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| The Observer, Gurardian, 17
December 2006 |
| Anthony Holden |
Bizét: Carmen, Royal Opera House, London, December 2006
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Frills, trills and animal passion
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| From abseiling bandits to a
hero on horseback, this full-blooded Carmen is intoxicating |
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 Now one of the world's favourite operas, Bizet's
Carmen was booed off the stage when it opened in Paris in 1875. Its
protofeminist heroine, staunchly independent to the last, was too much for
the French bourgeoisie, even though she died for her defiance - as did the
broken-hearted composer just three months later, at the age of only 36.
A well-staged Carmen recognises this trailblazing truth: that conventional
sexual politics are inverted in this wonderful work, with the spirited Gypsy
girl scorning commitment while her male admirers vow eternal love. Nor is
this femme fatale the flawed character so often portrayed. The protagonist
with problems is Don José, her jilted lover and eventual murderer, who
simply cannot accept her freedom to go off with another man - especially a
vulgar, preening matador.
While Roberto Alagna was storming off the stage at La Scala last week, the
Italian mezzo Anna Caterina Antonacci was storming all over Covent Garden's,
dodging a veritable menagerie of livestock - a horse, a donkey, some
chickens - as she tossed her raven hair and shook her frilly skirts through
a cleavage-charged performance. Antonacci's Carmen is a bold, uncompromising
temptress, reducing the men around her to whimpering wrecks. Floored by her
feisty 'Habanera', poor José never stands a chance. What man worth the name
would plead that he must return to barracks for roll-call as his dream woman
drapes her skirt over his head?
The German tenor Jonas Kaufmann perfectly captures José's bewildered
despair, both as the ponytailed soldier and the tousle-haired deserter
destroyed by unrequited love. He and Antonacci are that rare breed: superb
singers who can also act with subtlety and passion. This dynamic duo alone
is worth even Covent Garden's price of admission.
Francesca Zambello tends to bring to her opera stagings the production
values of musicals, and this flamboyant show is no exception. Despite Tanya
McCallin's lumpen, unimaginative sets, the stage is permanently alive with
action, whether briskly choreographed crowd scenes, uproarious dances or
bandits abseiling into their mountain hideout. The dashing Escamillo of
Ildebrando D'Arcangelo makes his grand entrance, and opens his 'Toreador'
song, on horseback, which may be why he sounded less than certain in this
most familiar of arias. Norah Amsellem's Micaela is also disappointing, as
underpowered as her poor waif of a character.
From the opening bars of the swashbuckling overture, Antonio Pappano sets
a cracking pace in the pit, lending the entire evening an animal vitality,
pausing for breath only at such magic moments as Kaufmann's exquisite mix of
guilt and passion in the 'Flower Song'. It may all be a tad over the
top, too hellbent on waving every Spanish stage cliché in your face, but
this is an intoxicating Carmen whose affecting denouement squarely nails the
free spirit of a heroine as scarily wilful now as in 19th-century France.
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