Deutsche Oper, Berlin
Turandot – Elisabeth Teige
Altoum – Peter Maus
Calaf – Ragaà Eldin
Liú – Meechot Marrero
Timur – Byung Gil Kim
Ping – Samuel Dale Johnson
Pang – Michael Kim
Pong – Ya-Chung Huang
Mandarin – Patrick Guetti
Prince of Persia – Olli Rantaseppä
(voice), Spyridon Markopoulos (stage)
Two Girls – Alexandra Hutton,
Anna Buslidze
Lorenzo Fioroni (director)
Claudia Gotta (revival
director)
Paul Zoller (set designs and
video)
Katharina Gault (costumes)
Children’s Chorus of the Deutsche Oper (chorus master: Christian Lindhorst)
Chorus of the Deutsche Oper (chorus master: Jeremy Bines)
Orchestra of the Deutsche Oper
Claude Schnitzler (conductor)
Claude Schnitzler (conductor)
 |
| © Bettina Stöß, 2008 |
Having seen and thought well of
Lorenzo Fioroni’s Deutsche Oper production of Turandot five years ago, I was keen once more to make its acquaintance. It did not
disappoint, sadly remaining the only interesting staging I have seen, even though what I took from it this time was
somewhat different this time around: whether from difference in emphasis
onstage or in my reception I am not entirely sure.
The setting is a relatively modern fascist state: perhaps 1970s, on the basis of costumes and flocked wallpaper,
though I am not sure it especially matters beyond not being a regime of Puccini’s
own time. (That would open up interesting possibilities for dealing with orientalism
and downright racism, yet must await another day.) The people, who had never
reminded me so strongly before of those in Boris
Godunov, are kept in check by police brutality; quite who is running the
show remains unclear, though, the Emperor clearly old and frail, and not alone
in that in what seems externally to be a gerontocracy in desperate need of
renewal. Why one woman in the crowd refuses to turn and bow to him is again
never explained: is she deranged, a dissident, or both? She is eventually
beaten into submission. Lack of explanation, though, enables one to draw
connections as one will: of whom, or what, is she a harbinger? Liú in heroic defiance?
Calaf in foolhardiness? Turandot in a hysteria that here strongly characterises
both setting and action? We see Turandot desperately trying to keep things
together both before and during the riddles. And she too must obey something
higher, an initial refusal to concede following defeat met with police on
either side of the stage barring her way.
Marriage of terror and hysteria
is the overriding impression, indeed the true marriage, of which that of Calaf
and Turandot will be but a reflection. It may and should be understood both
politically and psychoanalytically. We see it in the video images of children
unable to sleep prior to ‘Nessun dorma’; we see it in the crowd; we see it in the
deeds of individuals. We see it also in the falling scenery after the interval
(between the two scenes of the second act): the cruelty of a metal frame a
metaphor for society and emotions alike. Liú remains hanging from a noose, a
warning sign to those who might actually attempt to tell, let alone live, the
truth: for her presence, at least that fashion, is also a lie: she was not
hanged, but stabbed by the knife she grabbed and turned on herself. The repellent
nature of Calaf’s victory is underscored by his final deed: moving to embrace
his father, who had been wandering aimlessly before sinking in depression, only
to stab him and, quite without emotion, return to his bride. A theatre of
cruelty indeed.
Not that the commedia dell’arte is neglected, far
from it, whatever the problematical nature of Puccini’s injection of (too
much?) psychological realism into the scenario. (Perhaps the problem lies more
with unsatisfactory performance traditions; a baleful operatic culture that too
often damns Puccini’s operas with box-office-driven productions in mind has much
to answer for.) Whatever the truth of that, the pantomimes performed by Ping,
Pong, and Pang fascinate, enlivening yet ultimately disconcerting in their
mockery. They anticipate, imitate, repeat endless rituals of hope and death that
lie at the heart of this strange yet all too familiar society. Are they tellers
of potentially liberating truths, in which a Turandot in travesty may gently be
mocked? Ultimately not, it seems. Not only are they prisoners too; they, Ping
in particular, participate with relish in the capture and torture of Liú.
Perhaps they are not to blame; how could they act otherwise? (As we know, they
would rather return to the country.) They offer a way of seeing ourselves in
all our contradictions, as well as the other characters onstage. Rightly, they fail
to live up to our delusional expectations.
Both the chorus and orchestra
of the Deutsche Oper were on fine form, clearly relishing the cruel yet often
playful drama of Puccini’s score. Claude Schnitzler led his forces well. If his
direction sometimes seemed a little too hard-driven to begin with, only to
relax a little too much in response, that should not be exaggerated. Harmonies
that might have come from Schoenberg or Debussy were just as much the thing as
Stravinskian rhythm. Puccini’s Italian heart continued to beat below, however sadistic
its dictates. Elisabeth Teige and Ragàa Eldin both took a little time to settle
into their roles as Turandot and Calaf. The former greatly benefited from
relative taming of her vibrato, proceeding to offer a performance of
considerable verbal and musical acuity. Once he had found his balance with the
orchestra, Eldin likewise won his laurels, though he might have sung ‘Nessun
dorma’ a little less as a stand-alone aria. The tragic tenderness of Liú’s
death did great credit to Meechot Marrero, sadistic knife cuts from her
torturer – onstage, that is, as opposed to the composer – rendering it close to
unwatchable. From the rest of the cast, Samuel Dale Johnson’s quicksilver Ping
made one especially keen to see and hear more, but his companions, Michael Kim
and Ya-Chung Huang impressed too, as did Byung Gil Kim’s sonorous Timur. This
was a strong company evening, then, that did credit both to the repertory system
and to this ultimately bizarre and repellent opera.
