The Kirov Opera of the Mariinsky Theater in St. Petersburg chose to bring two 20th-century works to the 2001 Melbourne Festival, one from the Russian repertoire and one by Richard Strauss. It might be thought that they had deliberately chosen two powerful and confrontational works, both influenced by the French Symbolist movement, which explore the darker recesses of female sexuality. However, the reason for choosing these operas appears to be an antipodean connection: both productions were originally directed by Sydney-born David Freeman.
andante readers will be aware that the world situation led to logistical difficulties in getting the Kirov forces from St. Petersburg to Melbourne: in order not to fly over Afghanistan, they had to re-route via Vladivostok, Manila and Darwin, while conductor Valery Gergiev came by yet another route via Beijing. The troupe turned up in Melbourne at 1 pm on Thursday 11 October, with a projected 8 pm curtain for The Fiery Angel.
Prokofiev: The Fiery Angel
(sung in Russian with English surtitles)
Mlada Khudolei (soprano) - Renata
Fyodor Mozhaev (baritone) - Ruprecht
Fyodor Kuznetsov (bass) - Inquisitor
Konstantin Pluzhnikov (tenor) - Mephistopheles
Nikolai Gassiev (tenor) - Agrippa von Nettesheim
Lyubov Sokolova (contralto) - Mother Superior
Svetlana Volkova (contralto) - Landlady
Vladimir Zhivopistsev (tenor) - Jakob Glock
Nadezhda Vasilieva (mezzo-soprano) - Fortuneteller
Grigory Karasev (bass) - Servant
Valery Lebed (tenor) - Doctor Lecar
Yuri Laptev (tenor) - Matthias Wissman
Kirov Opera Chorus,
supported by Royal Melbourne Philharmonic Choir (male chorus)
Kirov Opera Orchestra
Valery Gergiev (conductor)
David Freeman (orginal director)
Thursday 11 October 2001
State Theatre, Victorian Arts Centre, Melbourne
Presented by the 2001 Melbourne Festival
This
powerhouse work was
composed between 1919 and 1923 but not performed in its entirety until 1954, a year after Prokofiev's death. Given its provocative subject matter, it is not surprising that it found a more welcoming audience in the latter part of the twentieth century. Although it is based on a novel by the 19th-century Russian author Valery Bryusov — and contains many autobiographical elements — the opera is set in 16th-century Germany. The pre-Enlightenment setting allows the incorporation of black magic and demonic possession as plot elements: they function metaphorically in delineating the unstable, sexually manipulative nature of the central character, Renata, a girl who makes Carmen look like a dedicated homebody. It also enables walk-on parts for Dr. Faust and Mephistopheles as well as a climactic scene in a nunnery with an attempted exorcism by the Inquisitor.
It is never clear whether we are intended to see Renata's demons as real or as products of her imagination. This, of course, recalls Henry James' and Benjamin Britten's Turn of the Screw. Yet in this case it might be argued that Renata's devotion to her fiery angel, who turned from her in adolescence when she sought a carnal union with him, represents a commitment to the sexual life in a society hemming her in with restrictions and condemnation.
After the company's protracted journey, the curtain rose an hour late, at 9 pm. The Festival director invited the audience's indulgence, but this was quite unnecessary as far as the orchestral playing was concerned. From the first note, the Kirov players under the tireless Gergiev played like angels (or perhaps demons), producing a compelling stream of muscular sound that did not let up in intensity or accuracy from beginning to end.
The simple but serviceable sets had rather a shabby look about them, but whether or not this was due to their late arrival is unknown. In Act I, the rooming house where the knight Ruprecht encounters the apparently demon-haunted Renata is effectively represented by wooden corners with doors standing for complete rooms. The Act III town site is made up of painted flats indicating buildings; a row of trees indicates the outdoor setting of the duel. In the final act, the convent setting is really suggested only by the presence of nuns. The most striking effect is created by the presence of nine demons — bald, almost naked dancers covered with something resembling pipe clay who advance and retreat on Renata according to how susceptible she is at any given moment to their possession.
Mlada Khudolei as Renata was simply devastating. With her powerful, thrilling and accurate soprano, she inhabited this role as one born for it. Young and beautiful enough to win anyone's heart, she also convinced with her portrayal of Renata's alternating pathos, vindictiveness, intensity and sheer sexual ferocity. Here is surely one of the Russian stars of the 21st century.
Unfortunately the other principals lagged somewhat in comparison. Fyodor Mozhaev was rather deficient in vocal and personal charisma, which made for an unbalanced personal dynamic at the heart of the story. Given the circumstances, however, it might be overly optimistic to expect equal brilliance on every front; the overall impact of the performers, taken as an ensemble, was strong. Konstantin Pluzhnikov as Mephistopheles deserves special mention for his crystalline tenor and his obvious familiarity with this relatively small role; he certainly made a meal of it (as he did of the tavern boy).
The last act of The Fiery Angel consists of a battle between the Inquisitor and the apparent forces of evil: he attempts to drive out the demons while the nuns successively succumb to their blandishments, gradually removing their habits — all of the women bald and some ending up quite naked. This culminates in a stunning scene of demons and writhing, chanting nuns in various stages of undress surrounding the tall, red-robed figure of the Inquisitor as he delivers his exorcism, ending in his denunciation of Renata as one who has had intercourse with the Devil and condemning her to death at the stake. As the Inquisitor intones the final sentence, Renata, her shaven head revealed but still clothed, is lifted up in what appears to be a state of transfiguration; from the back, a strong golden light shines forth, no doubt representing her fiery angel and possibly indicating her fiery death to come.
Strauss: Salome
(sung in German with English surtitles)
Valeria Stenkina (soprano) - Salome
Nikolai Gassiev (tenor) - Herod
Evgeny Nikitin (baritone) - Jokanaan
Yulia Gertseva (mezzo-soprano) - Herodias
Leonid Zakhozhaev (tenor) - Narraboth
Lyubov Sokolova (contralto) - Page
Kirov Opera Orchestra
Valery Gergiev (conductor)
David Freeman (original director)
Saturday 13 October 2001
State
Theatre, Victorian Arts Centre, Melbourne
Presented by the 2001
Melbourne Festival
More thwarted sexual
passion, more nakedness, more powerful 20th-century music — all were on offer in the Kirov's second opera at the Melbourne Festival. Salome is a far better-known work than The Fiery Angel and is, in some ways,
much less complex. Certainly Salome's story is more straightforward in a narrative
sense, but its depiction of female sexuality is considerably darker, despite its
often more lyrical music.
The Kirov production is by and large a conventional one: an archway with a fountain visible through it serves as the entrance to the palace; a large grating on a pile of rocks at center stage represents the cistern within which Jokanaan is imprisoned. Costumes are also reasonably conventional and portray the Jews, Romans, Syrians and Egyptians lurking around Herod's court. A backdrop shows the night sky, with stars, clouds and a silver moon. As the opera progresses, the moon swells, becomes obscured by clouds and finally appears as a huge, blood-red orb.
The Dance of the Seven Veils was a decidedly odd affair. The members and servants of the court were all blindfolded, except for Herodias and Salome's servant, and Herod's hands were tied behind his back; he and Herodias then sat with their backs to the audience. Salome drank some sort of potion — in the program, there is a reference to her dance as "an ancient trance ritual." She then changed behind a screen held up by her (male) servant, emerging in a feathery skirt (like the servant's) and naked from the waist up apart from strings of beads. Rather than an actual dance, she ran around the stage several times, being brought up short on each circuit by her servant. At the climax of the "dance," she discarded the skirt and fell back on the cistern quite naked. Salome's servant then clothed her in a simple white shift, designed to make the most of the voluminous amounts of blood which later fall on it from Jokanaan's severed head.
This is obviously a demanding production for the lead singer, and soprano Valeria Stenkina certainly made the most of it dramatically — and had the intensity (and the body) to carry it off. But her voice left something to be desired: she displayed a vibrato of alarming proportions that did not hew strictly to the pitch. Indeed, as with The Fiery Angel, while the company worked well as an ensemble, individual voices did not impress overall. Evgeny Nitikin's voice was a surprisingly light baritone for the role of Jokanaan — where have all those resonant deep Russian voices gone? Nikolai Gassiev was rather a jolly Herod, not quite the usual heavy-breathing sleazoid, with a nice ringing tenor; Herodias also was rather younger and more glamorous than is often the case.
Gergiev and the orchestra again carried the day. Their playing brought out all the nuances of the score, from the sensuous lyricism of the opening to the decadent discord of Salome's triumph. If this is how the Kirov plays with jet lag due to international turmoil, it must be amazing to hear them on a good day. Or perhaps, as Gergiev is reported to have said (in Melbourne's newspaper, The Age), "the more difficult circumstances are, the more people are likely to give their best".
