Schillertheater
King Dodon – Alexander Roslavets
Prince Guidon – Pavel Valuzhin
Prince Aphron – Hubert Zapiór
General Polkan – Alexander Vassiliev
Amelfa – Margarita Nekrasova
Golden Cockerel – Julia Muzychenko, Daniel Daniela Ojeda Yrureta
Queen of Shemakha – Kseniia Proshina
Astrologer – James Kryshak
First Boyar – Taiki Miyashita
Second Boyar – Jan-Frank Süße
Dancers – Michael Fernandez, Lorenzo Soragni, Silvano Marraffa, Kai Chun Chung
Assistant director – Denni Sayers
Set design – Rufus Didwiszus
Costumes – Victoria Behr
Choreography – Otto Pichler
Dramaturgy – Olaf A. Schmitt, Meike Lieser
Lighting – Franck Evin
Orchestra and Chorus of the Komische Oper (chorus director: David Cavelius)
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| Images: Monika Rittershaus |
Two productions, very different, of Rimsky-Korsakov’s last opera, The Golden Cockerel, within two years: James Conway for English Touring Opera, which I saw in Hackney, and now Barrie Kosky’s new production for Berlin’s Komische Oper in its temporary home in Charlottenburg. Both are experienced, though neither was planned, in the wake of the Russian invasion of Ukraine, ETO’s first night less than a fortnight after, the Komische Oper’s second night falling as we approach the two-year anniversary (although intended for 2020 and thwarted by the coronavirus pandemic). Rimsky’s satire on tsarist power and Russian imperialism in the wake of the Russo-Japanese war could hardly be more topical, then, and it would be difficult, indeed perverse, to banish thoughts of today’s King Dodon from our minds completely. In neither production, though, were such ideas first and foremost—and that is arguably a good thing. Spelling out so clearly rarely is, though there will always be exceptions. ‘Rimsky in Hackney’ gave a good introduction to the piece and played fruitfully with ideas of orientalism. Though necessarily given in a reduced orchestration, that proved surprisingly – for a composer and score for whom orchestral colour are so crucial – little of a problem. A dated English translation, replete with ‘amusing’ rhyming couplets, offered more of a barrier. This Cockerel, given in Russian, in full, and in excellent style by James Gaffigan, the Orchestra of the Komische Oper, and a fine cast of singers, took a different turn in Kosky’s production, which initially had me feel a little dissatisfied. However, the more I considered it, the more it grew on me.
What is missing? Russia, orientalism, and the ‘fantastic’ colour associated with them, though certainly not fantasy itself; and most of the politics too. There is nothing wrong with including the former trio; there is every reason to do so. We can live without them, though, for they will never disappear from what we hear—and all of them benefit from or rather, in today’s climate, demand something in the way of deconstruction. The politics are perhaps more of a problem—or were for me. Surely a satire on war and power stands in a curious position if little attention is granted either? Yes and no, though to start with my answer, doubtless as someone strongly inclined toward political theatre, would definitely have been ‘yes’. Instead, taking his leave from the Astrologer’s claim – a deft way of dealing with the censor, who nonetheless refused to approve the opera – that this was only a fairy tale whose characters he had brought to life, Kosky treats this all as Dodon’s dream.
A cop out, you might say: one of the most
tired devices in children’s, let alone adults’, writing. And yes, most of us
will have felt cheated at, say, the end of John Masefield’s The Box of
Delights, though things become more complex when we read it in the light of
The Midnight Folk, which is not a dream. Here the spur is to
consider the work more psychoanalytically. If this is a fairy tale, the dream
permits a more erotic but also a more absurdist turn. Rufus Didwiszus’s designs
disdains a palatial world of gilt for a landscape that might be a setting for Waiting
for Godot; Dodon’s clowning and dishevelment owe something to that world
too. Victoria Behr’s costumes are crucial here too: Dodon remains the same, but
all around him change, delineating stages of the dream-drama as much as character,
arguably more so. It would hardly be a Kosky production without someone in
fishnets; here the King’s men are horses on top and cabaret artists below. Some
might complain we have seen it all before, and perhaps we have, but within this
framework it makes sense.
Kosky also makes excellent sense of the second act – as did Gaffigan – which I
see I found ‘over-extended’ in Hackney. It arguably sits less well with a
political interpretation and, without something else, might seem oddly
unwarranted. Such a thought never occurred to me on this occasion; indeed, my
thoughts on occasion turned to Kundry’s revelations to Parsifal in the second
act of that opera, an example certainly well known to Rimsky. The Queen of
Shemakha becomes Dodon’s wish-fulfilment, and thus – in a twist of the final
revelation when the Astrologer owns that only he and the Queen were ‘real’ – an
impossible male fantasy, a siren who cannot exist. I wonder whether there might
be room for both, and doubtless there can, but perhaps then I might be
complaining of a lack of focus. This opens up possibilities rather than closing
them, and for that, as well as Kosky’s clear attention to the fact that this is
a musical drama, with an orchestral score and vocal parts that demand dramatic
attention, we should certainly be grateful. Likewise for the sense of mystery
that attends certain shifts, not least in presentation of the ‘people’, be they
shadowy or downright oddball. A framework is provided, but there is no attempt
to dot every ‘i’ and cross every ‘t’. Dreams may or may not ‘mean’ something;
that remains in large part up to us. They will nevertheless certainly signify,
if never quite representing, wishes and fears—which may be amenable to stronger
political interpretation for tsars then and now. Note the Queen’s skilled troupe
of dancing boys, but also the stark image of the King's sons hanging from a tree, all for a ruler whose principal skill seems to be tilting at windmills.
Gaffigan’s command of colour, rhythm, structure, and harmony are superb, revealing this as a truly incisive score with multiple interpretative – dramatic, as well as ‘purely’ musical – challenges of its own. The orchestra was on terrific form throughout: important, I think, to underline, given the tendency to think of this company’s values being more on the ‘theatrical’ side. In truth, any opera company that does not bear witness to the multifaceted nature of the genre will not get very far: no one goes to see an opera without music, and if some reactionaries may claim to prefer to close their eyes, their manufactured outrage gives the lie to that. Motifs imprinted themselves in the memory, as did rhythms, timbres, and their combination. Sometimes – often – this drew us in, but it could distance us too: not exactly Verfremdung, but certainly an advantageous framing to the framing of our fairy tale.
Equally important to that and so much
else was the excellent cast. On stage almost the whole time for a two-hour-plus
performance without an interval, Alexander Roslavets gave a towering
performance as King Dodon. It is not an easy thing to bring a plodding, in many
ways unimpressive character to musical life, but that Roslavets certainly did, granting
him sympathy as well as absurdity, through equal concentration on words, music,
and gesture. Kseniia Proshina’s Queen of Shemakha offered old-style stardom,
partly ‘straight’, partly in inverted commas, and pristine command of all the
vocal challenges Rimsky threw at her. James Kryshak’s Astrologer trod a fine
line between sympathetic and almost frighteningly unsympathetic, and emerged
all the stronger for it. Margarita Nekrasova’s deep, unerringly ‘Russian’ mezzo,
as near a contralto as made no odds, was just the thing for the
housekeeper-turned-regent Amelfa. Julia Muzychenko brought the Cockerel itself
to vivid vocal life, in a fine partnership with Daniel Daniela Ojeda Yrureta’s
onstage performance, which offered plentiful malice and ambiguity. As ever,
there was a fine sense of company, these singers and their colleagues all contributing
to the greater whole. What did it mean? What, indeed?
