Musically this is a very fine version of The Makropulos Affair. It’s
dominated by the superb presence of the Vienna Philharmonic
in the pit. They’re Salzburg regulars but here they cast
a special magic over a score that can sometimes sound jagged
or fragmentary. Often in this opera Janáček gives
the most lyrical melodies to the orchestra rather than to the
singers. The glorious nature of the orchestral sound really
helps this aspect of the work to come alive. They are sumptuous,
rich and beautiful, and they are captured in very good DTS sound
so that they sound even more vibrant here than they do for Mackerras
on his famous Decca recording (on CD). They are helped by Esa-Pekka
Salonen’s commanding presence. He helps to shape the unfolding
of the score to play up the melodic elements and he creates
a very satisfying sense of shape to the opera. When the camera
focuses on him he tends to be thrashing around to the more angular
rhythmic elements, but the lyrical side is there too and it
really shows.
The singers are also very good too, led by an outstanding Marty
from Angela Denoke. She commands the stage with her charismatic
presence, dominating every exchange, as well she should, and
her voice is superb, rich and beautiful with a lovely bloom
that helps to suggest the character’s great experience:
those 337 years have got to show somehow! The finest of the
men is Johan Reuter whose Prus is a revelation. His character
is every bit as domineering as Denoke’s and he combines
dignity with cunning, showing that he is a worthy sparring partner
for Marty, as well as her most dangerous adversary. However,
he also sings with great beauty and authority, making this a
three-dimensional character. In the hands of two such great
artists, Marty and Prus’ jousting session at the end of
Act 2 becomes the highlight of the opera. Raymond Very’s
Gregor is ardent and thrustful, singing the character’s
love music with lyrical abandon and demonstrating that he is
totally enslaved to Marty’s magic. Peter Hoare’s
Vitek is officious but lyrical, while Jurgita Adamonytė’s
Krista is bright but also slightly brittle, contrasting her
with the more domineering soprano of Denoke. Ryland Davies steals
the show as Hauk, lyrical and smooth, suggesting an old man
brought back to life by his unexpected reunion with a childhood
sweetheart.
So far, so good; but - dear me! - what a dog’s breakfast
of a production! Marthaler divides the stage into three sections,
the central wooden courtroom providing the venue for most of
the action. He flanks these with a functional waiting room -
with a conservatory in the background - and sealed glass room
in which actors sometimes sit and observe the action. He begins
each act with a dumb show in which actors silently enact the
same repetitious scene; presumably this is a method of reflecting
Marty’s view of the meaninglessness of life, but I just
found it tedious. More damagingly, these dumb shows continue
on the sides of the main action and the camera periodically
cuts away to them, severing the viewer’s connection to
the main action. Often when characters enter they do so in a
stylised, ritualistic manner, almost like a Japanese Noh drama:
Marty, too, performs all manner of artful contortions during
her scene in Kolenatý’s office. However, if there
was a point to all this then I couldn’t see it, and Marthaler
seems continually determined to distract the viewer from the
story rather than bringing it to life.
That’s a shame, because it means that this is a DVD to
enjoy with the screen turned off. If you want Makropolus
on a DVD then you probably still won’t find finer than
Anja Silja’s 1995 performance at Glyndebourne - with Andrew
Davis on Warner, though without surround sound. Otherwise, on
CD Sir Charles Mackerras has two very fine versions in Czech
- on Decca with Elisabeth Söderström - and a not at
all bad one in English on Chandos with Cheryl Barker.
Simon Thompson
Emilia Marty - Angela Denoke 
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