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British premiere of Hunyadi LászlóStone the crows London
Bloomsbury Theatre
08/18/2003 -
Ferenc Erkel: Hunyadi László
Pál Kovács (Mihály Szilágyi /Roszgonyi), Cecília Péter (Matyás), Xavier Rivadeneira (László Hunyadi ), László Haramza (László V), Viktor Massányi (Cilley), Rose-Marie Farkas (Erszébet Szilágyi), Ingrid Kertesi (Mária), Michele Kalmandi (Gara),
Dominic Wheeler (conductor), Michael Beauchamp (director)
Dorset Opera Orchestra and Chorus
Hunyadi László is the second most famous opera by Ferenc Erkel, after Bank Ban, which is popular enough in Hungary to have had its third movie version a year or so ago. (The first was directed in 1914 by Kértesz Mihály, but it didn't catch on like his later Casablanca.) In the foyer of the Erkel theatre in Budapest, built in the 1960s, Verdi and Musorgsky eyeball each other at the centre of the frieze. This may be a nod to Soviet friends, but it is also a fair positioning of Erkel, to judge from Hunyadi László, a historical drama that depicts the treachery and pain before the enlightened reign of Matthias Corvinus, who appears in the opera as the sparky teenager Matyás. The music is often four-square, quite similar to Verdi's of the same (1840) period, but at times with Kletzmer-like instrumentation and whatever the Hungarian is for brio. Judging from this performance by Dorset Opera, it has charm rather than dramatic shape, but given the partly amateur chorus and skool pla production that might not be a fair basis on which to judge it. Ernani, say, might well come over as undramatic in similar circumstances.
The problem is perhaps less with the music than with the overall enterprise. Verdi and his peers in the foremidcentury worked with a tradition of historical drama that used national events for putatively universal messages about power and love; Erkel has iconic historical figures who sound one note each in action that goes nowhere much. László (the king) is weak and paranoid, manipulated by thug baritones who resemble somewhat the actor who plays Alistair Campbell for Rory Bremner. László (the hero) is noble and trusting, aided by worthy baritones. His mother Erszébet is alternatively terrified by foreboding and uplifted with joy, at the drop of a messenger. It is no surprise that the best known aria in the opera was added for the mezzo La Grange, who sang the role in a revival. The aria is a small, old fashioned coloratura masterpiece of the sort that Cecilia Bartoli might record, but the rejoicing it expresses is triggered by the relief of tension that has to be invented: the king has already pardoned László but summons him and his brother again; they return to tell their mother there was no problem after all, which triggers the aria.
The chorus, some of whom were from the Hungarian State Opera, were a touch ragged, perhaps as a result of language anxiety as much as musical problems. The principals, also from the State Opera, brought their performances and possibly their costumes ready made, and were more impressive. Rose-Marie Farkas had the chops for Erszébet's big aria and Cecília Péter was an endearing, Oscar-ish Matyás. Xavier Rivadeneira was a touch bland in the title role, singing sweetly rather than inspiringly, but László Haramza was a suitably unpleasant king and Michele Kalmandi a fine thuggish Gara, in the John Tomlinson mould.
But solid singing doesn't make a drama on its own. Your correspondent, taking the air on Gower Street in the second interval, watched three taxis go past before hailing the fourth and heading for home and a reasonably early night.
HE Elsom
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