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SEEN AND HEARD
INTERNATIONAL OPERA REVIEW
Gluck, Armide (new production, premiere):
Soloists, Orchestra and members of the Chorus of the Komische Oper Berlin,
Konrad Junghänel (conductor), Komische Oper, Berlin, 5.4.2009 (MB)
Gluck regarded Armide as ‘perhaps the best of my works’. Posterity seems
less to have disagreed than disregarded, for revivals have been sporadic at
best. For some reason, or perhaps none, the mid-1840s might have been its most
favoured era. Meyerbeer conducted the work in Berlin (at the Staatsoper) in
1843, the same year that Wagner conducted it in Dresden, with Wilhelmine
Schröder-Devrient in the title role. Berlioz would conduct the third act the
following year, in a typically extravagant performance involving nine hundred
performers. (Whatever must that have sounded like?!) Toscanini clearly
believed in Armide too, leading performances in Milan and New York.
Riccardo Muti, often – rather misleadingly in my view – seen as Toscanini’s
heir, included the work in his Gluck cycle at La Scala. I am not sure that
Covent Garden, which has rarely if ever expressed much enthusiasm for the great
operatic reformer, has staged Armide since 1928, when Frida Leider sang
the title role, although there was a production, directed – ‘controversially’
according to the New Grove dictionary – by Wolf-Siegfried Wagner (son of
Wieland), at Spitalfields in 1983. Suffice it to say that the Komische Oper’s
enterprise and advocacy are much to be applauded in mounting Armide.
Anticipation was further heightened by the example of
last year’s triumphant Iphigénie en Tauride and by the choice of
Calixto Bieito as director.
What a
pity this was, for the musical performance was a fine one. Performance in German
rather than the original French changes the nature of what one hears, of course,
but this did not trouble me unduly. The orchestra was on excellent form,
directed with verve – and only the occasional irritating ‘authenticism’ – by
Konrad Junghänel. The ballet music fairly danced – unlike the stage business –
whilst the harmonic direction and the myriad of Gluck’s post-Rameau or
pre-Berlioz orchestral colours registered with great dramatic force. None of the
singers was weak and many were very good indeed. Thomas Ebenstein sang the
apparently minor role of the Danish Knight with a noble sureness of purpose that
belied anything he was called on to do by his director. Maria Gortsevskaya
personified Hatred, as she must, without the slightest hint of vocal
grotesquerie. Peter Lodahl presented an impressively subtle Renaud, insofar as
he was permitted, reminding me of his fine performance in Iphigénie last
season. Had he not been more or less submerged in the ongoing ‘activities’, I
suspect that his winning stage presence would have registered more strongly.
(Sung in German, as Armida)
Cast:
Armide – Maria Bengtsson
Hidraot – Peteris Eglitis
Renaud – Peter Lodahl
Artémidore – Christoph Schröter
Ubaldo – Günter Papendell
Danish Knight – Thomas Ebenstein
Phénice – Olivia Vermeulen
Sidonie – Karolina Andersson
Aronte – Hans-Peter Scheidegger
Hatred – Maria Gortsevskaya
A Naiad – Karolina Andersson
First Genius – Anna Borchers
Second Genius – Nicola Proksch
A Demon in the form of Mélisse – Anna Borchers
A Pleasure – Olivia Vermeulen
Production;
Calixto Bieito (director)
Rebecca Ringst (designs)
Ingo Krügler (costumes)
Franck Evin (lighting)
Bettina Auer (dramaturge)
Members of the Chorus of the
Komische Oper,
Berlin (chorus master: Robert Heimann) Orchestra of the Komische Oper, Berlin
Konrad Junghänel (conductor)
However, I should probably have known better. Whilst I admired Bieito’s Don
Giovanni for the English National Opera, he really does seem to have become
a one-trick pony. In a conversation amongst members of the production team
reported in the programme, Bieito said that Armide appealed to him
‘because it is a piece about love. And above all a piece about a woman.’ The
only possible response, given what we saw on stage, would be: ‘you could have
fooled me’. Everything seems to be about sex, or perhaps there is nothing in the
world other than sex. Sometimes, looking at our world, one might think that
Bieito has a point. But it seems that, in order to make it, he simply has to
become more and more sensationalist. I do not think that I could do more than
begin to list the various forms and combinations of what was depicted on stage;
nor can I summon up any inclination. It is not prudishness but simply weariness
that prevents me. Should gerontophiliac sado-masochism be your thing, you will
find it here. Ditto asphyxiation by telephone cord. Straight, gay, transvestite,
solitary, couples, groups, master-slave dog relationships, even fun with a
snake: roll up, roll up. Poor Renaud’s mild leather fetish seems to render him
so very conventional. Perhaps that is the point; if so, it would not have been
difficult to come up with a clearer way to make it. The production is blessed
with a ready and willing band of nude actors – ‘Die Nackten’ – to carry out
whatever the director required of them. And they certainly do, most
impressively. Apparently this is all Armide’s fantasy. Or perhaps it is really
someone else’s. In any case, it so dominates everything else that it is often
difficult to listen to the music, let alone to discern a plot. A great deal of
unmusical stage noise shows equally scant regard for Gluck’s score.
And
when she was allowed to take centre stage, Maria Bengtsson truly shone as
Gluck’s almost psychodramatic heroine. This is her story, even if it is not her
fantasy. For when the madness finally subsided at the very end, one could more
or less concentrate upon Gluck’s astonishing music. Bengtsson and Junghänel
almost made one think of an eighteenth-century Erwartung. If only we had
been able to do so earlier on. This ending recognised Armide, if only by
default, as perhaps Gluck’s truest tragedy, the work having no deus ex
machina as resolution. However, Armide also looks back perhaps more
than any of his later works to the tragédies lyriques of Rameau and even
Lully, written as it is in five acts, with an intended – loaded word, I know –
cornucopia of effects and divertissements, reflecting the provenance of
the libretto (seventeenth-century, Philippe Quinault, as set by Lully ninety
years previously) rather than of any conscious reversion on the composer’s part.
Now there are effects and then there are effects. I have never entertained any
great desire to witness exhumation of eighteenth-century stagecraft; yet, my
resistance relentlessly ground down by Bieito’s adolescent ‘provocations’,
rarely have I come so close. If, however, this production, with its excellent
musical performances, brings to greater attention a work that still languishes
almost unknown, a greater benefit will nevertheless have been accrued.
Pictures
© David Baltzer
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