I’m tempted to describe 
          this new production of Katya Kabanova 
          as ‘very nearly perfect but damp.’ The near 
          perfection came about because of Jirí 
          Belohlávek’s extraordinary command 
          of the score and because of a starry cast 
          that included Karita Mattila. The production 
          was damp though because producer / director 
          Kari Heiskanen and set designer Markku Hakari 
          had flooded most of the FNO stage for all 
          three acts, doubtless to symbolise the power 
          of feminine sexuality in the drama. It worked 
          well enough: few divas look good in gum-boots 
          I suspect, but Mattila certainly does.
        
          Karita 
          Mattila Photographer: 
          Sakari Viika 
        It is very well-known 
          that Janácek’s adaptation of A N Ostrovsky’s 
          play The Thunderstorm was influenced 
          considerably by his infatuation with Kamila 
          Stösslová, a happily married woman 
          thirty eight years his junior. Katya’s overpowering 
          feeling for Boris in the opera was almost 
          certainly modelled on the composer’s perception 
          of Kamila’s relationship with her husband, 
          which Janácek called ‘a great, measureless 
          love.’ With Kamila always on his mind while 
          he was completing the opera, Janácek 
          wrote on the title page of the score that 
          he gave to her, that his sixth opera was ‘one 
          of my most tender works.’ 
        Jirí Belohlávek’s 
          reading of the work brought out every nuance 
          of this tenderness and was to my mind revelatory. 
          If Oramo had managed to combine a sustained 
          sense of savagery with beautiful sound during 
          the previous evening’s performance of Peter 
          Grimes, then Belohlávek’s achievement 
          was to accent beauty even during the most 
          harrowing moments in this parallel tale of 
          bigoted oppression. Though, sadly, I missed 
          the Glyndebourne production of Tristan 
          and Isolde in the summer, it was easy 
          to see why Belohlávek’s interpretation 
          there received the acclaim that it did. 
        The problem with writing 
          about Karita Mattila is to choose which superlatives 
          to leave out. Never less than vocally radiant, 
          tender and passionate by turns, guilt ridden 
          to the point of suicide and yet somehow still 
          defiant even in the act of self-destruction, 
          Mattila as Katya is probably one of the greatest 
          interpreters of the role ever. She looks wonderful 
          too.
        None of this though 
          is to under-rate the singing of Lilli Paasikivi 
          as Varvara or of Hungarian mezzo Livia Budia 
          as the Kabanicha. Paasikivi particularly gave 
          a stunning performance with superb vocal characterisation 
          of the defiant foster-child and Budia was 
          every inch the Mother-in-Law from Hell. Excellent 
          performances both, and certainly as near as 
          makes no difference to the ‘sparkling soprano 
          star’ (kirkkaimmista sopraanotähdistä) 
          ranking afforded to Mattila in the evening’s 
          programme notes.
        The ‘very nearly perfect’ 
          rating for this performance comes about because 
          although Jyrki Anttila as Boris, Kalevi Olli 
          (Dikoy) and Ari Grönthal (Vanya) were 
          all on good form (with Anttila particularly 
          singing much more powerfully and tunefully 
          than when I heard him at the Lahti 
          Sibelius Festival 
          in September,) Lassi Virtanen as Tikhon was 
          less satisfying. To be fair however, this 
          judgment had more to do with Virtanen’s acting 
          than with his singing. He overdid the ‘drunk’ 
          aspects of the role rather much, so that it 
          was difficult to know whether characterisation 
          or caricature were the intention: an alarming 
          orange wig was no help either. 
        
 
          Lassi Virtanen, Karita Mattila 
          Photographer: Sakari Viika
        Markku Hakari’s sets 
          and Marja Uusitalo’s period costumes were 
          simple and effective and Kimmo Ruskela provided 
          spectacular lighting. The symbolism of the 
          flooded stage has been mentioned already but 
          two other allusions were highly relevant to 
          the drama. During the orchestral prelude a 
          motionless woman was wrapped slowly in a veil 
          or winding sheet and was carried off into 
          darkness by two dark male figures. And after 
          Katya’s suicide, the cast was caught in a 
          seemingly endless round - dance in front of 
          a flaming orange and red back-drop, like Paolo 
          and Francesca da Rimini in Dante’s outermost 
          circle of hell. Denial of the true self may 
          well be the real sin. 
        Bill Kenny
        Production Details
          
          Conductor: Jirí Belohlávek 
          Direction: Kari Heiskanen
          Set Designs: Markku Hakari
          Costumes: Marja Uusitalo
          Lighting: Kimmo Ruskela
        Cast
        Katya : Karita Mattila
          Marfa Kabanová (Kabanicha) : Livia 
          Budai
          Tikhon: Lassi Virtanen
          Boris: Jyrki Anttila
          Dikoy: Kalevi Olli
          Vanya: Ari Grönthal
          Varvara: Lilli Paasikivi
          Kuligin: Ari Hosio
          Glaša: Kaisa Hanula
          Fekluša: Erja Wimeri
        Wanderer: Pekka Kuukka
          Woman: Irene Parkkinen
          
        Chorus and Orchestra 
          of Finnish National Opera.