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Finally - a Magical Fairy Tale! Vienna
Volksoper
10/18/2023 - & October 21, 25, November 3, 5, 2023, January 7, 13, 18, 23, 28, June 2, 7, 14, 19, 22, 28*, September 6, 8, 11, 15, 18, 26, November 8, 13, 16, 21, 2024, January 9, 12, 17, 23, 2025
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: Die Zauberflöte, K. 620
Sophia Burgos*/Theresa Dax/Anett Fritsch/Rebecca Nelsen/Jaye Simmons/Lauren Urquhart (Pamina), David Kerber*/Martin Mitterrutzner/JunHo You (Tamino), Alexandra Flood*/Aleksandra Olczyk/Gloria Rehm/Aline Wunderlin (Queen of the Night), Stefan Cerny*/Aaron Pendleton/Alexander Fritze/Yasushi Hirano (Sarastro), Alexandre Beuchat*/Daniel Schumutzhard/Jakob Semotan/Michael Havlicek (Papageno), Elisabeth Schwarz*/Jaye Simmons (Papagena), Karl-Michael Ebner*/Robert Bartneck (Monostatos), Alexandre Fritze*/Martin Winkler/Yasushi Hirano/Pablo Santa Cruz (Sprecher, Second Armoured Man), Hedwig Ritter*/Julia Koci/Anita Götz/Ulrike Steinsky (Erste Dame), Sofia Vinnik*/Annelie Sophie Müller/Maria Hegele (Zweite Dame), Stephanie Maitland*/Katia Ledoux/Jasmin White (Dritte Dame), Pablo Santa Cruz (First Priest), James Park (Second Priest), Sebastian Reinthaller*/Aaron-Casey Gould (First Armoured Man), Wiener Sängerknaben (Three Boys)
Chor der Volksoper Wien, Roger Díaz-Cajamarca (chorus master), Orchester der Volksoper Wien, Omer Meir Wellber*/Thomas Leo Cadenbach/Tobias Wögerer/Karen Kagarlitsky/Ben Glassberg (conductor)
Henry Mason (stage director), Jan Meier (sets, costumes), Rebekah Wild (puppet design & puppeteer coach), Guido Petzold (lighting), Francesc Abós (choreography)
A. Beuchat (© Barbara Pálffy/Volksoper Wien)
Unlike many, I haven’t been a huge fan of Mozart’s Die Zauberflöte for some time. I acknowledge that much of the music is sublime. Several arias and scenes are among the most memorable in opera, but Schikaneder’s libretto is problematic. It’s further complicated by directors revering it as one of the noblest works ever. Worse, they interpret Act II’s notorious masonic rites as something sacred.
Since my first exposure to Die Zauberflöte, in my late teens, I have found the argument nonsensical and the masonic rites puerile. I couldn’t understand how Sarastro, who abducts Pamina from her mother, could be virtuous, and how a Queen, trying to rescue her daughter, could be evil. To be sure, much of the opera’s misogyny is an expression of the Freemasons’ aversion to Empress Maria Theresa, the sovereign of Austria.
At its best, Die Zauberflöte is a fabulous fairy tale. At its worst, it’s a misogynistic Masonic diatribe. This enchanting Viennese production achieved something I never thought possible; it reconciled me with this opera. Thanks to Henry Mason’s staging, we’re presented with an intelligent reinterpretation of the work as a naïve fairy tale. I cannot praise Jan Meier’s beautiful sets enough; they have a natural innocence I’ve not yet seen onstage. The use of marionettes, accompanied by onstage puppeteers, the harmoniously bright colours of the sets, as well as numerous brilliant scenic ideas were simply amazing.
For once, a director has carefully read the libretto and discovered the opera is set in Egypt. Briton Henry Mason chose an oriental setting, at the time of the opera’s premiere (1791), in the heyday of colonialism. We’re presented with a hybrid between a sensual Orient, a stylized Western outpost in the East and even elements of Pharaonic Egypt. The Masonic lodge which Sarastro heads is no austere Scottish lodge as shown in some productions but rather the more colourful and friendly looking Shriners, the American Masonic society known for its Arabian-derived headgear and regalia.
The opera opens with a dashing Tamino, dressed as a Prince from the Arabian Nights, chased by a huge blue serpent, manipulated by several stagehands. After he faints, he is saved by three ladies in the service of the Queen of the Night. They were dressed as pilots in black, a hybrid between Afghan women in burqas and Amelia Earhart. Once they’ve slaughtered the beast, they pose with it like modern day combatants in exotic locations. This naive style reinforces the childlike quality of the narration. Unlike other stagings, these quirks seemed natural and unforced, and therefore effective.
Young Austrian tenor David Kerber was a dashing Tamino, though he did not show much royal swagger in his deportment, which made him a down‑to‑earth likeable hero. His singing was elegant and nuanced. His Act I “Dies Bildnis is bezaubernd schön” was elegantly interpreted despite some hoarse notes at the start.
Papageno makes his appearance in his “birdomobile” where he captures fauna. The caged as well as free birds were marionettes, and Papageno was made to look like a penguin, with his parted hair half‑black and half‑white. Swiss baritone Alexandre Beuchat was a brilliant Papageno. Granted, this colourful character is everyone’s favourite, but he displayed an amazing comic verve and intuitive scenic ease. Endowed with an appealing high baritone, his diction was clear and his stage presence formidable. This young man will go very far. His Act I aria “Der Vogelfänger bin ich ja” was charming. Needless to say, his Act II aria “Ein Mädchen oder Weibchen” brought the house down.
His Papagena, soprano Elisabeth Schwarz, was an equally brilliant actress, deftly altering her voice for the spoken dialogue from old hag to young woman. The role isn’t vocally demanding but requires convincing acting, and happily Schwarz delivered and then some. Their Act II duet “Pa...pa...Papageno, Papagena” was charm personified, aided by the gorgeous sets and props.
Pamina is first presented to Tamino through a Fabergé egg bearing her face. The egg is then opened to reveal a miniature marionette of her that interacts with Tamino. By then the most cynical of spectators is already transported to the magical world of the Arabian Nights. Throughout the opera, marionettes of Pamina and Tamino appear as alter egos of the actual characters; when one is desperate, the marionette of the beloved appears to inspire hope.
Puerto Rican soprano Sophia Burgos is a charismatic singer with a huge stage presence. However, her voice is not suited for the role. The ideal Pamina has a pure lyric soprano, whereas Burgos’s voice has too big a vibrato. Nonetheless, she was a touching and strong-willed Pamina. Despite my reservations, her rendition of the Act II “Ach ich fühl’s” was extremely effective.
The Queen of the Night was glamorously dolled‑up to look like an Arabian beauty, dressed to kill in a black robe de soirée, with her hair elegantly covered by a scarf. The ingenious staging of her first aria, “O zittre nicht, mein Lieber Sohn”, was achieved by having five body doubles of the Queen dance while she sings. When the bravura coloratura started, the five body doubles lined up behind her to resemble the multi‑armed Hindu deity Shiva, wielding a dagger in each hand. Like Shiva, they waved their daggers in a dazzling choreography that reinforced the vehemence of the Queen of the Night’s beseeching aria.
Vocally, Australian lyric soprano Alexandra Flood was a superb singer. Her coloratura in both “O zittre nicht” and “Der Hölle Rache” was first‑rate. Despite the technical demands, she was also an excellent actress, conveying a mother’s grief and a sovereign’s wrath. Her voice was on the small side for the Queen, but what she lacked in volume was compensated for by her superlative interpretation.
Before the performance began, it was announced that two singers were ailing; Austrian bass Stefan Cerny (Sarastro) and Austrian tenor Karl-Michael Ebner (Monostatos). The former soldiered on with the performance and sang more than adequately, without major setbacks. The latter couldn’t sing, but he did act and recite the spoken lines, and he did so brilliantly. A member of the Volkoper’s ensemble, Wolfgang Kirchmeier, sang for him, more than adequately, suited and with score in hand. This idiosyncrasy had its charm, enhancing the natural quality of the performance.
Israeli conductor Omer Meir Wellber led the Orchester und Chor der Volksoper with panache. Though modern instruments are used, the orchestra was appropriately light. Meir Wellber allowed the orchestra to breathe throughout the performance. He was attentive to his singers’ needs by varying the tempo to suit them. Most of all, when a voice was not huge, he ensured the ensemble played less loudly.
As for the animals in this mythical world, they were the most magical I’ve ever seen. Firstly, they were local fauna of Egypt, infinitely more effective than the Nordic beasts in some productions. Secondly, they were beautifully stylized artistic creations, whether the huge‑eared fennec fox, the majestic long‑legged ibis, the desert hedgehog, the elegant Arabian oryx, the desert mouse or the Egyptian spiny‑tailed lizard. Likewise, the flora were an exquisite display of artistic imagination, from cacti to palm trees and exuberant flowers. Set designer Jan Meier, you are a genius!
Sarastro’s temple was a mix between a posh oriental palace and the headquarters of a colonial dictator. The Arabian-garbed members of the lodge mixed with colonialist European folk, reminiscent of Hergé’s iconic character Tintin (created in 1929). Sarastro himself was dressed similarly to the dreaded King Leopold II of Belgium (1835‑1909), sporting medals and a patch of leopard skin on his white uniform. His goons wore masks depicting ferocious attack dogs. Among his pets were lions, brilliantly conjured by half‑naked men in furs. It would seem that director Mason doesn’t necessarily see Sarastro as the embodiment of goodness.
At the opera’s end, the Queen of the Night is vanquished, whereas I was hoping for a reconciliation between Light and Dark. Nonetheless, introducing ambiguity in the all‑virtuous nature of Sarastro was a welcome change, reminiscent of Cédric Klapisch’s recent Paris production. Mason sees the conflict between the Queen of the Night and Sarastro as an eternal conflict, one between passion and reason, rather than good and evil. At times, it looked like the Queen may be the “superstitious” East and Sarastro’s lodge may be the “liberating” and “enlightened” Western colonialists. But luckily, such a retrograde vision was not the director’s.
Ossama el Naggar
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