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Opera UK, February 2020 |
Hugh Canning |
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Korngold: Die tote Stadt, Bayerische Staatsoper, ab 18. November 2019 |
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Die tote Stadt
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Simon Stone's production of Korngold's Die tote Stadt at the
NATIONALTHEATER—the BAYERISCHE STAATSOPER it's first since the 1950s, when
it flopped in the presence of the composer—gives us, perhaps, an inkling of
the future trajectory of Jonas Kaufmann's career. Now 50, with Otello behind
him and, according to rumour, Tannhäuser, Tristan, Saint-Sans's Samson and
even Peter Grimes to come, the voice (lithe leading German tenor of his
generation is a much-changed instrument from that which won him accolades
for his Mozart singing two decades ago. The prospect of his debut as
Korngold's Paul—a visionary dreamer, lost in grief for the death of his
wife, Marie, and nurturing an obsession with a woman, Marietta, he thinks is
her alter ego—raised a few eyebrows in advance. The role is punishingly high
and calls for an Otello-like temperament in the scene where he imagines he
is strangling Marietta after she proves a hedonistic husk of the woman he
imagined her to be. But at the performance I attended on November 26, near
the end of the initial run, he banished sceptics' concerns with a dramatic
performance of slow-burning intensity, introverted and vulnerable in his
mourning for Marie, yet rising to a frenzy of violence and despair as
disillusionment with the object of his fantasy turned to hatred at the
climax of the drama.
This was my fourth encounter with Die tote Swell
in the theatre (after Cologne, London and Frankfurt) and by far the most
convincing musically. It was conducted with evangelical fervour and forensic
orchestral clarity by Kirill Petrenko, who never allowed the Staatsorchester
to overwhelm the voices, while clearly wallowing in Korngold's luxuriant,
melodic invention. The hit numbers—Marietta's das mir verblieb' and its
reprise by Paul, and Pierrot's Tanzlied, 'Mein Sehnen, mein Wähnen'—have
rarely packed such an emotional punch.
Stone's production, in more or
less contemporary sets (Ralph Myers) and costumes (Mel Page), may have been
short of decadent atmosphere, but it brought the psychological drama of
Paul's gradual mental breakdown into high relief as his apartment, papered
with photos of Marie, was reconfigured as Marietta's more Bohemian dwelling.
The arty posters were replaced by soft porn; the shelves where Marie's
glassware and crockery had been handsomely displayed were filled with empty
beer bottles. Marietta's dubious companions—played by Mirjam Mesak, Corinna
Scheurle, Dean Power and Manuel Gunther—could hardly have offered a starker
contrast with the domestic solidity of Paul's housekeeper, Brigitta, a
deluxe cameo from Jennifer Johnston, generously and warmly sung with her
plush mezzo-soprano.
Marlis Petersen may not have the opulence of
voice ideally suggested by Marietta's music, but she is a moving actress,
and her incisive diction and outstanding musicianship more than compensated
for a want of tonal plenitude. Kaufmann's tone is beginning to betray his
age as much as his grizzled locks and beard; but, as the Munich production
of Otello also demonstrated, that suits his dramatic temperament, and it
made Paul a psychologically more compelling figure than is sometimes the
case. If his assault on the high notes was sometimes strenuous, he never
sounded out of his depth. In the dual role of Paul's friend Frank and
Marietta's sidekick Fritz Andrzej Filonczyk sported a decent baritone and an
engaging manner, without effacing memories of Gerald Finley at Covent
Garden. In sum, Die tote Stadt proved its worth as a repertoire piece—and
the single performance at the summer festival should not be missed by
Kaufmann-spotters—but one wonders how long it could survive on the playbill
without a Kaufmann.
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