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| Images: Monika Rittershaus Frau Fluth (Mandy Friedrich) and Frau Reich (Michaela Schuster) |
Sir John Falstaff – René Pape
Herr Fluth – Michael Volle
Herr Reich – Wilhelm
Schwinghammer
Fenton – Pavol Breslik
Junker Spärlich – Linard
Vrielink
Dr Cajus – David Oštrek
Frau Fluth – Mandy Friedrich
Frau Reich – Michaela Schuster
Jungfer Anna Reich – Anna
Prohaska
First Citizen – Javier Bernando
David Bösch (director)
Patrick Bannwart (set designs)
Falko Herold (costumes)
Michael Bauer (lighting)
Detlef Giese (dramaturgy)
Staatsopernchor Berlin (chorus master: Martin Wright)
Staatskapelle Berlin
Daniel Barenboim (conductor)
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| René Pape (Sir John Falstaff) and Chorus |
No one would seriously claim
Shakespeare’s Merry Wives of Windsor to
be a masterpiece; the only question, it seems, is whether one might
occasionally bear it. In that sense – and probably a few others – it is riper
for conversion into opera than a play that stands in no ‘need’ of it. Verdi’s Falstaff has its devotees; if you like
that sort of thing, then that is doubtless the sort of thing you will like.
Otto Nicolai’s opera, for better or worse, stands closer to the play, for
better, and is rarely seen on stage. All credit, then, to the Staatsoper Unter
den Linden for resurrecting it for the first new production of the season, with
a cast that can rarely have been matched, let alone bettered, and with Daniel
Barenboim, no less, in the pit.
Barenboim’s direction prove
sure and loving, the warmth of the Staatskapelle Berlin’s response, both to him
and Nicolai’s score, exemplary. I cannot imagine that he or (m)any members of
the orchestra had performed it before. (Its last outing on Unter den Linden had
been three decades previously, in 1989: an apt anniversary, given that the new
premiere took place, as seems now to have become customary, on the Day of
German Unity.) There was certainly a sense of fresh discovery, but also,
equally important, one of grounding in the fertile musical soil from which it
had sprung. From the (relatively) celebrated overture onwards, the strings
offered a lighter, more golden tone than one often one hears from this band:
more Vienna than Berlin, one might say, and not inappropriately so for a
composer formerly based in the Austrian capital and who somewhat reluctantly departed
for its Prussian counterpart, at Frederick William IV’s invitation, only in
order to have his new Singspiel, Die lustigen Weiber von Windsor
performed. As one of Nicolai’s many illustrious successors at the Linden house,
Barenboim seemed to relish equally the composer’s debts to Mozart, Beethoven,
Mendelssohn, Weber, and Rossini, among others. Indeed, the correspondences with
early Wagner – we might, perhaps, think this more convincing than Das Liebesverbot, if unquestionably less
so than Die Feen – had me wish
Barenboim would at last conduct one of the pre-Dutchman operas. Orchestral detail from the early German Romantics,
form from the acknowledged masters of opera
buffa – if tending more towards Rossini’s formalism than Mozart’s dynamism –
and occasional hints of Fidelio and perhaps
even Beethoven’s orchestral writing: there are worse mixes, far worse.
If you were expecting a ‘but’,
you were not wrong. Nicolai, following ETA Hoffmann, described his work as a ‘comical,
fantastical opera’. I suppose it is, if not of uniform success. Ultimately, it
is difficult to say that the score, or indeed the opera as a whole, progresses
beyond that. Its dramaturgy is somewhat weak, without much or anything in the
way of characterisation. Mozart casts a heavy shadow, of course, but the action
and humour, such as it is, remain situational and formalistic. Salomon Hermann’s
libretto might profitably have distanced itself further from Shakespeare.
Still, there are plenty of operas with unsatisfactory libretti and/or
dramaturgy. We are not speaking of catastrophes such as Euryanthe or Oberon; nor, however, are we speaking of such scores. This, perhaps, is where a radical
production might save the day – except, alas, it did not.
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| Junker Spärlich (Lienard Vrielink), Jungfer Anna Reich (Anna Prohaska), Fenton (Pavol Breslik), Dr Cajus (David Oštrek) |
Save for updating, David Bösch’s
production probably does too little. Some might say it does too much, not least
with respect to the dialogue. Whatever the truth of that, this does not seem a
happy medium. It is difficult to see what is gained, other than avoidance of
folksiness – thank goodness for that – from the transposition of the action to
what seems to be social housing with a swimming pool (!) Transformations are
effected where required. The final scene, in Windsor Park, offers genuine fairy
magic, alongside knowing awareness of that transformation. More of that, read
back into the frankly laboured earlier comedy, would have been welcome. Bösch
picks up on the verbal motif of Sekt
and drunkenness, but surely most directors would. Otherwise, we are left with
the ‘jokes’ of René Pape in a fat suit, two of the men, Junker Spärlich and Dr
Cajus, donning tutus and falling for each other, and women getting the better
of their menfolk. The latter victory is of course, a mainstay of comedy, but something
more of a critical stance is surely needed at this stage. Or perhaps not: much
of the audience seemed to love it. There are worse outcomes than that, far worse.
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| Dr Cajus, Frau Fluth, Sir John Falstaff |
Given the quality of vocal and
stage performances, they could be forgiven for that. Pape’s Sir John Falstaff
is not nearly so central a role as some might expect, Nicolai and his
librettist remaining true to the opera’s title. That said, he and Michael Volle,
as Herr Fluth (Ford), offered a winning combination of vocal excellence and
lightness of touch, Volle the more natural comedic actor. (If you want to see
Pape draped in a shapeless white dress and bonnet, impersonating the old woman of Brentford, now is
nevertheless your opportunity.) The greater interest, though, is surely allotted
the womenfolk and Fenton. None of them disappointed; indeed, all excelled.
Mandy Friedrich and Michaela Schuster’s fine match of stage presence,
coloratura, and vocal security proved just the thing, in every respect. Insofar
as one could be moved by the drama of characters, it would surely have been by
the delightful duo of Anna Prohaska and Pavol Breslik, the former – speaking,
uniquely, in German and English –
presenting a performance of typical acuity and musicality, the latter ardent
even beyond expectations. In their high-spirited, yet ultimately touching, parody
of Romeo and Juliet, work, performances, and production surely reached their
high point. All singers, however, deserved thanks for fine performances, so too
the chorus.
As for Nicolai, it would be of
interest to hear more of his music, not least to gain a broader impression.
Reputations resting on a single work can often mislead. Ulrich Konrad’s New Grove article on the composer
mentions, for instance, an 1832 ‘Baroque style’ Te Deum, which sounds, on the face of that description, rather
different from this opera, a work of no mean historical importance. Its
overture is charming, and deserves to be heard more often than is the case
nowadays. A production willing to press further, to interrogate the work and
its possibilities, indeed to create possibilities beyond those immanent, may
yet provide us with a more compelling piece of theatre. It certainly offered
opportunities, well taken, for fine singing: well appreciated, it seemed, by
the audience and the singers themselves. I cannot help but think, however, that
Nicolai’s ultimate legacy will remain his founding of the Vienna Philharmonic
concerts a few years earlier. There are worse legacies than that, far worse.
