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Opera News, October 2008
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HORST KOEGLER |
Bizét: Carmen, Zürich, 28 June 2008
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Expectations ran high on June 28, when the
curtain opened on Zurich's new Carmen. For two decades, the role of Bizet's
Gypsy had been the local property of Agnes Baltsa — a smouldering, lusty
tigress, formidable in every respect, whose voice holds a glittering
spectrum of color despite its undeniable leanness. The company's new Carmen
was Vesselina Kasarova, darling of Zurich audiences, who started her
conquest of this Matterhorn of prima-donna roles at the rather mature age of
forty-three. A singer of markedly different virtues and temperament than the
tempestuous Baltsa, Kasarova proved to be a cool, highly individual Carmen,
her singularity of a piece with the entire production, which was conducted
by Franz Welser-Möst in his final assignment as the house's
Generalmusikdirektor before taking up his new position as chief conductor at
the Vienna State Opera. Carmen was staged by Matthias Hartmann (designated
to take over the direction of the Vienna Burgtheater, that city's number one
playhouse), designed by Volker Hintermeier and Su Buehler, with Martin
Gebhardt in charge of the lights and Ernst Raffelsberger reigning over the
enlarged chorus.
The first surprise was the absence of any Spanish local color — no tobacco
factory, no Gypsy dances. Instead, a sloping circle in front of an endless
horizon was the sole platform for the four acts, variously decorated with a
gate, a chain of colored light-bulbs to suggest the inn of Lillas Pastia and
a single olive tree for Seville's Plaza de Toros. It looked very
intellectual and very brainy, resembling a setting designed for Wieland
Wagner's Bayreuth — or for a Brechtian interpretation of the Carmen myth —
and yet the sunny Mediterranean atmosphere was irrefutable. In Act I, bored
townspeople relaxed in the sun right up to the moment when Micaela arrived;
the poor girl was mobbed by soldiers, who tore off her dress so that she
narrowly escaped in her underclothing. When Don José entered, he was a
bespectacled mama's boy, munching a sandwich, isolated from his pals and
concentrated on solving his a puzzle. It was his very indifference that
attracted Carmen: all his comrades lusted after her, and she ignored them.
Kasarova intoned "L'amour est un oiseau rebelle" rather hesitatingly, molto
piano, hardly moving, but nonetheless with cunning determination. José soon
started to melt, and it was she who bound his wrists, seducing him by
flirtatiously suggesting unbound (and unbounded) pleasures waiting for him
"Près des ramparts de Séville." Kasarova's performance steadily gained in
weight and depth, with sinister and almost fatalistic overtones in her card
song, but she remained in full control of her acting and her singing: she
declaimed her texts with uncanny fervor, milking every syllable for its
emotional content. It's her well-integrated middle register that sounds so
irresistible, remarkable for its consistency and evenness as she glides
smoothly from the velvety depths of her lower range (where her colleagues
often sound so hairy-chested) to the enraptured climaxes. Kasarova's Carmen
is no sluttish whore but a woman who has opted for freedom and is prepared
to pay for it. The mezzo created a character of unusual strength and force:
she imbued her lines with sensuous beauty, phrasing "Là-bas. là-bas, dans la
montagne" in such a way that it sounded like the promise of paradise, but
lashed at Don José with whip-like scorn.
Jonas Kaufmann's Don José grew from a spoilt mother's darling to an
avenger who abandoned all control in the pursuit of his amour fou. The
tenor's voice gained steadily in power and strength: when he advanced in
truly pianissimo fashion to his B flat at the penultimate phrase of the
flower song, Kaufmann left no doubt that he was a smouldering cauldron
waiting to explode. (That he duly did in the finale, when the "demon" took
possession of him.") Kaufmann's slightly baritonal quality served him well
in his "Tu ne m'aimes donc plus," which had shattering theatrical force; a
slightly veiled mistiness lends his tenor an almost otherworldly dimension,
especially striking in "et j'étais une chose à toi," which was declaimed
like a poem. Kaufmann is a spine-tingling Don José on his way to his coming
out as Otello.
The other members of the cast include the somewhat placid Micaëla of Isabel
Rey and Michele Pertusi as a big-mouthed but rather jovial Escamillo. As
Mercédès and Frasquita, Judith Schmid and Sen Guo joined Kasarova for a
ravishing trio. Among the gentlemen, Gabriel Bermúdez was a particularly
dashing Dancaïre, Morgan Moody a Zuniga who not only got chained but was
cruelly slaughtered.
In his final contribution to the Zurich repertory, Welser-Möst proved once
again what a carefully attentive accompanist of the singers he is, as he
lovingly phrased the abundance of chiseled details in the Michael Rot
revised score. Faithful to Bizet's markings, he conducted a lean, elegant
performance constructed on clearly modelled lines, bathed in Southern
sunlight, more European than French in flavor and seasoning. Welser-Möst
will be badly missed in Zurich: he represented that almost extinct type —
the all-round kapellmeister, equally at home with Monteverdi and Mozart,
Wagner and Strauss, Verdi and Puccini, Janáček and Britten. One hopes that
he will at least occasionally return to the cozy opera house adjacent to
Lake Zurich. |
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