Nikolai RIMSKY-KORSAKOV (1872-1949)
The Tale of Tsar Saltan (1900)
Edward Tsanga (bass: Tsar Saltan), Irina Churilova (soprano: Militrisa), Varvara Solovyova (mezzo-soprano: Tkachikha), Elena Vitman (contralto: Barbarikha), Tatiana Kravtsova (soprano: Povarikha), Mikhail Vekua (tenor: Guidon), Albina Shagimuratova (soprano: Swan Princess), Vasily Gorshkov (tenor: Old man), Andrei Spekhov (baritone: Messenger), Denis Begansky (bass: Court jester), Vitaly Dudkin, Alexander Gerasimov and Timur Abdikeyev (tenor, baritone and bass: Sea merchants)
Mariinsky Chorus and Orchestra/Valery Gergiev
rec. Mariinsky Theatre, St Petersburg, 2015
MARIINSKY MAR0597 Blu-ray/DVD [150 mins]
My lockdown hobby this time around has been Russian operas. I’ve been using the confined days and long, dark nights to delve into some under-explored corners of my shelves, reacquaint myself with some old friends, and discover some new ones; and the arctic conditions we’re currently experiencing in the UK as I write this (in February 2020) have added some atmosphere to the experience.
I’ve written before
in a review of the Mariinsky Golden Cockerel about how much I enjoy the operas of Rimsky-Korsakov, and I welcome this Mariinsky DVD/BD with two cheers because it’s a wonderful work for which there is virtually no competition on disc. The Tale of Tsar Saltan is a fairytale, based on Pushkin, which owes a little to the Perseus myth (a princess cast on the sea in a barrel) and a little to Cinderella with the wicked mother and sisters. Mostly, however, it’s a distinctly Russian fantasy, with a swan princess and a city that rises up out of the sea for a benevolent prince to rule over.
Alexander Petrov’s eye-poppingly colourful production goes hell-for-leather at the story’s Russian heart, with gaudily bright national costumes and sets that have a storybook, toytown feel to them. The peasant house of the Prologue is straight out of a child’s book, and if the other settings are a bit more spare then I never felt short-changed because of Petrov’s willingness to use projections and wheeled-on props to spur the narrative. Indeed, various framing devices draw attention to the story’s artificiality, as though to remind us not to take it too seriously, and the repeated use of painted cardboard props, even down to the drinking vessels, seems to underline the artifice. I was happy to go with that, and at least it’s handled consistently, unlike the much more uneven
Golden Cockerel from the same stable.
Musically it’s a complete win. Gergiev and his orchestra play Rimsky’s score with all the affection it deserves, twinkling through the magical moments and summoning up a lovely seascape at the opening of Act 3. The chorus all look as though they’re having a great time, and they sing with both energy and, when required, refinement. In the title role Edward Tsanga sings with a warm, noble baritone, though he is upstaged by the vigorous, energetic tenor of Mikhail Vekua, an excellent Tsarevich. Irina Churilova is a lyrical, sympathetic Tsaritsa, while Albina Shagimuratova, no less, dazzles in the coloratura of the Swan Princess. The nasty mother and sisters sing with (just about) enough character to transcend the hammy acting they’re given to do, and all of the smaller roles are taken with bags of character and vocal energy.
So why only two cheers? It’s because, like The Golden Cockerel, the production values of the disc are pretty patchy. For one thing, there is no documentation barring a synopsis, and the sound is only in 2.0 stereo which, as I’ve said before, just won’t do these days. Worse, Anna Matison, who is in charge of the video direction, needs to be taken outside and given a good talking-to, because the camera work is desperately choppy in some places, and in others looks as though they’d forgotten to edit out some mistakes. We get shots of the orchestra during some of the interludes, but they’re often very badly chosen – observe the clearly bored harpist during the introduction to Act 4 – and in one specific case the visuals and audio clearly don’t match.
So there is definite room for the label to improve on its video production; but don’t let that put you off exploring this super opera. Two cheers are better than none, and maybe I can just eke out a third because the Mariinsky have produced the opera’s only incarnation on video. Furthermore, the box includes both a DVD and a BD, so it’s two for one.
Simon Thompson
Previous review: Paul Corfield Godfrey
