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Carmen de Sade and the Blood Cult Berlin
Deutsche Oper
09/01/2024 - & September 6*, 12, 21, 2024, June 9, 14, 22, 2025
Georges Bizet: Carmen
Maria Kataeva*/Annika Schlicht (Carmen), Alexandra Oomens/Meechot Marrero* (Frasquita), Arianna Manganello*/Martina Baroni (Mercédès), Maria Motolygina/Sua Jo*/Nina Solodovnikova (Micaëla), Matthew Newlin/Andrei Danilov (Don José), Dean Murphy*/Kim Geon-woo/Thomas Lehman (Moralès), Padraic Rowan*/Jared Werlrein (Zuniga), Byung Gil Kim*/Joel Allison (Escamillo), Thomas Cilluffo*/Kieran Carrel (Remendado), Philipp Jekal*/Artur Garbas (Dancaïre)
Kinderchor der Deutschen Oper Berlin, Christian Lindhorst (Chorus Master), Chor der Deutschen Oper Berlin, Jeremy Bines (Chorus Master), Orchester der Deutschen Oper Berlin, Ariane Matiakh*/Giulio Cilona (Conductor)
Ole Anders Tandberg (Stage Director), Erland Birkeland (Sets), Maria Geber (Costumes), Ellen Ruge (Lighting), Silke Sense (Choreography), Jörg Königsdorf (Dramaturgy)
(© )
Carmen is one of the most perfect operas, with an inspired setting, marvelous orchestration and vocal parts, and most of all intense drama. It was highly-admired by no less than Gustav Mahler, who championed the work while Director of the Vienna Court Opera. It’s thought of as an indestructible work, a glorious stage success no matter whose vision we are witnessing. Carmen herself could be interpreted by a mezzo or a soprano; dialogue can be spoken or sung, as could be the recitatives; the opera could be set in Seville, as originally conceived, or during the Spanish Civil War, the Mexican Revolution or even a circus. A case in point is Otto Preminger’s powerful filmed version, a musical-comedy adaptation named Carmen Jones, set in the segregation‑era U.S. South. Despite the work’s seeming indestructibility, this Deutsche Oper production, under the helm of director Ole Anders Tandberg, teetered disastrously at the edge, rife with poor taste and severe artistic errors in judgement.
The action is transported from 1800s Seville, Spain, to somewhere in the 1950s or possibly the present day. In the final act, it’s revealed that the border where Carmen’s gang of five operates is the Mexican-Texas border. In its original conception, as well as in its source, Prosper Mérimée’s novella, the action takes place at the Spain-Gibraltar border, where British‑made goods are smuggled into Spain. This production’s gang is more vicious: they run a bordello, smuggle people as well as goods, and more tragically, they murder and smuggle the victims’ extracted organs. Carmen’s amorous affairs pale in comparison to this activity. It is highly ironic that the US‑Mexican border was chosen at a time when Europe, and Germany in particular, have a huge refugee problem. Maybe it’s more comforting to imagine the horror is at someone else’s doorstep and not one’s own.
Escamillo, at the end of his famous aria, sings “votre toast, je peux vous le rendre,” after which he butchers the bull, cutting off its testicles as a grotesque love‑offering to Carmen. Carmen’s Act III aria “Les tringles des sistres tintaient” is destroyed by serving as a backdrop to the goings on of a bordello/sex shop in lieu of Lillas Pastia’s tavern. The aria’s frenetic music is used to choreograph soldiers enjoying oral sex against the establishment’s wall. In one case, a customer, the last to orgasm, is murdered after being stabbed in the genitals. At the end of Act III, Zuniga, Don José’s superior, is savaged by Carmen’s gang, and his kidneys are extracted. His hapless corpse is the final tableau of Act III. In the Act IV Card Scene, “Coupons, jouons,” Carmen, Frasquita and Mercédès are reading their fortune through kidneys, eyeballs and other smuggled organs. This was a disgusting scene that only a severely sick mind could imagine. The director’s bizarre fascination with gratuitous sex and gory violence undermines these elements already abundantly present in Bizet’s opera. The difference is that here, they are sensationalized to the point of nausea.
In 2018, I saw this very production at Deutsche Oper Berlin, yet chose to come back, despite how much I disliked the staging, simply to hear one of the most exciting mezzos today, Maria Kataeva. Heard just three weeks ago as Rosina in Il barbiere di Siviglia at Pesaro’s Rossini Opera Festival, Kataeva is an amazing singer with an astounding instrument and ample charisma. Despite this demented production, it was well worth the trip.
An exceptional actress, Kataeva chose to completely immerse herself in the role, cooperating fully with director Ole Anders Tandberg’s grotesque conception. Tandberg’s vision of Carmen is not just a sexually-liberated free spirit beholden to no one; she’s a monster. She helps run a smuggling ring and has an unusual bloodlust. In the opera’s Prélude, she sits under a bull’s carcass, licking its dripping blood. In Act I, she superficially cuts her wrists, smearing blood onto Don José’s chest. Such savagery is a sign of serious derangement. For the audience to identify with an anti‑hero, he or she must be nuanced, not evoking unadulterated evil. At the opera’s end, when Don José stabs Carmen to death, I doubt anyone was sorry. If anything, one wished a similar fate on the rest of Carmen’s gang.
Though Tanberg’s Carmen was detestable, Kataeva was absolutely marvellous, vocally and dramatically. Despite the character’s despicable nature, she was an absolute femme fatale. Her magnetism emanated from inside, not from sultry poses and provocative mannerisms. Despite her cruelty and psychopathy, one could relate to Don José’s initial infatuation and eventual addiction to her. Vocally, she was the most sensual Carmen I’ve heard on stage or on record in years. The timbre of her voice is warm and enticing, her diction exemplary and her vocal technique masterful.
Least compromised by the deranged staging was Carmen’s famous Habanera, “L’amour est un oiseau rebelle,” as it was at the early part of the opera and the public hadn’t yet been assaulted. The Act II “Les tringles des sistres tintaient” was titillating thanks to Carmen’s inspired choreography and despite the obscene fellation in the background. She was less convincing in Act III’s Card Trio, “Jouons, coupons,” due to the grotesque mise en scène. No matter how beautiful the singing, substituting cards with kidneys will kill any buzz.
American tenor Matthew Newlin was a revelation. His lyric tenor is slightly lighter than that of the typical Don José. Yet, his voice was powerful enough for the task. Given the lighter colour of his voice, it made this José sound younger and more naïve, an added benefit. Dramatically convincing thanks to a strong stage presence and agility on stage, he was convincing in Don José’s signature aria, “La fleur que tu m’avais jetée.” One believed his sincerity and felt his pain. His diction was amazingly good, always an unexpected pleasure in French opera.
South Korean lyric soprano Sua Jo managed to bring Micaëla to life, in a role that’s often quite dull, especially when juxtaposed with an overwhelming Carmen. Astoundingly, Jo’s diction was also near first‑rate. Deutsche Oper Berlin’s language coach must be doing a great job. Her Act III “Je dis que rien ne m’épouvante” was luminous and moving. In contrast, South Korean bass-baritone Byung Gil Kim’s Escamillo was less impressive, diction‑wise. A pity, as he has ample charisma and a powerfully virile voice.
The secondary roles were more than adequate. Thomas Cilluffo and Philipp Jekal (interpreting smugglers Remendado and Dancaïre) had natural comic verve, which helped lift the Act III quintet, “Nous avons en tête une affaire.” Thanks to original and humorous choreography, this was a welcome break from a gory spectacle.
In addition to the mostly splendid cast, French conductor Ariane Matiakh was an outstanding conductor with an obvious affinity for this work. Her elegant and spirited conducting led to outstanding vocal results. The orchestral passages, especially the Entr’acte starting Act III, were a pure delight.
Vocally, this was a brilliant Carmen. It’s a pity there was such excessive carnage. A pinch can be provocative, but an overdose revolts and distracts from the story’s pacing. More seriously, it’s hard to sympathize with Carmen, a woman who not only leads the spineless provincial Don José astray, but inspires him to desert the army, becoming part of her gang. She’s a fully‑fledged criminal devoid of conscience. Her death at Don José’s hand is a non‑event, juxtaposed with her crimes. Never would I have imagined Carmen’s final scene to be so starkly undramatic, given the preceding horrors. A first has been dubiously achieved.
Ossama el Naggar
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