Prince Igor and Die Fledermaus, Vienna Volksoper, 25 and 30 June 2017

Volksoper

Prince Igor – Davide Damiani

Prince Galitsky – Martin Winkler
Vladimir Igorevich – Vincent Schirrmacher
Skula – Daniel Ohlenchläger
Yeroshka – David Sitka
Yaroslavna – Melba Ramos
Konchakovna – Annely Peebo
Ovlur – Jeffrey Treganza
Khan Konchak – Sorin Coliban
Boyar – Levente Szöke
 
Thomas Schulte-Michels (director, set designs)
Renate Schmitzer (costumes)
Teresa Rotemberg (choreography)
Christoph Wagner-Trenkwitz (dramaturgy)
Angela Schweiger (Abendspielleitung)

 

Gabriel von Eisenstein – Jörg Schneider
Rosalinde – Ulrike Steinsky
Adele – Anja-Nina Bahrmann
Ida – Klaudia Nagy
Dr Falke – Daniel Ochoa
Prince Orlofsky – Martina Mikelić
Alfred – Szabolcs Brickner
Prince’s Manservant – Heinz Fitzka
Frank – Daniel Ohlenschläger
Boris Eder – Frosch
Dr Blind – Christian Drescher
 

Heinz Zednik (Szenische Neueinstudierung)

Pantellis Dessyllas (set designs)
Doris Engl (costumes)
Evelyn Frank (original sketches)
Lili Clemente, Susanne Kirnbauer (choreography)
Karin Schynol-Korbay (Abendspeilleitung)

Youth Chorus (chours master: Lucio Golino), Chorus, and Additional Chorus of the Vienna Volksoper (chorus masters: Thomas Böttcher and Holger Kristen)

Vienna State Ballet

Orchestra of the Vienna Volksoper

Vienna State Opera Stage Orchestra

Alfred Eschwé (conductor)

 

As my time in Vienna drew to a close, I was lucky enough to make two visits to the Volksoper. I thought it might be interesting to treat the two evenings together, very different though they were, not least since the differences were not always what I had expected they might be. In the blue corner stood Borodin’s Prince Igor, new last year to the house, and thus still operating in the shadow of its premiere; in the red stood Die Fledermaus, this production alone, so it would seem, receiving its 499^th (!) performance.

I say ‘it would seem’, since I was a little unsure what was intended by crediting Heinz Zednik – yes, that Heinz Zednik – with ‘Szenische Neueinstudierung’, without naming a director. No matter, anyway. This is a straightforward staging, with little attempt to mine any Freudian undertones – how I wish Christopher Alden’s attempt at ENO had been better accomplished – but that is not what it is ‘for’, rightly or wrongly. It clearly brings in a large number of visitors, and actually has English titles (for the sung passages, the dialogue making do with brief summaries), whereas German titles are the norm for the German-language performances on other evenings: for instance, for Fürst Igor. In such a show – for that is essentially what this Fledermaus is – much, then, depends on the acting of the performers, and members of this cast were undoubtedly inside their roles. It is perhaps more akin to The Mousetrap than to contemporary theatre, but for a more general audience, which this undoubtedly attracts, it is an attractive way in. (Not that, for the moment, I am suggesting it is the only way in, far from it.) I do wish productions did not encourage over-acting to the nth degree by whoever plays Frosch, but there we are. The dancers of the Vienna State Ballet looked and moved beautifully; it was truly a joy to watch – and indeed to hear – their Johann Strauss waltzes and polkas. (At the ghastly New Year’s Concert – does anyone still watch that? – a little goes a long way indeed.) The one more overtly directorial touch sits a little oddly, I thought. Yes, Orlofsky is clearly a bit of an oddball, to put it mildly. But does that mean he must be gay? I tend to think he either needs more queering – the work too – or to be left alone; here, such treatment seems at best dated, at worst, something, well, worse…

 

Fürst Igor, by contrast, is a bit all over the place as a staging. That is partly the work, of course, insofar as one can consider it a ‘work’ at all. This almost new staging, by Thomas Schulte-Michels, comes across as unsure of what it is trying to accomplish (not helped, I admit, by decidedly peculiar choreography). Perhaps there is something to be said for treating the opera as a series of barely connected tableaux, but if so, it probably needs framing as such more clearly. Here, we have a more or less ‘stand and sing’ Prologue, followed by a bizarrely Orientalist first act in the Polotsvian camp. I assume, or hope, the latter were intended ironically, but without that framing it is difficult to tell. Following the interval, the second act, what we should have expected to be the first, seems to be from an entirely different production: full of violence and debauchery, much more contemporary – to us – in its visual impression at least. The third and fourth acts attempt, it seems, some sort of synthesis, which I presume to be the point. I should like to have been convinced more than I was. In the end, it made me appreciate just how extraordinary Dmitri Tcherniakov’s achievement at the Met had been, welding this problematical opera into searing, coherent drama. The comparison is doubtless unfair, but another – with the ultra-repertory Fledermaus – would not be in this staging’s favour either.

 

In both cases, the orchestra, under the same conductor, Alfred Eschwé, was excellent. Without bowing to Viennese operetta nativism, one can probably say that there is something to playing this music so often that can help – although equally, it could lead to something drearily routine, which it did not. Eschwé’s conducting of Die Fledermaus was no more interventionist than the staging, but it carried the action along well, and charmed, without ever hinting at sentimentality. If there were times when I might have liked something a little more yielding in Prince Igor, especially at certain tricky corners, there was a great awareness of colour throughout, and the orchestra came across as enthralled by the opportunity to play such music. Choral singing was excellent too.

 

If there were a stronger sense of company acting in Die Fledermaus, there would be, really, given the nature of the enterprise. Ulrike Steinsky (a former Adele herself) made for an elegant Rosalinde, Anja-Nina Bahrmann a characterful Adele, offering pinpoint precision in both pitch and timing. Jörg Schneider was somewhat hammy as Eisenstein, but Szabolcs Brickner afforded a degree more self-awareness – not too much – as Alfred; he has a fine tenor voice too. Martina Mikelić’s depth of tone as Orlofsky made me keen to hear her in other, deeper repertoire. Daniel Ohlenschläger, the one singer common to both casts, impressed equally as Frank and as Skula. His double-act with David Sitka’s Yeroshka had more than a hint of the mendicant menace in Boris Godunov to it. Davide Damiani’s Igor was well sung and capably acted. I should have loved to see what he might have made of a more coherent staging; likewise Martin Winkler as Galitsky. Melba Ramos tugged on the heartstrings as Yaroslavna. Annely Peebo and Sorin Coliban also stood out vocally. Much to enjoy then, and not a little on which to reflect.

Die Fledermaus, English National Opera, 30 September 2013

Coliseum

(sung in English)

Gabriel von Eisenstein – Tom Randle

Rosalinde – Julia Sporsén
Frank – Andrew Shore
Prince Orlofsky – Jennifer Holloway
Alfred – Edgaras Montvidas
Dr Falke – Richard Burkhard
Dr Blind – Simon Butteriss
Adele – Rhian Lois
Ida – Lydia Marchione
Frosch – Jan Pohl

Christopher Alden (director)

Allen Moyer (set designs)
Constance Hoffman (costumes)
Paul Palazzo (lighting)

Chorus of the English National Opera (chorus master: Martin Fitzpatrick)

Orchestra of the English National Opera

Eun Sun Kim (conductor)

 

 

Champagne is constantly evoked in the libretto of Die Fledermaus, an all-too-ready explanation for the events that have taken place or are to follow. As Prince Orlofsky sings, ‘Champagner, König aller Weine! Hoch die sprudelnde Majestät und ihre Untertanen!’ or, as Frank ruefully comments, ‘Der verdammte Champagner!’ We could have done with a few more bubbles here, especially following the interval.

 

The ultimate question, then, is: what is it that falls a little flat? It is not always easy to put one’s finger on it; by the same token, there are a good few things to admire, so it is perhaps better to put off that question a little longer. As implied above, the first act is on the whole rather fun and indeed much of the rest of the production makes one think. (That is a red rag to the bull of a certain self-satisfied variety of opera-goer, let alone operetta-goer, but who cares?) Christopher Alden’s staging quite rightly does not take the easy road; if one is going to plead the cause for the defence, especially in a case such as this, then one needs to dig beneath the surface. The Overture presents both the gigantic version of Eisenstein’s pocket watch, which will haunt the staging throughout, and figures of bats themselves, before we see the bat. (Incidentally, should ENO not call the operetta, The Bat, rather than employing a German title?) As the performance progresses, we realise that the surrealistic occurrences may not be just that; Rosalinde’s marital bed, one of many handsome designs by Allen Moyer, conjures up fantasies that prefigure Freud, but they are the stuff of the drama itself, not something superimposed. Indeed, the blurring of boundaries between what is ‘dreamed’ and what is ‘real’ is one of the strongest features of Alden’s production. It takes us forward so that, in his words, ‘the ponderous nineteenth-century Victorian bedroom of Act I cracks open to let the fresh air of Act II’s 1920s-ish celebration of loosening up, freedom, and creativity.’  Except, and I suspect this may be where I part company from many others, the problem is not that the production goes too far; I am not sure that it goes far enough. One does not really feel what Alden describes. If there were an ‘orgy’, as I had heard it described prior to the performance, then somehow my friend and I managed to miss it. A little more abandon would not have gone amiss. ‘The reactionary crackdown on subversive degeneracy in Act III’s prison’ likewise does not really come off. Indeed, it seems tacked on, the Nazi thuggishness of Frosch an all-too-easy card to play, a card which, moreover, seems uncertain as to whether it be intended parodically. The alarming overacting of Jan Pohl in the role would seem out of place on just about any stage, or indeed in a 1970s situation comedy; but here, when more subtle expectations have originally been set up, it seems all the more striking a misjudgement, presumably on Alden’s part.

 

I confess to initial scepticism about the idea of Johann Strauss in English, but if translation must be done, then Daniel Dooner and Stephen Lawless did a fine job indeed, a striking contrast with the previous ENO effort for Fidelio (David Pountney). Whilst all was going well, there was genuine wit to be savoured – and the later problems certainly did not lie with this accomplished translation. Eun Sun Kim’s conducting of the score proved varied. It began in mercilessly hard-driven fashion, but calmed down, and if sometimes it felt more observed than felt from within, there were passages in which the rhythmic lilt was winningly conveyed. For that, of course, the orchestra itself deserves credit too. Yet one could never quite kid oneself that this was the ‘real thing’, a slippery concept, and in repertoire such as this, dangerously amenable to all manner of unpleasant, völkisch interpretations. Perhaps, however, and this goes for the contribution of the cast as well, performances will sound more at ease with themselves as the run continues.

 

There was much to enjoy from the cast, Tom Randle predictably subtle, no mere caricature, as Eisenstein, and Julia Sporsén an attractively-voiced Rosalinde. Andrew Shore displayed considerable comic as well as musical gifts as Frank. Jennifer Holloway offered vocal depth as Orlofsky, though many of her words were quite incomprehensible, partly no doubt a result of the thick, allegedly ‘Russian’ accent she was obliged to adopt. I continue to find the idea that ‘regional’ or ‘foreign’ accents are intrinsically hilarious at best questionable, but it seems to have become a staple of such events, doubtless as a substitute for genuine comedy. Likewise, if Edgaras Montvidas’s Alfred and Rhian Lois’s Adele tilted too much towards such caricature – probably not their fault at all, certainly jarring with the more interesting aspects of this conflicted production – they offered considerable vocal rewards, as did Lydia Marchione as Ida. Richard Burkhard’s Falke had some problematic moments vocally; Simon Butteriss offered a Dr Blind as camp as (presumably) requested by the director. Choral singing was generally of a high standard. It was, though, that elusive sense of ‘company’ that was perhaps most lacking. Again, that may rectify itself in subsequent performances.

 

I wonder, though, whether the principal problem lies with the work itself. Of course, one does not expect it to be Parsifal or Saint François d’Assise; even so, it remains rather thin stuff: better than Lehár, no doubt, though otherwise, Offenbach’s wit, style, and satire seem preferable in just about every respect, and perhaps transfer better to a modern, international house. Granted, this is a very difficult genre to get ‘right’; Elisabeth Schwarzkopf claimed to find it trickier than opera. Is it really worth the trouble, though? Perhaps it is better off left to the ‘traditional’ likes of the Volksoper, though Alden et al. certainly merit thanks for trying something more provocative. Given ENO’s puzzling neglect of Richard Strauss – surely a work such as Intermezzo ought to be right up its street – it would probably be better advised to transfer its allegiance to him for the next few Strauss outings. Once a decade or two seems about right for Johann.