Royal Festival Hall
(concert performance)
Jenůfa – Adriana Kohútková
Kostelnička Buryjovka – Karita MattilaŠteva Buryja – Jaroslav Březina
Laca Klemen – Aleš Briscein
Stárek – Svatopluk Sem
Stařenka Buryjovka – Yvona Škvárová
Karolka – Lucie Silkenová
Rychtář – Jana Hrochová
Jano – Marta Reichelová
Pastruchyňa, Barena – Kateriňa Keněžiková
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| Images: Petr Kadlec Adriana Kohútková (Jenůfa) |
Some people, it seems, are
never satisfied. (Is that a tu quoque
which I hear before me? Surely not.) I heard a few people during one of the two
intervals during this wonderful Jenůfa
lament that this was not a staged performance and therefore could not do the
work justice. Well, if you felt that strongly about it, you might perhaps have considered
not going… I actually very much enjoy many concert performances: not as a
substitute, nor indeed as the ‘same thing’. They have their own virtues, not
least the greater ability to hear the orchestra – no negligible thing, when the
orchestra in question is the Czech Philharmonic. At the risk of sounding unduly
reactionary, I also like on occasion not to be distracted by an inadequate
production; that, of course, is an argument against inadequate productions,
rather than staging as such, but let us leave that now for another day.
For me, perhaps the greatest
single virtue of this particular performance was the playing of the Czech
Philharmonic. I think this might actually be the first time I have had
opportunity to hear this great orchestra ‘in the flesh’; it is difficult to
imagine that I could readily have forgotten a previous encounter. What
surprised me somewhat was that it did not sound quite so much as I had expected
from (largely old) recordings. Its golden sound actually sounded to me in many
respects more Viennese than Czech (or at least Moravian, for this is of course
a Bohemian band). The beauty of the strings had to be heard to be believed;
this was not unlike the Vienna Philharmonic on a good day (perhaps in the
celebrated Janáček recordings under Charles Mackerras), or even the nearby
Staatskapelle Dresden. Horns, likewise, seemingly straight out of Tannhäuser, perhaps via Bamberg. And the
delectable woodwind solos would have graced any orchestra in the world, whilst
retaining a sense of that most contentious of ‘national’ or ‘regional’ claims:
rootedness in place.
None of that, however, was ‘mere’
beauty. What struck me about what I heard from all sections and all instruments
of the orchestra, as well as the ensemble as a whole, was how, under Jiří
Bělohlávek’s wise, intelligent, loving direction, what little I know (mostly
from Janáček’s music!) of Czech speech rhythms truly seemed to ‘speak’ in the orchestra
as well as in the vocal line. Just as much as Mussorgsky, this was instrumental
recitative and arioso brought to lyrical life. Bělohlávek’s tempi were varied,
with plenty of time for relaxation as well as for pressing on; above all they
sounded ‘natural’.
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| Karita Mattila and |
That bringing to lyrical life to
which I referred was also much to be heard from a fine cast. The sheer goodness
of Jenůfa’s soul – a Czech Hardy, I often think, in this work – was to be heard
in Adriana Kohútková’s performance. The compassion this Jenůfa had in abundance
was ultimately to be repaid. Jaroslav Březina’s initially swaggering Steva had its
subtleties too. His was an admirably balanced portrayal, in which this listener
at least felt no need of a staging. Likewise Aleš Briscein’s Laca, whose
initial petulance was but the start of a development of character with which we
could truly sympathise. What singing, ‘purely’ as singing too! The Puccinian
element of the relationship between Laca and Jenůfa was apparent, but so was
the difference of Janáček: no sadism here. Karita Mattila’s Kostelnička was
earth-shattering, an extraordinary move from the title-role (she was my first
Jenůfa, in Bernard Haitink’s magnificent Royal Opera performances). There is no
denying Mattila’s ‘star quality’: when she stands, let alone when she sings,
everyone in the hall will sit up. This, however, was a deeply felt performance,
too, the richness of her voice again the quintessence of compassionate
humanity. Yvona Škvárová's Stařenka seemed less a portrayal than an inhabition. Indeed, all of the roles, however ‘small’ or large, were very well taken: a
lesson to opera houses of the incalculable blessings of a real sense of ‘company’.
To round things off, the choral singing, from the Czech Philharmonic Choir of
Brno, was outstanding: here, perhaps was something a little rougher than what
we had heard in the orchestra, even, dare I say it, more Moravian.
