The world premiere of this opera at the Malyi Theatre in Leningrad
on 22 January 1934 was a great success, in spite of the controversial
subject and the in part shockingly modernistic music. It was
staged in Moscow the same year and very soon in Cleveland, New
York, Philadelphia, Stockholm, Prague and Zurich. Then, in 1936,
after a guest appearance from the Malyi Theatre in Moscow, the
infamous Pravda article appeared, entitled “Chaos Instead
of Music”. Stalin had attended the performance and left
before it was finished, and according to some commentators he
was the author of the article. The gravest accusation was that
Shostakovich had given a false picture of a basically beautiful
world. The result was that the opera vanished from the repertoire
and didn’t appear again until 1963 in a rather heavily
revised and ‘watered down’ version, now with the
title
Katerina Izmailova. Not until 1979, four years after
the death of Shostakovich, Mstislav Rostropovich managed to find
the score of the original version and thus the work could be
restored in compliance with Shostakovich’s intentions.
It was recorded by EMI with Rostropovich conducting, his wife
Galina Vishnevskaya taking the title role and with Nicolai Gedda
as Sergei. This is, to my mind, still the supreme recording.
It is available in EMI’s GROC series.
The present DVD, from performances at the Teatro del Maggio Musicale
Fiorentino, focuses very much on the ‘madness of love and
sexuality’ as Sigrid Neef puts it in
Opera - Komponisten,
Werke, Interpreten (Könemann, 1999). During the titles
distorted pictures in black and white are shown and the opening
scene is bleak and gloomy - just as the music - reflecting Katerina’s
boredom, but Katerina is colourful, and so is her bedding … And
sexuality, more than true love, runs all through the story. By
all means, Katerina falls in love with Sergei, but to him it’s
only a question of satisfying his carnal desires - also in the
last act when he bargains with Sonetka and quenches the last
hope of a future for Katerina. The sex scenes are not too candidly
filmed; the intense scene in Katerina’s bedroom in act
I is filmed from below and the only thing we actually see is
the ceiling lamp swinging ever more violently; Sergei and Sonetka
do their act under a white sheet, surrounded by all the other
prisoners in cold blue, while the artificial snowflakes fall,
further underlining the icy atmosphere. What is not shown on
stage is however graphically illustrated in the music, where
no one can fail to feel the raw animality, running as an undercurrent
throughout the opera. But this is a multifarious work, brutal
(the flogging of Sergei), ironic, critical, humoristic (the tipsy
priest) with sometimes orgiastic music and frantic dances. What
it lacks is true humanism and warmth - the closest to this is
Boris’s monologue at the beginning of act II,
That’s
what old age means: you can’t sleep.
The direction, the sets and the filming, often from unexpected
angles, combine to make this a fascinating realisation of this
masterpiece of its kind. During the second act interlude the
camera slowly wanders out in the auditorium and then down in
the orchestral pit, where the intensity in the musical climax
is further heightened by the tension and concentration of the
players.
There are several excellent actors among the leading singers,
dominated as it should be, by Jeanne-Michèle Charbonnet’s
Katerina. Her facial expressions and body language at large mirror
her various moods, loneliness, hope, anger, despair and finally
resignation. Often filmed in close-ups her intense articulation
sometimes becomes almost grotesque - and her singing leaves a
lot to be desired. Her insistent vibrato is hard to stomach and
at forte - and she has to sing large parts of the role at that
volume - the tone becomes quite frankly repulsive. Sergej Kunaev
portrays the shrewd and crafty Sergei with voluptuous intensity
and the hardness of tone is quite appropriate for this disgusting
character. Quite the best singer, and also a splendid actor,
among the central characters, is Vladimir Vaneev as Boris, who
sings the monologue about ageing with beautiful tone and deep
feeling. He also appears in the last act as a touching old convict
- another example of the humanity that exists somewhere behind
the façade in the callous society that is depicted in
this drama. Natascha Petrinsky is a cunning and scornful Sonetka.
Among the many minor roles Julian Rodescu’s Priest is skilfully
delineated and he sings his short buffo aria, worthy of a Don
Pasquale or Dulcamara, with relish. Piergiorgio Chiavazza as
the drunken guest sings his aria with gusto and Vladimir Matorin
is a larger-than-life and thunderously sonorous Police Inspector.
While far from the last word in musical excellence this is still
a fascinating product for its theatrical qualities - and James
Conlon draws excellent playing from this Florentine orchestra.
As for alternative versions there are a few that I haven’t
seen. Petr Weigl has created a film with Czech actors miming
to an abridged version of the Rostropovich recording as soundtrack.
On Opus Arte there is a version directed by Martin Kusej with
Mariss Jansons conducting the Concertgebouw Orkest, Eva-Marie
Westbrook, Christopher Ventris and (again) Vladimir Vaneev. On
EMI we find Nadine Secunde, Christopher Ventris (again) and Anatoli
Kotcherga with Alexander Anissimov conducting forces from Barcelona.
There is also a 1966 Russian production of the corrupt
Katerina
Izmailova with Galina Vishnevskaya in the title role. Though
I suspect that all these offer better singing of the title role
I can still appreciate the present issue for its theatrical qualities.
The best offer of all is however the EMI CD-set with Rostropovich,
Vishnevskaya and Gedda.
Göran Forsling