|
Back
A clin d’œil to Ingmar Bergman and Downton Abbey Madrid
Teatro Real
01/22/2025 - & January 25, 28, 31, February 3, 6, 9, 12, 14, 18, 2025
Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky: Eugene Onegin, Opus 24
Kristina Mkhitaryan (Tatiana), Iurii Samoilov (Eugene Onegin), Bogdan Volkov (Lensky), Victoria Karkacheva (Olga), Maxim Kuzmin-Karavaev (Prince Gremin, Zaretsky), Katarina Dalayman (Larina), Elena Zilio (Filipyevna), Juan Sancho (M. Triquet), Frederic Jost (Captain)
Choir of the Teatro Real, José Luis Basso (chorus master), Orchestra of the Teatro Real, Gustavo Gimeno*/Kornilios Michailidis (conductor)
Christof Loy (director), Raimund Orfeo Voigt (sets), Herbert Murauer (costumes), Olaf Winter (lighting), Andreas Heise (direction of movement)
K. Mkhitaryan (© Javier del Real/Teatro Real)
Tchaikovsky’s Eugene Onegin is one of my favourite operas; I never tire of hearing it or seeing it performed. Years ago, such was my enthusiasm that I attempted to learn Russian so as to understand every word of Tatiana’s letter scene. Alas, I soon forgot much of what I had learned.
Onegin is the composer’s most popular opera and arguably the most popular Russian opera. This is understandable, as it’s richly melodious, with sweeping, emotive arias and scenes of wonderfully orchestrated dances (the Act II Waltz and the Act III Polonaise). It also affords the set designer a dazzling ball in Act III, a more modest birthday party in Act II, scenes in the countryside as well as the aforementioned letter scene, in which Tatiana heartily declares her love.
Onegin also affords huge possibilities for singers and directors. The work is loosely based on Pushkin’s verse‑novel about a blasé nobleman and his tribulations due to his dispassionate view of life. Tchaikovsky’s adaptation emphasizes Tatyana, the dreamy young provincial girl, smitten with a nobleman at first sight, only to be rebuffed. Slightly less prominent than the two protagonists is Lensky, a poet and Onegin’s best friend that the latter kills in a duel provoked by his cavalier flirtation with Olga, Tatyana’s sister and Lensky’s fiancée.
German director Christof Loy is a regular at Madrid’s Teatro Real. Two years ago, he presented a wonderful Arabella that did away with tradition. He changed the epoch and re‑examined von Hofmannsthal’s marvellous libretto, giving an utterly different reading than one would expect from this opera. In this production of Tchaikovsky’s masterpiece, he further defied expectations with a provocative deconstruction and a clin d’œil to Ingmar Bergman.
The present production is a collaboration between Madrid’s Teatro Real, Oslo’s Norske Oper and Barcelona’s Teatro Liceu, first staged in Oslo in 2020, just before the pandemic. Perhaps this inspired Loy to transport the opera from Russia to Scandinavia.
The opening scene evoked Bergman, or even a Danish Netflix series. But aside from the cold climate and a predilection for hard liquor, there’s little in common between the two countries. Instead of the nineteenth century, the opera is set in the 1960s or early 1970s, as was his Arabella for Teatro Real. As Loy was born in 1962, this period might be a pivotal epoch for him. Instead of the Russian country estate of a family from the lesser nobility, we are in an obviously wealthy household – though more bourgeois than noble – in Scandinavia. The sexual liberation of the sixties is in full swing as is the family’s excessive familiarity with their domestic staff. It’s the opposite of Upstairs, Downstairs (1971‑1975), as class distinction here is anything but rigid.
Much attention is paid to the lives of the household’s servants: four maids, one matron, an elderly butler and two young men. The old nurse Filipyevna is more a dame de Compagnie or even a poor relative. Monsieur Triquet, the in‑house French tutor, is nowhere to be found until he is to sing his aria at Tatiana’s birthday party. Family and staff seem to spend much of their time in the kitchen. There’s bottled‑up sexual energy between the two young men and the four maids. One overly virile man, I presume the chauffeur, is perpetually half‑dressed, hairy chest exposed, and in pursuit of the maids. He even flirts with the family’s daughter, Olga. The other young man, more introverted, shows little interest in girls, preferring to pass the time sewing.
The chemistry between staff and family is decidedly cordial. The Larin household treats its staff as part of the family and they in turn relate to the family with affection, as displayed by the books they bestow Tatiana on her birthday. Filipyevna acts as a guardian to the family, ensuring the chauffeur doesn’t do anything regrettable. The introverted male domestic is revealed to be homosexual, having had an adventure with the chauffeur at Tatiana’s birthday party. Afterwards, the chauffeur, drunk at the time, spurns him.
So what, you may ask, does all this Downton Abbey intrigue have to do with Eugene Onegin? The answer is nothing, but it’s the chosen palette Loy uses to paint a different portrait of the tragic quartet of Onegin, Tatiana, Lensky and Olga. Some may judge this deconstruction needless, but it does enable a retelling of the story without sentimentality, an inherent characteristic of the opera and (to a degree) of Tchaikovsky as well. Indeed, the haunted member of the Larins’ staff mirrors the trajectory of the celebrated composer himself. I half expected him to commit suicide as Tchaikovsky arguably did (though some insist the composer was poisoned).
This production would not have shone so brilliantly were it not for this phenomenal cast chosen by Teatro Real. Transcendent and riveting would not be exaggerated adjectives to describe their performances. The doomed quartet were native Russian speakers, as were most in the cast, and hence had an innate feel for the language and a cultural understanding of the music.
The singers were uniformly excellent, but the revelation of the evening was Russian soprano Kristina Mkhitaryan, an ideal, incandescent Tatiana. Her high notes were clear and well‑supported, and her lower register equally strong. In addition to a beautiful and distinct timbre, she is the rare singer who completely embodies a role. A talented actress with immense stage presence, she deftly conveyed Tatiana’s emotional vicissitudes. In the first Act, she was the naïve provincial, a fact often exaggerated by singers in such a way that it diminishes the spectator’s identification with and sympathy for the character. But not so for Mkhitaryan; hers was far from a trivial small town ingénue. She was a dreamy romantic in a provincial setting who finally met someone, the worldly and dashing Onegin, who impressed her.
Having given depth to the character, the transformation into a grande dame in Act III, albeit in Loy’s unusual recreation, the dignified and elegant wife of Prince Gremin in St-Petersburg, came as no surprise. The letter scene, “Puskai pogilabnu ya, no pryezhde,” was intelligently thought out. Traditionally set at a desk, the scene is moved to the kitchen table, initially with staff present. Thanks to certain subtle gestures, Mkhitaryan was able to convey Tatyana’s varying moods throughout the scene.
Ukrainian baritone Iurii Samoilov’s voice is ideal for Onegin: virile and sensual, booming and at ease in the upper register. Unfortunately, the way he portrayed Onegin was flawed. This was not due to the singer’s dramatic sense, but rather Loy’s vision. Onegin ought to be a dashing figure, easy‑going, charming, well‑mannered and, most of all, utterly blasé. But Samoilov played him instead as a self‑assured, charmless, ill‑mannered bully. This is conceivable in Loy’s Bergmanesque setting, but it’s baffling to understand how the romantic, bookish Tatiana could ever fall for him. Fortunately, Samoilov’s voice carried the day.
Another incongruence is Onegin’s psychology. As he’s an anti‑Don Juan, he refuses to seduce the ingénue Tatiana, but through his constant ennui and lack of direction, he becomes infatuated with Tatiana years later. The bully Samoilov portrays here would jump at the occasion and pursue anyone wearing a skirt. Among the servants, the chauffeur is a mirror of Onegin; both are girl chasers. Likewise, the other male is a mirror of Lensky, introverted and tormented. To interpret Onegin, a singer must be both charming and nonchalant, not a detestable bully. Only a great singer actor can win public sympathy playing such an unpleasant character. In this instance, the success was only partial.
In Act III, Loy’s opted for still more austerity – namely, a plain white wall. This is where the duel between Lensky and Onegin takes place. It becomes clear that from now on, it’s no longer the narration of the opera that we’re used to, but instead, the ravings of Onegin’s febrile mind. Killing his best friend must have destroyed the bully. Given the blinding white of the wall in the duel scene and even at the grand ball at Prince Gremin’s palace, it might imply Onegin’s mind in an asylum.
Onegin’s scene with Tatyana at the end of Act I, “Vi mnye pisali... Kogda bi zhizn domashnim krugom,” was cold bloodedly convincing. He was the patronizing self‑confident bully talking down to an inferior or an hors concours woman he would not deign to seduce, being beneath him. His affecting Act III scene with Tatyana, “O! Kak mnye tyazhelo!... O, szhaltes, szhaltes nado mnoyu,” was among the night’s most memorable moments. In it, Onegin implores the now‑married Tatyana to be his lover. It’s set to the music of Tatyana’s Act I passionate letter scene, albeit in a frenzied rhythm. Usually, this scene requires great subtlety from the singer interpreting Onegin. In contrast to the original setting, a disheveled rather than a party‑clad Onegin breaks down. Here we don’t have the anti‑hero’s fall from grace, but rather an already-destroyed Onegin falling into the abyss.
The dramatic power of Tchaikovsky’s Eugene Onegin is found in the balance between Tatiana, Onegin and Lensky. Lensky’s intense passion is the opposite of Onegin’s cold indifference. Only through the contrast to Lensky’s warm passion can Onegin be cold yet not hateful, a man still worthy of Tatiana’s exuberant love‑at‑first‑sight. This dynamic may not be relevant in Christof Loy’s recreation, for here, there is no such balance. Loy compensates by making Olga much more prominent than in any other production I’ve seen.
Russian singer Victoria Karkacheva was resplendent in the role of Olga. Stunningly attractive, this 29‑year-old mezzo was an excellent choice as Loy’s Olga: joyous, capricious and oversexed. She perfectly conveyed the younger sister’s infectious joie de vivre. Not only does she initiate the flirtation with Onegin, she flirts with others at Tatiana’s party. In Act I, she even has intercourse with the equally prurient chauffeur. Though visually effective, Loy’s sexualisation of Olga is incongruous with having her appeal to the poet Lensky. Vocally, her light but velvety mezzo blended beautifully with Mkhitaryan’s lyric soprano in their duets and in the ensembles, though the contrast was not pronounced. It’s a pity Tchaikovsky didn’t write solo arias for Olga, as one would have liked to hear more of Karkacheva.
Ukrainian tenor Bogdan Volkov was masterfully cast in the role of Lensky. Endowed with a youthful and beautiful lyric voice, he is charm and innocence personified. From his first appearance, one felt sorry for him, especially in the company of his brutish friend Onegin. His boyish looks made him still more endearing. His famous aria, “Kuda, kuda, kuda vi udalilis,” while outstandingly executed and moving, was perhaps too melancholy. The music and text sufficiently convey the poet’s disillusionment; adding unnecessary pathos is overkill. Nonetheless, this was one marvellous Lensky, both vocally and dramatically.
Maxim Kuzmin-Karavaev was a first-class Prince Gremin. Though he appeared younger than Gremin is usually portrayed, he masterfully conveyed poise and dignity. His interpretation of “Lyubvi vsye vozrasti pokorni” was movingly masterful, despite the orchestra’s excessively slow tempi. Unlike the Scandinavian setting of the first two acts, Yeltsin’s 1990’s Russia inspired Act III. Gremin is more shady businessman than prince, and young Tatiana is his trophy wife. Gremin’s party guests are even darker, and eye Tatiana as hungry dogs would raw meat. As this act takes place in Onegin’s mind, it represents how Onegin interprets men looking at Tatiana.
In his aforementioned staging of Arabella, also transported to the sixties, the heroine dazzled in a dress styled after Dior or Balenciaga, emblematic of the period. Alas, Tatiana’s dress in Act III, which ought to have dazzled to emphasize Tatiana’s transition from provincial ingénue into society grande dame, was relatively anodyne. Also to be noted, in her final duet with Onegin, Tatiana appears in the same nightgown and robe de chamber she wore in the Act I letter scene, further hinting that Loy imagines Act III as Onegin’s hallucination.
Spanish singer Juan Sancho was a too-young Monsieur Triquet, normally the elderly French tutor of Tatiana and Olga. Tchaikovsky wrote Triquet’s aria “A cette fête conviés” mostly in French. Traditionally, it has been the speciality of French character tenors, who sang it with a delicious sense of elocution (a clin d’œil to singing easily understandable French to his Russian audience at Tatiana’s party). Yet in this production, the couplet in Russian wasn’t sung. Mostly a baroque specialist, Sancho sang elegantly and in idiomatic French, but his elocution, though decent, was not as delicious as one would have liked.
Casting a man in his twenties without attempting to disguise him as an old man is historically wrong. It shows either ignorance or the deliberate altering of historical fact. In the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the nobility and upper bourgeoisie in countries aspiring to modernize and to emulate France, Imperial Russia, the Ottoman Empire, Egypt and the Balkan nations often had a French tutor for their children. He was invariably a mature man who lived with the family. Given the possibility of impropriety, a younger man was not an option. Loy opted to make Monsieur Triquet appear as a clown hired for the occasion. As the setting was the sixties rather than nineteenth century Tsarist Russia, hiring a French tutor in Scandinavia or Russia no longer works; Triquet couldn’t possibly be a French tutor. Why a clown‑for‑hire would sing in French remains a mystery.
Swedish soprano Katarina Dalayman portrayed a very young Larina. The Swede is a Wagnerian specialist and her diction seemed less convincing than the rest of the cast. Italian mezzo Elena Zilio was a stupendous Filipyevna, the family’s old nurse, and a prominent one, thanks to her impressive acting abilities. Though in her eighties, Zilio’s voice remains substantial and full. Likewise her impressive diction.
Gustavo Gimeno showed a strong affinity for Tchaikovsky’s music. This should not come as a surprise, as he was Mariss Jansons’ assistant at the Concertgebouw Orchestra. At times, he adopted excessively slow tempi, especially in Gremin’s aria. But importantly, he supported his singers and adapted the tempi to suit their needs.
Despite several incongruities, I thoroughly enjoyed Loy’s reimagining of the opera’s first part. Though the opera’s sentimentality was stripped off, the drama remained powerful. I found Act III too austere and less effective than I had hoped. Suppressing the conventional dancing of the Waltz and Mazurka in Act II and the Polonaise in Act III, crucial to Loy’s vision, denatured the opera. It also elicited boos from the audience. This, as well as the suppression of sets in Prince Gremin’s palace, were turn‑offs for many. Despite these misgivings, this was overall a stimulating staging. Thanks to the superlative cast, especially Kristina Mkhitarya, it was a memorable Eugene Onegin.
Ossama el Naggar
|
