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Médée, Monster or Victim? Paris
Opéra Comique
02/08/2025 - & February 10, 12, 14, 16, 2025
Luigi Cherubini: Médée
Joyce El-Khoury (Médée), Julien Behr (Jason), Edwin Crossley‑Mercer (Créon), Lila Dufy (Dircé), Marie-Andrée Bouchard-Lesieur (Néris), Michèle Bréant (First Maid), Fanny Soyer (Second Maid), Caroline Frossard (Actress)
Chœur Accentus, Insula orchestra, Laurence Equilbey (conductor)
Marie-Eve Signeyrole (stage director), Fabian Teigné (sets), Yashi (costumes), Philippe Berthomé (lighting), Artis Dzērve (video), Louis Geisler (dramaturgy)
J. Behr, J. El‑Khoury (© DR Stefan Brion)
Premiered in Paris in 1797, Médée was originally written in French, its libretto based on Euripides’ play from Greek Antiquity. It’s this original version that Paris’s Opéra Comique is presenting. At its première, the work was tepidly received and mostly forgotten for over a century until Maria Callas revived it in an Italian version as a vehicle for her dramatic talent. While the original version is in the style of Gluck, the great reformer who believed opera should be a blending of its two components, music and text, the Italian version is an early Romantic Italian opera whose style heralds early bel canto. The Italian version, with which Callas fans are intimately familiar, is more condensed, with a reduced presence for roles other than the protagonist’s, rendering it more gruesome but also more dramatically powerful. This version is an early Romantic opera with sung recitatives, composed by Franz Lachner, while the French original is a pre‑Romantic opéra comique in which spoken dialogue alternates with sung music. Therein lies the major flaw of the original version.
In a comedy, understanding jokes is essential, therefore spoken dialogue in the public’s native tongue helps. But in a tragedy, spoken and sung are two distinct idioms, each individually viable, but when juxtaposed, are mutually diminished. The spoken theatrical text is vapid contrasted with the sung music, and in turn the latter seems contrived and highly stylized when heard following spoken passages. In drama, these two idioms don’t mix well.
A year ago at Milan’s La Scala, the brilliant Italian director Damiano Michieletto resolved the issue of the Gallic version’s lengthy dialogue by substituting them for brief lines read by two children. This was no innocent ploy. In our era of urtext fidelity, it may be seen as a serious breach of Cherubini’s original intentions. However, in choosing to do so, Michieletto gave life to Médée and Jason’s two small children, silent roles in the opera. Making them present is more effective in reaching a contemporary audience’s sensibility.
To an extent, director Marie-Eve Signeyrole opted to use a similar device. She used video projections of the children but did not dispense with the dialogue altogether. In Paris, where the overwhelming majority of artists and public are French‑speaking, maintaining the spoken dialogue, or at least partly, is a valid idea.
The opera opens with an inmate serving her sentence for having committed infanticide–also Medea’s crime. Between scenes, she reads various writings of a woman condemned for murdering her children. When the opera proper begins, the action is transposed to the late 1960s Greece, then under military junta (1967‑1974).
Médée, a princess from Colchis (present day Georgia in the Caucus), who gave up homeland, family and rank to help Jason snatch the Golden Fleece, finds herself dispossessed of her husband, children and family home. The ambitious Jason wants to marry Dircé, King Créon’s daughter, to advance his position. General Créon is the top dog in Greece’s military dictatorship. Jason justifies breaking his marriage vows to Médée due to her status of foreigner and to her evil deeds (though they were done to help him snatch the Golden Fleece). Indeed, Médée’s status as “outsider” is her heaviest burden and is pivotal in this staging.
Coloratura soprano Lila Dufy portrays Dircé, rather gauche and lacking in self‑confidence. She’s doubtless aware her father’s status is her greatest asset. Dufy conveys Dircé awkwardness perfectly. However, one would have liked her voice to be more ethereal to contrast with Médée’s, especially since in this version, Médée is neither spinto nor dramatic soprano, as in the Italian version. Dufy’s posture and deportment were not regal enough, but neither is Créon a king; he’s an upstart general. Her opening aria, “Hymen! Viens dissiper une vaine frayeur,” was moving, evoking both fragility and apprehension. Her diction was good but not as sharp as the rest of the cast.
French tenor Julien Behr ably incarnated the perfidious Jason. His lyric tenor is perfect for the “heroic” yet pathetic role of Jason. Behr managed to portray an anti‑hero, a weakling and a bully. He certainly has le physique du role, a handsome conniving scoundrel, one whose beauty made Médée betray her country. Director Signeyrole made him a truly odious character, slapping Médée and his own children, and flirting with Dircé’s friends at his own wedding. He uses his charm to get what he wants. He even seduces Médée to try to manipulate her even after having repudiated her. His excellent diction and beautiful tenor made his Act I aria “Eloigné pour jamais d’une épouse cruelle” a truly memorable moment.
Anglo-French bass Edwin Crossley-Mercer was an ideal Créon. His suave basso cantante had the right timbre and colour for this typically Gluckian role. He managed to convey the shaky authority that one would expect of an illegitimate ruler. His Act I aria, “C’est à vous de trembler, femme impie et barbare,” was a reflection of his hollow authority, verbally threatening but ineffectively so. An excellent gimmick was used by Signeyrole: Créon has a non‑fatal heart attack at the end of his aria.
French mezzo Marie-Andrée Bouchard-Lesieur exuded such imposingly charismatic stage presence that the normally minor role of Médée’s nurse and confidant assumed a larger importance. Néris is usually a loving, submissive matron, but here, director Signeyrole makes her a loving sister and even an accomplice. She’s aware of the consequences of the poisoned floral crown that she directs one of Médée’s children to deliver to Dircé. She’s even aware of the likelihood of Médée killing her own children, and yet she acquiesces. Her Act II recitative and aria, “Malheureuse Princesse!... Ah! Nos peines seront communes!,” was a high point of the evening, thanks to Bouchard-Lesieur’s warm timbre, exceptional diction and true mastery of the French style.
Few have sympathy for the murderous anti-heroine. Her savage infanticide is considered the selfish crime of a narcissist determined to destroy her husband, for whom she had sacrificed everything. To attenuate this aspect of Médée’s personality, a more feminine lyric voice was chosen. Lebanese-Canadian soprano Joyce El‑Khoury incarnated an unusual Médée. One is conditioned to think of the role as a fierce tigress, given Callas’s imprimatur. Marina Rebeka’s Médée, at the aforementioned La Scala performance, was played as a victim, a desperate, wronged woman. El‑Khoury’s Médée is both a vocal and dramatic triumph. Her Médée is severely wronged by a perfidious Jason and by a xenophobic society. She is well aware of her weak position and her inability to win. Yet, she keeps fighting, despite the inevitable, tragic result.
Director Signeyrole chose to draw parallels between the Ancient Greek myth of Medea and two important contemporary issues: patriarchy and xenophobia. Why does a normally loving mother resort to such desperate measures? Is it mere narcissism on her behalf, or is she so defenceless that she resorts to the only weapon she possesses? Signeyrole’s clearly feminist take favours the latter, more sympathetic view.
The other issue raised in this staging is xenophobia. Médée’s gravest sin is not being Greek. From her first appearance, El‑Khoury’s magnetic stage presence was further enhanced by her elegant Middle Eastern kaftan, rather than the 1970s dresses Greek women sported. Rather than denying her identity to assimilate into a society that will ultimately reject her, this Médée revels fiercely in hers. At one point, as Médée contemplates her crime while serving breakfast to her children, the orchestra comes to a standstill, and El‑Khoury lovingly renders a lullaby in Arabic. This had a haunting effect and affirmed Médée’s identity.
In one scene, Créon and his officers break into a church where Médée, Néris and other foreign women have sought refuge. They taunt, rob, abuse and even rape several of them. They beat up the Orthodox priest while defacing relics and holy books. Signeyrole draws parallels with the sans‑papiers (undocumented illegal aliens) in present‑day France and much of Europe. Needless to say, this did not garner the widespread approval of the audience.
Joyce El-Khoury used her beautiful lyric soprano to convey a complex Médée to great effect. She is attractive and feminine, regal and strong‑willed. Yet Jason discards her like a piece of old clothing. This Médée is no older wife losing her husband to a prettier younger woman. She’s wronged and betrayed by a selfish, ungrateful and ambitious spouse. Her Act I aria, “Vous voyez de vos fils la mère infortunée,” was completely convincing. She pleaded vehemently but didn’t convey despair as did past Médées. In contrast, her Act II opening aria, “O détestable hymen! O fureur! O vengeance!,” was terrifying without being excessive, a common flaw that betrays lesser sopranos.
Moreover, El-Khoury’s diction in the language of Molière was exemplary, equal or superior to the best of the cast. This is crucial for this Gluckian role, where music and lyrics must fuse. The proper emphasis on key words at critical moments is essential in conveying drama. Even more impressive was El‑Khoury’s diction and delivery of the spoken text. One could have mistaken her for a French stage actress. Most importantly, her acting was natural, never stylized. El‑Khoury and the cast employed a contemporary delivery style to better suit the director’s intentions.
In Euripides’s play, Medea flies away in a fiery chariot provided by her grandfather, the sun god Helios. In the present production, Médée is confronted by a rabid mob. She remains defiant and the crowd retreats.
The chorus, playing a prominent role, especially so in this French version, was well‑prepared, singing clearly and convincingly, thereby accentuating the drama. The Insula orchestra under Laurence Equilbey played stylishly, conforming to Cherubini’s lineage as the intermediary link between Gluck and Berlioz. Equilbey’s energetic tempi in the powerful overture set the stage for the intense drama that would follow. She effortlessly adjusted the tempi to accommodate the singers, especially Médée in her most dramatic moments. As good as they were, one longed for a larger orchestra to accentuate such intense drama.
Beethoven considered Cherubini to be his most brilliant contemporary. A sampling of his string quartets, religious masses and more obscure operas such as Ali Baba, Les Abencérages or Lodoïska attest to his formidable talent. The reason for his present day relative obscurity relates to the epoch. He was a late classicist but not yet a Romantic, writing in a transitional musical idiom. The music is not as overtly expressive as that of the Romantics. Also, like Etienne-Nicolas Méhul and François-Adrien Boieldieu, he was a composer of the brief French Revolutionary rule, a period its successors longed to forget.
Several major venues, including Paris’s Opéra Comique, Teatro alla Scala, Madrid’s Teatro Real, Berlin’s Staatsoper Unter den Linden, Moscow’s Stanislavski, Warsaw’s Teatr Wiekli, New York’s Metropolitan and Toronto’s Canadian Opera Company, have recently programmed Cherubini’s most famous opera, in both French and Italian adaptations. In some cases, it’s to provide a vehicle for sopranos whose sights are set on Callas’s throne. While few will achieve this lofty goal, this dramatically powerful musical work is finally gaining much-deserved attention. May this open the doors of discovery to such rare Cherubini gems as Démophoon (1788), Lodoïska (1791), Les Deux Journées, ou Le Porteur d’eau (1800), Les Abencérages (1813) and Ali Baba, ou Les Quarante Voleurs (1833).
Ossama el Naggar
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