For being among the most interesting - others might even say:
“among the few great” - Handel operas, there are surprisingly
few options for listening to Orlando. There is an inadequate,
heavily cut 1963 live recording with Janet Baker, Christie’s on Erato with Patricia Bardon,
and Hogwood’s on L’Oiseau-Lyre with James Bowman.
There have been no options to watch it until now as Arthaus brings
us the 2007 Zurich production of Jens-Daniel Herzog under the
baton of William Christie. And what a production and performance
it is!
The
period instrument orchestra of the Zurich Opera House, “La Scintilla”,
races through the opera at a clip a good deal brisker than William
Christie does on his recording with Les Arts Florissants.
Lean but with ample sound, this is largely to the benefit of
the music and the listener, because the tempos are bracing and
the opera is done with in just over 2 ˝ hours - without (m)any
cuts.
The
singing is very fine, too – although the acting is better, still.
As on his Erato recording, Christie uses an alto, not a counter-tenor,
for the lead role of Orlando. With Marijana Mijanović he
picked one who can not only portray the part realistically,
visually, she also sounds rather like a good countertenor:
an ineffectual middle, but a wonderful bottom - Not that I’d
usually describe a woman in those terms.
Martina
Janková as Angelica is a tremendous actress and she owns the
stage even with little gestures. Her voice is more something
to get used to: pretty in principle, but with a questionable
vibrato that reminds me of Erika Koeth. If this were an audio-only
recording, it might strike a pair of picky ears as borderline
annoying. As it is, it’s simply part of her character.
The
imposing presence of Konstantin Wolff’s Zoroastro is achieved
by a mix of stature, looks, acting, and a solid, though not
overwhelming or dominating, voice. The clear and lovely Dorinda
of Christina Clark, and the pleasantly inconspicuous Katharina
Peetz as Medoro round out this fine cast - excellent actors
all.
For
all its considerable musical qualities, the star of this Orlando
might be the production of director Jens-Daniel Herzog and the
gorgeous sets and costumes of Mathis Neidhardt. The story is
carefully updated to an early 20th century-, Great
War-setting with slight touches of the American 1920s. It takes
place in a sanatorium for anti-heroes and burn-out victims that
Herzog describes in the incisive liner-notes as exuding an air
of “Magic Mountain”. It does, with the weary and exhausted,
love-sick Orlando arriving to recover and leaving after a “One
flew over the Cuckoo’s nest” style surgery (lobotomy?) that
turns him back into a proper warrior and fighting machine. That
transformation is depicted by a magnificent, poignant costume
change, Orlando stepping out from behind the surgical curtain
in full military, Napoleonesque regalia.
The
attention to detail and realism in the direction of the singers/actors
- check out Dorinda slapping Angelica a bloody nose, for example
- is as impressive as the stage itself. The slightly tattered
golden and brown hues of the sumptuous set make for a baroque
warmth. The movable walls and rooms - so solid, they don’t look
movable or temporary at all - create countless spaces, rooms,
hallways, angles: a labyrinth that evokes The Shining
on more than one occasion. The direction takes another cue from
that film in the opening of the mad scene when Orlando stands
in a door, brightly back-lit, hair messy, a raving grin on his
(her) face and an axe in hand.
In
updating Orlando, Herzog doesn’t restructure the opera,
but leaves all the baroque elements in place – except in a guise
that viewers can relate to while at the same time having the proper
distance from it for such a story to seem authentic. Even the
baroque happy end, the lieto fine, is there – without veil
of irony or the common ‘mockery dodge’ applied when directors
feel embarrassed about the material they work with. The whole
thing is good on the ears, a feast for the eyes, and feels true
to Handel at his most innovative throughout.
Jens F. Laurson
