Komische Oper, Berlin
Pamina – Adela Zaharia
Tamino – Adrian Strooper
Queen of the Night – Olga
Pudova
Sarastro, Speaker – Alexey
Antonov
Papageno – Tom Erik Lie
Papagena – Julia Giebel
Monostatos – Peter Renz
Three Ladies – Mirka Wagner,
Theresa Kronthaler, Caren von Oijen
Two Armoured Men – Christoph
Späth, Bogdan Talos
Three Boys – Jakob Göpfert,
Laurenz Ströbl, Samuel Baur
Suzanne Andrade and Barrie
Kosky (directors)
Paul Barritt (animation)
Esther Bialas (designs)
Diego Leetz (lighting)
Chorus of the Komische Oper, Berlin (chorus master: David Cavelius)
Orchestra of the Komische Oper, Berlin
Kristiina Poska (conductor)
It seems more difficult to
produce a satisfying Magic Flute than
one might expect, if not nearly so difficult as the case of Don Giovanni. Barrie Kosky and ‘1927’
(Suzanne Andrade and Paul Barritt) come closer than many with this intriguing
‘silent film’ treatment. Doubtless predictably, I think it sells short the
seriousness at the heart of this extraordinary work, but crucially, unlike many
stagings falling into that category, it retains a space for one to think, to
imagine and indeed to think of more serious things oneself. It was a pity that a
sizeable section of the audience, seemingly intent on taking every opportunity
to applaud through the music, did not avail itself of that space, but anyway… In
Kosky’s words, ‘This concentration on images makes it possible for each
spectator of the show to experience very much his own way,’ and to a large extent,
that worked in practice.
In a reworking both radical
and not, the dialogue – at least as dialogue – is dispensed with. Certain
passages, old and new, conversational and explicatory, appear as part of 1927’s
film. Whilst there are losses, and one clearly would not want to experience the
work like this all the time, it is striking how much remains. And whilst
Schikaneder deserves more credit than is often his due – how often one hears
his magical, enabling text belittled! – it is of course for Mozart that we come
to this work. What we see centres upon the 1920s, but is not confined to that
era: associations, some freer than others, are made through what Andrade in a
programme interview describes as ‘a journey through the most diverse fantasy
worlds’. Meanwhile, what do we hear? Music from Mozart’s Fantasias for solo
piano – to add to the post-modernism, on fortepiano. And yet, this somehow
emerges as postmodernism that works. It might sound absurd to have Papageno
dream (instead of his wine) of a pink cocktail, and through his experience to
see pink elephants, but the free association benefits from the conviction of
the ‘original’. It is certainly refreshing to experience the fruits of
imagination as opposed to the mere silliness we often endure.
Musically, the situation was
more mixed. Bonnie Wagner’s fortepiano playing – not in general, my usual
readers will know, a favourite instrument of mine – was excellent: strong yet
yielding, hinting at a larger whole yet imparting particular character to each ‘excerpt’.
Kristiina Poska’s conducting was more problematical, despite generally fine
playing from the orchestra. Most of the first act, from the Overture onwards,
was rushed. Various tempi can work, of course, but the very difficult trick is
to make them work; here, too often, one felt Mozart’s score harried. Matters
settled down in much of the second act, however, and it was a relief to hear a
performance of Pamina’s aria that, whilst certainly not of the Colin Davis
variety, allowed Mozart’s pathos to shine through. Indeed, Adela Zaharia, a
member of the Komische Oper’s Opera Studio, was definitely one of the stars of
the show: hers was a genuinely touching performance. Her Tamino, Adrian
Strooper, had his moments, offering a generally winning earnestness, but
sometimes forced his voice. Tom Erik Lie was a characterful Papageno, hints of
sadness informing even his most ebullient moments. Olga Pudova’s Queen of the
Night did pretty much everything asked of her – often with considerable
sparkle. The Sarastro of Alexey Antonov and Monostatos of Peter Renz were disappointing,
however: the latter often shouting rather than singing, the former woolly of
tone and too often insecure of pitch. The Three Ladies – Mirka Wagner, Theresa
Kronthaler, and Caren van Oijen – were an excellent bunch, however, both
individually and as a group. So were the Three Boys from Tölz: Jakob Göpfert,
Laurenz Ströbl, and Samuel Baur. I am not sure I have heard better. Above all what
impressed here was not only a strong sense of company but also of commitment to
the staging, to the drama as a whole. That is worth a good deal – and the
Komische Oper is strongly to be commended for it.
