a powerful and meaningful adaptation of the famous myth of Don Juan. The production’s use of its theatrical resources is so well-balanced that every scene is a surprise and a thrill to see: something very uncommon in modern performances, where stage effects are often overused, making productions repetitive and tedious. The sets were three concrete buildings with numerous doors, windows and stairs. The buildings were in a constant state of movement throughout the entire first act, but the movement was so slow that it could not be perceived: one only realized that the perspective of the stairs and walls had changed after a while. The effect was subtle but left a terrific impression. In Act two the audience, having grown accustomed to this aspect of the set, received a shock when the Commendatore appeared and the buildings suddenly turned around with great speed, creating a claustrophobic, enclosed space that represented the imprisonment of Don Giovanni. There are projections, used only in this scene, depicting thousands of persons moving. The images enlarge as the scene progresses, to finally show a group of people in the mud moving against each other. The effect was electrifying. Sets and costumes are in grey and light brown, reflecting the moral decay of the protagonist. The buildings appear with curtains, flowers, hanging clothes and plants bursting from their balconies, turning these monolithic concrete abstractions into a naturalistic environment. The concept works fantastically and the effect of the lighting on the constantly moving and changing sets creates a sense of infinite possibilities. Van Hove opted for a naturalistic acting approach, making the several comical moments of the opera believable, as well as Don Giovanni’s final fight to save his soul from damnation. French conductor Bertrand de Billy opted for a fast and frenzied tempi. The agile tempo of the Andante in the Overture marked the rhythm of the whole opera; he was precise with the dynamics and rallentando but always sustained a rapid tempo. This was in accordance with this opera as a whole: a performance Mozart classified as “dramma giocoso”—that is, a “comic play,” as “drama” did not have the sense of tragedy that it would later attain. The overture, the final scene of Act one and Don Giovanni’s dinner in Act two were full of energy. De Billy knew he also had to obtain all the dramatism that the Paris Opera Orchestra could provide, in scenes like the beginning of the Overture, the killing of the Commendatore or the confrontation between Don Giovanni and the Commendatore—and this he executed perfectly. De Billy presented the Vienna version of the opera, which contains a single aria for Don Ottavio—”Dalla sua pace”—an extra buffo duet for Leoporello and Zerlina, and a new recitative for Donna Elvira before her second act aria “Mi tradi quellálma ingrata.” But instead of ending the opera with Don Giovanni descending into hell, de Billy maintained the buffo and moralistic ending of the Prague version with a final ensemble. The Paris Opera orchestra shone in the pit and the choir accomplished its brief appearances with excellence. Overall, it was a splendid, dramatic production with a great cast of singers where the female voices outshone their male colleagues.
German soprano Ricarda Merbeth, whose approach to the overwhelming role of Emilia Marty merits great recognition. A hugely demanding task, Merbeth surmounted this challenge to deliver a stunning performance, filled with seduction, power, frenetic emotion and, ultimately, redemption. However, the role of Emilia draws its power equally from the relationship with the story’s principal roles, Albert Gregor (tenor Kiss B. Atilla) and Jaroslav Prus (baritone Vincent Le Texier), two men both caught in the seductive snares of the bewitching Emilia. The relationship between these three was convincing to say the least, with Albert driven to a compelling emotional insanity by Emilia’s charms, and Jaroslav’s sorrow and heartbreak upon discovering the cost of his actions as the opera comes to its ultimate climax. In addition to such a compelling performance, there was no hint of a linguistic barrier from any of the singers. Unsurprisingly, a Czech opera requires a significantly greater amount of preparation with regards to the text and its pronunciation. With this in mind, German soprano Ricarda Merbeth (and many of the cast) took a year to fully prepare for the role, an effort that has quite clearly paid off, given the utterly persuasive rendition from all the singers involved. In the final moments of Janáček’s masterpiece, the audience is closed in by off-stage horns and a male choir, creating one final moment of sublime power as the story of Emilia Marty, and this epic production, is brought to its climactic finish.
Bieito’s dark production was staged on an austere but effective set of wooden planks designed by Rebecca Ringst, which opened up for the storm scene. The production was acted with an intensity rarely seen on the opera stage and free of any Regietheater excesses. The division of Lear’s wealth was simply represented by the daughters grabbing their part of a loaf of bread. Goneril and Regan, the sisters from hell, were sung with devastating power by sopranos Ricarda Merbeth and Erika Sunnegårdh on May 23. Both nailed the high tessitura of their roles with exciting accuracy and penetration. The opera is “full on” for much of the evening; vocal climaxes succeed one another with harrowing regularity. The second half of the opera is more reflective, as Lear descends into madness and despair. At fifty-four, Skovhus looked and sounded as young and fit as his daughters. Innocence and reserve come less naturally to the composer’s language, but soprano Annette Dasch achieved glowing beauty as Cordelia. In an evening of remarkable performances, special mention must be made of countertenor Andrew Watts as Edgar, who sang in both chest and head register with outstanding power and stamina, and baritone Lauri Vasar as Gloucester, whose terrifying blinding was managed with consummate skill. This Lear was a big triumph for the entire team and the composer, who were greeted with enthusiasm far beyond the polite reception usually accorded late-twentieth-century works here.
On stage, Philippe Jaroussky and Davóne Tinesdecline their antagonistic presences on all levels: the dress and the white voice of one mingle with the dark bass of the other, all dressed in black, over two rather carnal confrontations, with very little Manichean contours. The union of heaven and earth does not happen without generating a certain stir and above all a nice range of interferences: the voice of the bass-baritone knows how to become aerial and purify itself of any frying, while the sparkling highs of the countertenor emerges a more dissonant metal, a touch more disturbing than elsewhere. These incursions, rather than multiplied by the electronic device, explore some unexpected areas without distorting the voices - they will just leave a doubt on the intrinsic beauty of their timbres to anyone who doubts their dazzling purity, however acclaimed elsewhere. The conclusion of these two dream-shaped pieces, which came about without delay, can only surprise the spectator in full immersion. Who will console himself by telling himself that he has just witnessed two small miracles: that, first of all, of having attended two hours of post-spectral music, staged without any affectation, and of not having never saw the time pass; and that of seeing this music so far from the usual canons, and its composer, so rare representative of this genre and his, so warmly applauded at the Palais Garnier . The times are changing.
Jarrell, who created his own libretto, gave much thought to the setting of the French language and Racine’s alexandrines; he created a text that was free of the strict classical form of the language while retaining the sense of the original. The libretto for the ninety-minute work, presented in four sequences, was generally clear and apt, combining natural speech rhythms with more elaborate vocal flourishes for musical emphasis and some electronic murmurings from a pre-recorded chorus. There was warmth and a sustained atmosphere of reflective grief in the strings at the opening of the orchestral score, powerfully conducted by Jordan. Guth created athletic and stylized movement for the singers against Christian Schmidt’s classical-style three-room set. As the opera ended, there was a palpable sense of emptiness and despair as the three central characters each ended up in a state of glacial solitude. Racine’s final “hélas” produced a tragic orchestral sigh before a warm reception from the capacity audience
In the title role, the splendid Barbara Hannigan embodies the voice of passion and gives free rein to her emotions with agile and voluble phrasing. The final scene enlightens her personality in a new way, her singing seeming constrained as soon as she submits to the demands of duty. Conversely, Bo Skovhus's majestic Titus expresses himself in long and monotone phrases, his resignation expressed by rigidity of voice. But at times, the emperor allows emotion to swamp him: at this point, the singer shows his most wonderful effects: cries of distress and heavy-breathed sighs. In the pit orchestral profusion heightens the monotony of the voices, its timbre carefully balanced under the baton of Philippe Jordan. Contrasting atmostpheres flow from moving harmonic fields, the breaking of waves or nervous silences that match the dramatic meanderings. None the less, this carefully crafted texture is made from well-proven effects: don't expect the unexpected in this opera. If one's interest is in novel sonic experiences, what's lacking here is the prophetic exaltation which made Jarrell's Cassandre such a success. None the less, the conventionality of the music and the breathlessness of the libretto do not eclipse the merits of a high quality production, served by an unimpeachable cast.
Alessandro Scarlatti shows a variety of expressive touches allowing the exact characterization of the characters, from Abel's serene bliss to Adam's constant worry, Cain's anger or remorse to Eve's contrition, from the magnanimity of the Voice of God to the sardonic side of that of Lucifer. The work is served by a remarkable distribution of homogeneity, where we will pinpoint the overwhelming presence of Kristina Hammarström in Cain, the almost virginal sweetness of Olivia Vermeulen in Abel, the fleshy and weeping Eve of Birgitte. Christensen, the superb Adam, steeped in worry and strangeness,Thomas Walker , the almost solar voice of God of countertenor Benno Schachtner and the devastating darkness of Robert Gleadow's Lucifer . René Jacobs had already burned the work to disc twenty years ago: a formidable version in which, while ensuring the direction of the whole, he also embodied the voice of God. In the sound context of the Palais Garnier, the Ghent conductor decided, faced with a silent autograph as to the instrumental distribution, to enlarge the workforce beyond the strings alone and doubled the lines of certain ritornellos by recorders or oboes or even (perhaps less fortunate choice) by trombones. Under his expert baton, the score takes on its full significance, also magnificently served by the Flemish collective B'Rock Orchestra, with expressive verve and invigorating and invigorating greenness. The sometimes unconvincing work of the director is thus largely redeemed by a fairly exemplary musical achievement, for an evening half fig, half grape.
Robert Gleadow is also a victim of the tessitura, missing the low resonances (and even just the low notes) of the score. He compensates with an intense voice (but in fact trembling), bristling with tonic accents and above all by an absolute investment in character. Even back down into the pit, he plays the seductive and sneaky devil as much. The countertenor Benno Schachtner finally joins the celestial treble and a fairly low, very rounded medium base. Playing God does not prevent him from shaking his head to accompany his ornaments, the body and the paces corresponding however to the august image of such a character. René Jacobs shows his knowledge of this oratorio which he had recorded more than twenty years ago, he then directed the Akademie für Alte Musik Berlin and himself sang the voice of God. The conductor thus directs the instrumentalists, singers, as well as the children. His B'Rock Orchestra brings its quality chamber music and a religious contemplation to the dimension of Garnier. The measure of the room is taken by the roundness of the lowest strings. The lines are closed in the softness of the organ and the lute, but the phalanx is also capable of fiery accents as the drama approaches: the terrible percussions accompanying the mortal blows. However, as the First Homicide is the heart of the work, the first violin is the heart of the orchestra: its Italian virtuosity is the soul as much as the common thread of the instrumental execution. The stage is covered with an immense plastic veil, which Adam and Eve adults, finally going up on stage, dig to exhume their childish double while God sings "By sinning you lost the innocence". Adam and Eve find her by literally finding themselves as children The man and the boy, the woman and the girl embrace. They are placed in the foreground side by side in perfect symmetry until the song is imitated in playback (exactly as in the first part of The Magic Flute at La Monnaie de Bruxelles last September: report and video integral ). Youth is found, sin erased. The audience applauds the six pairs of performers who greet in pairs (the adult and the child found, hand in hand), René Jacobs who brings his entire orchestra up on stage. Castellucci only wipes an audible hoot and a few thumbs up .
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.
The cast and décor ostensibly represent an elderly care facility, although the bleakness and lack of privacy are more reminiscent of a detention center. Iphigenia (convincingly acted and sung by Tara Erraught), condemned by her father Agamemnon, has been rescued by Diana (Marianne Croux) and serves the goddess as a priestess. Her brother Orestes (Jarrett Ott), whom Iphigenia believes to be deceased, arrives in Tauris with his friend Pylade (Juilen Behr) in tow. Although the titular heroine fails to recognize her brother initially, she is drawn to the newcomer and attempts to rescue him when he receives a death sentence. Iphigenia only learns of Orestes’ true identity in the final moments before his execution, recognizing him in extremis. She fails to carry out her brother’s punishment, angering the King of Sythia (Jean-François Lapointe). He condemns both siblings until the goddess Diana swoops in to save the day. In Warlikowski’s production, several timelines intermingle: the traditional narrative is recalled in flashbacks sung center stage by the main cast, while the presence of Iphigenia’s older self (non-singing role performed by Agata Buzek) is lost within her recollections at the nursing home, still exercising the nervous gestural ticks that her younger self displayed. The stark setting of the care facility morphs into a labyrinthian internal landscape of dreams and memories while the stage’s architectural machinations adapt accordingly. Glass wall panes and video projections provide depth and additional chambers, punctuated by a giant mirror scrim that opens the performance and reappears later, transforming the stage into a veritable memory palace. Clad in a shimmering gold skirt suit, both Iphigenias cut a tragic figure à la Jackie-O. But there is also enough bling and benevolence to conjure up Dolly Parton. Orestes blows in like James Dean, lending a hint of fragile rebellion to the role, complete with dark sunglasses. The coordination between reflective costume surfaces and sets is no accident, both were created by Malgorzata Szczęśniak. The successful production design is at the heart of this staging, providing an interactive schema. It shines a reflective light on both audiences and cast, questioning the hauntology of traumatic memory. Are some things best left forgotten?
Aida Garifullina, making her Opéra de Paris debut, scored a notable triumph as Snegurochka, her limpid, bell-like soprano crystal clear, her acting thoroughly moving as the girl struggling to comprehend human love. She sculpted phrases of cool marble and – dare one say it – melted hearts. Martina Serafin's powerful soprano provided a weighty foil to Garifullina as Kupava, the would-be bride abandoned by wealthy merchant Mizgir as soon as he claps eyes on Snegurochka. Elena Manistina's sturdy mezzo had real authority in her woodland scene, while Maxim Paster (replacing Ramón Vargas at pretty short notice) sang plangently in the high tessitura demanded of Tsar Berendey. Having Franz Hawlata as Berendey's boyar was luxury casting.The chorus did a convincing impression as a Russian choir, providing plenty of bass weight and depth. Mikhail Tatarnikov conducted a magnificent account of Rimsky's dazzling score, the Orchestre de l'Opéra National de Paris responding with character and colour.The Tsar's Bride and The Legend of the Invisible City of Kitezh, this production proves Tcherniakov is today's greatest champion of Rimsky-Korsakov's operas.
