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SEEN
AND HEARD UK OPERA REVIEW
Korngold, Die tote Stadt:
Soloists, Chorus and Orchestra of the Royal Opera
House. Conductor: Ingo Metzmacher. Royal Opera House,
Covent Garden, London. 27.1.2009 (JPr)
There is a Korngold revival of sorts just now and it
seems this is more due to the need for the opera
houses to find something new and attractive to
audiences rather than to the value of the works
themselves. Last year at the Royal Festival Hall
with the London Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by
Vladimir Jurowski there was a very unfortunate, to
say the least, performance of Korngold’s fourth
opera, Das Wunder der Heliane (see review). Now
nearly ninety years after a double
- yes double - première in Hamburg and Cologne,
Die tote
Stadt,
has finally reached the UK - although there was
apparently a semi-professional concert attempt at it
in 1996 at the Queen Elizabeth Hall.
Nadja Michael (Marietta) and
Stephen Gould (Paul)
The opera is inspired by fin-de-siècle Vienna, the world of
Klimt, Freud and Schnitzler, the Secession artists
and musicians such
as Gustav Mahler and Alexander von Zemlinsky. That world was poised
on a precipice and would soon descend into the abyss of the World
War I and become, to all purposes,
snuffed out. Against this background
the acknowledged young prodigy Erich Wolfgang Korngold grew up and it
is to this lost world that his music looks back with
longing. By the age of 10
Korngold had played his own music for Gustav Mahler who did
more than say that the boy was a genius; he
also arranged for him to study
with Zemlinsky.
So
Die tote Stadt
was also conceived in the shadow of Sigmund Freud's theories
about the interpretation of dreams as sources of insight into
unconscious desires. Dreams
can become
mechanisms through which the dreamer attempts to makes
sense of the complexities of a reality in which they exist
and the
rather slim plot of Die tote Stadt is about Paul trying to do
just that.
Paul’s wife,
Marie, has died at a very young age. He has been in mourning since
her death for seemingly quite a while. He has shut himself off from
the world, turning the main room in his house in Bruges (the ‘dead
city’ of the title) into a ‘temple of memories’, in which he
worships her portraits and a braid of her ‘golden blond hair’. He
must leave the room sometime as he has met a woman on the street who
bears an uncanny resemblance to Marie and he invites her to come and
visit him. She is Marietta, a dancer in a troupe currently visiting
Bruges to perform Meyerbeer's Robert le Diable. The two share
a song about faithful love (the tuneful ‘Glück, das mir verblieb’).
Paul’s mind is in turmoil believing that
Marie is back from the dead
and we
are soon transported into Paul’s dream world in
which Marie basically
tells him to move on. Paul
begins a pursuit of Marietta,
encountering all of the raunchy members of her performing troupe in
the process. After a night together, Marietta ridicules both
Paul's
religious piety and continuing attachment to Marie. When she wears
Marie's hair, Paul goes mad and strangles her to death with it. Marietta
become
another Marie and Willy Decker’s staging
rather ambiguousy suggests that
foul play may have been Marie’s downfall too.
Die tote Stadt
was a great success at its premières and the
subsequent performances in the 1920s
marking
the high point of Korngold’s career
when he was only 23. Before
the current renewed interest in him began he was
often thought of primarily
as a composer of film scores. His
movie music remains some of the finest of all time,
because almost single-handedly he
created the symphonic sound of Hollywood’s
Golden Age. Since Korngold fell foul of the Nazis in
Austria, he fled to the US
so his opera sank into
relative obscurity. In
Vienna after the Second World War, Korngold’s attempts to
re-establish himself were unsuccessful even though the city
had given
the ‘prodigy’ some astonishing early triumphs.
Willy Decker’s
production of Die tote Stadt has already done the rounds,
having been seen first in 2004 at the Salzburg Festival:
it has been
given in Vienna, Amsterdam, Barcelona and San Francisco before
arriving at Covent Garden. The production is a fairly straightforward affair
though little is of course seen of Bruges. Wolfgang Gussman's set is
a rectangular, windowless box with black walls with some
indecipherable words written on them. There is a raised floor, a
white tilted ceiling and a door
stage right. There are a couple of
armchairs in the set and Paul is
constantly on stage
from the beginning, remaining
there until the
very end of the opera even though the
the libretto suggests that he supposed to make
his entrance later - at least according to how
the housekeeper Brigitta, greets Paul's friend Frank.
Paul spends most of the time slumped in
one chair or other clutching either a huge portrait of his dead wife or her hair,
which reappears in Act III in a reliquary. At
the end of Act I when Paul hallucinates about Marie/Marietta,
the
back wall vanishes to reveal an exact replica of the set,
though placed
much further back of course.
Acts II and
III are therefore predominantly in this parallel world. At the start
of Act II Decker gives us a sight of Bruges when Paul's friend Frank
reappears as Fritz, a rival for Marietta's love, sitting on a large
blue monopoly-like house which moves with some others across
the stage. If the music and the motivations of the characters did
not already remind one sufficiently of Strauss’s Salome,
then as
Act II continues we see something from Ariadne auf Naxos with
a actress trying to rehearse with her Harlequin troupe. In a send-up
of the Nuns' scene from Meyerbeer's Robert le Diable,
we see Paul's housekeeper, Brigitta, on a large cross telling Paul
that she is
going to church. Little else changes for Act III though we get more
pictures
of Marie's face and there is another religious procession.
The dream
therefore began at the end of Act I with Marie telling Paul their
love lives on in the past, present and future and
it continues through
to Act III until just after Marietta's death. This is excellently
realized by Decker as he distorts the physical space on the stage
and here, as well as with characterisation, shadows and lighting,
he
gives us more than a hint of German Expressionist cinema
from the time
of the opera’s composition. At the denouément in Act III,
Decker
restores order to the set and from this we understand that Paul is
now back in the real world. It becomes fully clear to him that the
Marietta he met has nothing to do with Marie and so he is ready to
leave his ‘dead city’ and return to life. True to Freudian theory,
Paul finally realises that he must make the best of what life has to
offer and is ‘cured’.
Korngold’s
score is undoubtedly rich and colourful; shimmering here and blaring
out there but it basically soars away like Strauss with the
vocal line of the two principals often enmeshed
within thick musical
textures.’ The singers use punctuating stratospheric high notes ad
nauseam which too often fragments any suggestion of lyrical
sweep. There are only a few sections of pure melody
- the occurrences of Marietta’s lute song and the Pierrot's song in Act II wonderfully
delivered by Gerald Finley
- who
sang Frank and also Fritz, the actor. These are outstanding songs
and are rightly famous as stand alone pieces but the problem is
the music that
stitches, or rather really doesn’t stitch, everything else
together. Admittedly the music for Paul's slide into
his dream state
is descriptive and at the end of Act II Marietta seduces Paul to
other highly evocative music – evocative that is of Tristan Act II.
Likewise moments of ‘colour’ in the score hint at an eclectic mix of references in Korngold’s
music comprising, for instance, the xylophone from Turandot,
the glockenspiel from Die Zauberflöte,
the wind machine from Der
fliegende Holländer and the bells from Parsifal.
Ingo
Metzmacher is not someone I have particularly admired when I have
seen him conduct concerts but I was certainly
full of admiration for the way
that he kept control of the proceedings and never swamped the
singers. The controlled playing of the Orchestra of the Royal Opera
House evidenced the detailed musical preparation that must have
taken place. I suspect that some of Korngold's
bluster and grandeur
must have been sacrificed to the overall balance but I doubt
whether anything really important
had been lost as a result of
concentrating on clarity.
The demand on
the leading two singers is immense and there is a supporting cast of
minor roles all well sung by a very international cast.
Kathleen Wilkinson, the only Brit present, was slightly quavery as
Brigitta, an effect that I hoped was her
portrayal of the role of the caring and
pious housekeeper. Even doubling up as Frank and Fritz, Canadian
baritone Gerald Finley had little to sing but he had an
stage immense
presence and sang everything beautifully.
German soprano
Nadja Michael as Marie but mainly Marietta is lithe, predatory,
and bald-headed for most of the time and so quite Nosferatu-like, she
frequently throws herself at Paul often legs akimbo. She basically
acts the same neurotic personality as her recent Salome at Covent
Garden. But however good an actress she
might be, the voice is
a
problem. As a former mezzo she does not have the support for the
bright top notes she needs, her intonation is all over the place and
I rarely heard a word of the German libretto. This is a case of
casting more by what a singer looks like rather than
by voice.
Fortunately, there is that choice with dramatic sopranos but not so with tenors
of the same Fach. American tenor Stephen Gould was, I
understand, apparently unwell at the dress rehearsal
but did attempt to sing. It is unlikely that he can have
made a complete recovery by this first night so his performance was
undoubtedly heroic. There was sharpness and stridency to his first
exclamations and his voice never gained much warmth until the
Tristan-esque moments at the end of Act II. Despite this,
throughout Acts I and II he revealed a voice that is capable of some
rare delicate control when Korngold allows him the chance. In Act
III he was in fuller voice and showed a palpable jealous rage by
some committed acting which made this act the best of the three for
both him and the opera.
In the 1920s
Korngold’s favourite Paul was Richard Tauber one of the greatest
singers of the twentieth century - although
I believe with a warm lyrical
voice and not a Heldentenor. This hints at performing
practices we have lost or cannot deliver now,
because I wondered
whether Paul could have been sung more lyrically and romantically
employing more head voice and mezza voce but this is not
within Mr Gould’s compass. I
suspect that to hear Paul sung as
Korngold wanted, would require a Domingo in his prime.
So to my mind, Die tote
Stadt is an operatic curiosity, worth hearing once but probably
then best left until another generation needs to hear something
different at the opera for a change.
Jim
Pritchard
Picture © Bill Cooper
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