Chorus and Orchestra of the Opéra national de Paris
Tomas Netopil
This version of The Tales of Hoffmann, directed by Robert Carsen, was originally staged (for Paris Opera) in 2000, and has been re-staged four times since then, as well as being picked up by La Scala. In addition, a 2002 performance was filmed and is available on DVD, so it wasn't exactly unfamiliar to me. Given some of Carsen's signature concepts – the doppelgänger, mirrors and reflections, theatre-within-theatre – Hoffmann must be considered as possibly the optimal opera for him to stage, because those concepts are actually embodied in the piece. There is no need for him to impose anything that isn't already there on the work, and instead, we are continually reminded of details that can easily escape attention, or be forgotten, such as that Hoffmann – the real Hoffmann – was not just the greatest gothic literary imagination of his age, but also a talented composer, or that there is another story, a fourth tale, embedded in the work alongside the three obvious ones.
Carsen
sets the entire proceedings in and around an imaginary performance of
Don Giovanni – that
referred to in Acts 1 and 5 – in which Stella, the united
personification of the three other women, sings Donna Anna. So the
start and finish are in the theatre bar, Acts 2 and 4 (Olympia and
Giulietta) take place back-stage, looking out, to a greater or lesser
degree, into the auditorium, and Act 3 is set in the orchestra pit,
with the stage visible above it. All the major female protagonists
are blond, and dressed in white, not just the three love-interests,
but Stella, the Muse, and even the invocation of Antonia's mother who
appears, eerily, as a ghostly Donna Anna in some antique production
of Don Giovanni.
Niklausse is a visual carbon-copy of Hoffmann, reinforcing the
doppelgänger idea.
I've seen that particular notion elsewhere, but here it is part of a
concept of a singular degree of cohesiveness, and the production as a
whole is very striking and as effective a setting of a complex piece
of theatre as I've ever seen.
Much
of the cast this 19th
September was unknown to me. The singing was never exactly poor, but
neither Stefano Secco (Hoffmann), nor Franck Ferrari (Lindorf &
Co.) quite set the stage alight. Both seemed a little subdued in
timbre, not under-powered, but lacking that 'ping' at the top of
their respective ranges that really projects the voice outwards, and
therefore depriving the characters of that ultimate degree of
conviction, and you really, really need conviction to carry this
opera. Both of them were at their best in Act 3, the sound more
forward and more confident, with a greater variety of colour.
Ferrari is a solid, reliable bass-baritone with a good stage
presence, though not truly inspired, and it was terribly obvious he
was steeling himself to go for the top note at the end of “Scintille,
diamant”, which was a little funny to see. Secco struck me as
rather bland, though not unpleasing – I was somewhat reminded of
Frank Lopardo, who I've always considered as a terribly boring tenor
– but it's the first time I've seen or heard this singer, so I'll
leave the verdict open on him for the time being.
Things were very
much better on the ladies' side. Kate Aldrich was perhaps the
(relatively) weakest link. Although the voice is attractive, she
never seemed quite comfortable with the role. Carsen chose the
familiar Choudens edition but with the Oeser additions that
considerably expand the role of Nicklausse/the Muse, including, above
all, the sublime “Vois sous l'archet frémissant”, but Aldrich
never entered fully into the spirit of the moment, and left a rather
neutral impression. Jane Archibald was the funny and manic Olympia,
looking as if she was enjoying every second of it, and singing her
coloratura with truly impressive precision and ease. Sophie Koch was
both haughty and voluptuous as Giulietta, while Ana Maria Martinez
was a touchingly vulnerable Antonia. All three of them sang
extremely well, a real pleasure to hear casting of such a consistent
and high standard.
On
the negative side, however, I have to say a word about the casting of
Antonia's Mother. This character is supposed to have died at the
height of her career as an operatic superstar. She's meant to
have had a magnificent vocal talent, which was passed on to her
daughter, as well as a fatal illness. If that's the case, why on
earth do so many theatres cast third-rate mezzos, often at the end of
their careers, in the part? Antonia's Mother should be a 'signpost'
role, something like Barberina in Nozze.
Normally, when casting Barberina, the house is saying, “This is
the newest bright young thing, she is going to be a star in a few
more years.” To be fair to Paris Opera, their candidate was not
precisely in the 'useless and/or past-it' category, but she was not
much better. It
really should be possible to cast Antonia's Mother in such a way as
to spare us hearing the magnificent opening of that final trio sung
with an unsteady tone and a vibrato wide enough to drive a bus
through.
The
orchestra and chorus performed very well, with good detail and
colour, but I felt that the conductor, Tomas Netopil, was perhaps not
quite giving enough attention to what was going on on-stage, which
would explain the sensation of detachment I got at times, as well as
one very bad glitch, in the “Trio des flacons”
of the Munich act, which went very audibly astray in its final
section. So the final impression is a little equivocal; very fine
female leads, for the most part, a good standard for everything else,
but a less than complete commitment to the work as a whole. It's a
version of the Tales
that deserves, and has had, better.
[Next: 24th September]
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