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Otello’s Black Box and White Face Düsseldorf
Deutsche Oper am Rhein
06/22/2025 - & June 28, July 2, 10*, 13, 2025
Giuseppe Verdi: Otello
Martin Muehle (Otello), Anke Krabbe (Desdemona), Vladislav Sulimsky (Iago), Matteo Mezzaro (Cassio), Florian Simson (Roderigo), Beniamin Pop (Lodovico), Katarzyna Kuncio (Emilia), Valentin Ruckebier (Montano), Attila Fodre (A Herald)
Chor und Extrachor der Deutschen Oper am Rhein, Gerhard Michalski (chorus master), Düsseldorfer Symphoniker, Axel Kober/Gerhard Michalski* (conductor)
Michael Thalheimer (stage director), Henrik Ahr (sets), Michaela Barth (costumes), Stefan Bollinger (lighting), Luc Joosten (dramaturgy)
A. Krabbe, M. Muehle (© Sandra Then)
Sadly, there are many poorly-staged productions of Verdi’s Otello, one of the most powerful operas ever written, based on Shakespeare and with a libretto by the greatest Italian librettist since Da Ponte, Arrigo Boito. After enduring Johannes Erath’s dismal production of Otello in Frankfurt a year ago, I was yearning for a decent production of the work to erase the memory. Alas, it was not to be so, for this production was even worse. It will take a superlative Otello to purge these awful conceptions from my mind.
Director Michael Thalheimer narrates the story from inside the mind of a tormented Otello, alienated by being different and feeling rejected as a result. His torment is represented by a black box that constitutes the production’s only sets. The protagonist is unstable from the start of the opera, making for a tiresome evening for us, and an exhausting one for the tenor, one of the most demanding parts in the repertoire.
Luckily, my complaint extends only to the staging and the nonexistent sets. Vocally, this was a miraculous performance, featuring three truly wondrous principals.
German-Brazilian tenor Martin Muehle is blessed with the required vocal prowess for the taxing title role. Impressive as Calaf in Turandot in Barcelona, Muehle was the main reason for my trip to Düsseldorf, as I was certain his Otello would be magnificent. Astoundingly, his performance exceeded all expectations.
Born in 1969, Muehle’s glorious voice is now at its pinnacle. Unlike many heroic tenors, his timbre is not baritonal, but truly that of a dramatic tenor. His booming voice has squillo, never sounds forced, and his Italian is like that of a native speaker. In brief, Martin Muehle has it all.
Beyond his amazingly powerful voice, he impressed with his diction. His emphasis on words like “vergogna,” “menzogna” and “angoscie” in his Act III soliloquy, “Dio! mi potevi scagliar” was bang on. He was particularly effective delivering the devastating dictim to Desdemona, “A terra!... e piangi!” and “Anima mia, ti maledico!” He was also masterful in the final scene, where his phrasing of “E tu?... come sei pallida! e stanca e muta e bella” was superb.
Dramatically, the role consumed him, faithfully executing the director’s exhausting instructions for the mentally unstable Otello to constantly bounce against the walls of “the black box of his mind.” At the time of this production’s 2016 premiere, Otello wore blackface, but with all the controversy now surrounding such matters, Thalheimer updated his staging; no more blackface. His face is now painted white, indicating his struggle to integrate. The translation of the word “Moor” in German still appears as “Mohr” in the surtitles but is crossed over as a racist term. Germany is indeed a model student in the “School of Political Correction.” If only the progressive Diktat could extend beyond the classroom.
Throughout the work, Muehle’s interpretation was riveting, despite instructions to behave derangedly from his first scene. Eliminating blackface may be well intentioned, but a deranged Otello flaying about like an ape is degrading and not remotely interesting. In the final act, Otello approaches the sleeping Desdemona hesitatingly, moves in close, sniffs, and then recoils; powerful, yet disturbing. This evoked football hooligans aping black players.
Otello’s opening words: “Esultate! L’orgoglio musulmano sepolto è in mar. Nostra e del ciel è gloria. Dopo l’armi lo vinse l’uragono” was an auspicious start that revealed an exceptional voice. The chorus too was powerful, despite stockings covering their heads, likely the director’s way of rendering them as “anonymous,” they that Otello sees as rejecting him. The poor chorus had to endure this suffocation for the entire performance. Nonetheless, this was a very special evening for them. Chorus master Gerhard Michalski was retiring after 25 years in Düsseldorf, and as an expression of gratitude, Deutsche Oper am Rhein had him conduct not just the chorus but the orchestra too, on this farewell evening. The results were remarkable, indicating an understanding of the score. The event was also extremely moving, with ensuing effusive applause from both public and chorus alike.
Belarusian baritone Vladislav Sulimsky does not possess the typical Iago voice, that unsympathetic dry baritone that’s perfect for villains. Rather, his is a rich voice, able to conjure the required colours to suit the role. Like Muehle, his Italian is impeccable; there wasn’t a hint (aside from his name) that revealed he wasn’t Tuscan. He brilliantly enunciated several pivotal lines such as “E poi? La Morte è il Nulla” in his famous “Credo”. Likewise, he savoured the words “Il rio destino impreco che al Moro ti donò” during his wicked insinuation to Otello about Cassio’s apocryphal narration. His line at the end of Act II, “Quel fazzoletto ieri (certo ne son). Lo vidi in man di Cassio” was fatally poignant.
Director Thalheimer seemed to insinuate that much of Iago’s wickedness was amplified by Otello’s disturbed mind. At the end of the opera, he mimics Otello’s every gesture. As Otello stabs himself, so does Iago, almost hinting the character was a figment of Otello’s imagination. Alas, the director may be hallucinating more than Otello himself.
German soprano Anke Krabbe did not look the typical fragile Desdemona, and how could she be with all her tribulations? She’s a noblewoman marrying a plebeian (albeit a successful one); a Venetian marrying a foreigner in an intolerant society; and marrying an insecure jealous man with a violent temper. She must be more mature than her young age. One of Thalheimer’s rare good ideas was to transform Desdemona into the Virgin Mary (in the mind of the troubled Otello). In her appearances throughout, save the last act, she assumes the position of a Madonna, with arms outstretched. After a while, Desdemona looks surprised and changes position.
Krabbe’s lyric soprano was captivating; she has a beautiful unique timbre that is immediately recognizable. She’s an expressive singer, capable of beautiful phrasing, but I have one reservation only speakers of Italian may have noticed. Though her enunciation is correct, it’s not fluid, and her emphasis is not always correct. This affected certain pivotal phrases such as “un grido di minaccia” in the Act III duet with Otello, “Dio ti giocondi,” which did not sound as frightening as it should have.
These minor misgivings were forgiven following her unsurpassable interpretation of the plaintive Willow Song, “Canzone del salice.” This long aria can easily bore an audience if not carefully coloured by Desdemona. Krabbe gave an interiorized reading of this long scene, expressing her anguish and grief. Her narration of the sad story of her mother’s forlorn servant girl recounted her own tribulations. Her phrasing of “Io per amarlo e per morir” sublimated her own terror.
In keeping with the black box concept, Michaela Barth’s costumes too were black, as if the whole opera were a mournful wake. The only other colour was white, appearing in three places only: Otello’s painted face; the handkerchief; and Desdemona’s wedding dress. The latter is pivotal in Act IV, as Desdemona holds it tightly and makes it her bed. She’s yearning for its symbolism of purity that Otello no longer sees in her, and for the memory of her happy wedding day. It’s also what Otello uses to strangle her. He does so from behind, with both of them standing. The image of an expiring Desdemona with her white wedding dress in front of her as she dies was a striking one.
This production was reminiscent of “artsy” experimental theatre from the 1960s, now beyond passé. The few striking images did not compensate for this unsatisfying staging, especially for such a profound tragedy. Luckily, the three glorious singers did!
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