Janáček, Jenůfa: First Night of new production (with Houston Grand Opera and Washington National Opera) at English National Opera, London Coliseum. Soloists, Orchestra of the ENO, cond. Mikhail Agrest. Production by David Alden. 09.10.2006 (ME)

 

 

 

Amanda Roocroft as Jenůfa

 

 

The ENO needs a triumph in the early part of this season, and it has one with this superbly sung and often searingly acted evening. If you haven’t already booked, do it now – and stuff a hankie in your pocket or bag. It’s impossible to go very much wrong with Jenůfa: as Gabriela Preissová, the playwright upon whose Her Stepdaughter Janáček based his opera, wrote: ‘ Jenůfa fails through love, but she has enough good will and strength to live a better life,’ and it is the heroine’s character which will always form the centre of any interpretation of this romantic, highly charged, musically if not narratively Wagnerian work. I have loved this opera since being completely overwhelmed by Josephine Barstow’s performance in the title role, and although Amanda Roocroft is no Barstow, and Catherine Malfitano is certainly no Silja, this ENO presentation provided a vivid and often very moving experience.

 

Critics often write that Janáček is ‘not influenced by Wagner’ and that it’s not possible to make comparisons between him and, say, Richard Strauss and Mahler. This is nonsense: his music is as rich in character – based motifs as that of Wagner, as painfully romantic as that of Mahler, and as sweepingly melodic as Strauss. In fact, I consider him the equal of all three composers, and think of him as ‘Strauss without the stupid bits.’ Realism is what generally comes to mind when the name of Janáček is mentioned, but his is a realism only of physical situation: his characters may live humdrum lives in dreary settings (though not quite so dreary as Alden would have us believe) but it is their inherent nobility, their initially suppressed passions and dreams which inform and infuse the music.

 

Amanda Roocroft is a wonderful Jenůfa, more in the Mattila mould than the Barstow, presenting a very youthful (how does she do it? She is 40 this year, but here she looked about 22) and touchingly sympathetic figure. You can’t fail to love this character: yes, she falls for that no-good boyo Števa and forgives the doofus Laca for maiming her, but her inherent nobility shines through when she bestows her understanding upon her stepmother’s terrible deed, and tells Steva, heartbreakingly, ‘Now you know what real love is! May it never hurt you.’ Roocroft’s finest moments are the more intimate scenes, especially in Act 2 where she sings the prayer to the Virgin Mary, and in the final act where she muses on how everyone is commenting on how plain her dress is. The Janáčeks’ maid, Marie Stejskalová, relates in her memoirs that the composer came to her in the kitchen and asked if she knew the ‘Salve Regina’ – ‘I went to get my prayer book, and looked up ’Zdrávas, královno’ - the master took the book into the study and after a while I heard the beginning of the song which has now gone round the world. People weep during it. I think this is because the master’s heart so wept and bled when he wrote it.’ At the time his daughter Olga was dying, and his sorrow is clearly heard in this deeply emotional music, which Roocroft sang with fine intensity.

 

Catherine Malfitano is a legendary singing actress, and she had many highly charged moments during the evening, especially in her Act 2 narrative, but overall I found her performance, given in often markedly accented English, to err a little to much on the side of melodrama. I want to feel both hatred and pity for the Kostelnička, but with Malfitano in the part I found myself distracted by her mannerisms. The same was partially true of Susan Gorton’s Grandmother Buryja, who was seemingly characterized as a sort of comic relief rather than the lynchpin of the domestic oppression which forms the crucial background to the work – she sang the part with gusto, though.

 

 

Amanda Roocroft (Jenůfa) and Stuart Skelton (Laca)

 

Paul Charles Clarke did his best with his characterization of Števa – poor old Števa, they say, you have to feel a bit sorry for him, being so spoilt and all (actually no, you don’t – he’s a tenor, for goodness’ sake, and you never feel sorry for them) but he was hampered by having to go in for all that bottle-brandishing / leather-suit wearing and other modish evidences of a dissolute life. Laca was sung by ‘Australian Heldentenor Stuart Skelton’ according to the notes – Mr Skelton’s biographical entry in the programme informs that he is ‘…one of the finest heroic tenors of his generation…acclaimed for his beautiful voice, outstanding musicianship…’  Wow. He certainly was loud, but I’m not sure if a ‘heldentenor’ (do such creatures really exist anymore?) is what is wanted for Laca, a role which to my ears needs a Philip Langridge type of voice. Skelton is definitely an excellent stage presence though, and with a bit more effort at subtlety this might yet be an assumption that lives up to the hype.

 

The smaller parts were all cast from strength, with Sarah Pring’s Mayor’s wife and Lee Bisset’s Karolka being especially noteworthy, and the chorus sang lustily when required.

 

The ENO’s orchestra played gloriously for Mikhail Agrest, and I was surprised by the lukewarm reception he was accorded. This is a conductor who does not drown out the singers at the moments of grand passion and gesture, but supports them as tenderly there as he does in the quieter scenes, drawing some exquisitely phrased playing from the horns and shaping the music’s dramatic structure with skill.

 

The production? The by-now usual. Jenůfa is a domestic tragedy, set in a stiflingly oppressive milieu, a world of matriarchal dominance and small-minded jealousies, and its atmosphere is best savoured in a stage setting which mirrors this: here, however, we have, yet again, another dreary Politburo / Neo-Brutalist / Sixties minimalist / Soviet what-you-will set of glaring white walls, vast spaces (don’t these people have any furniture?) and a ‘mill’ interpreted as a factory. Needless to say, the jolly peasant songs and dances, which so poignantly contrast with the misery of the main characters, were muted, and the choreography at best embarrassed – the least said about those tarty hangers-on (groan) the better.

 

Fortunately the personenregie was handled with Alden’s usual skill, although one or two moments did jar, most obviously when Jenůfa peels off the cardboard window coverings (yes, really, in freezing Moravia) and sings ‘Now it is dark’ just as what appears to be a spotlight shines in. Never mind: this is one of the greatest operas of the twentieth century, far too infrequently performed, and it is given here with the ENO’s characteristic commitment – it is finely sung, superlatively well played and acted with intensity. It deserves to be a sell-out success.

 

 

 

Melanie Eskenazi


Pictures ©  Clive Barda and English National Opera 2006