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L’Amour de loin
ENO
The new production of Dvorak’s Rusalka at Glyndebourne is an unmitigated triumph, a perfect demonstration of all the elements in opera fusing to create a bewitching experience. Any qualifications can only be about the piece itself, not about any of the performers or the direction. I had some anxiety about Melly Still as director when I read that this was her first essay in operatic production, since that is usually a warning that the quite extraordinary difficulties of the genre are going to be overlooked, with results as dire as recent Bayreuth Ring cycles or ENO’s Carmen. By refreshing contrast, Still has clearly made a deep study of this problematic piece, and submitted herself to its allure and its awkwardness, without imposing an interpretation, as David Pountney did to brilliant effect at ENO in 1983. That psychoanalytic slant on Rusalka was a landmark in seeing how much it has to offer, but it was fascinating and thought-provoking rather than moving. Still’s much less obtrusive account of the opera, which makes it easier to grasp, thanks to the ideal cast she has to work with, makes it a more general study of transgressive desire, but without a layer of conceptualisation before you get to the heart of the drama.
The first thing that strikes you is how beautiful the whole thing is. Rae Smith’s sets for the outer acts could serve very well for an unfashionably appealing Act II of Siegfried, to which Dvorak’s score is so indebted, to its advantage. The water nymphs descend from the flies, joyously waving their extremely long tails. Rusalka, the radiant and in all ways adorable Ana Maria Martinez, sings her Song to the Moon as a heartfelt plea, not at all as a show-stopper. Still has coached all her singing actors into making every gesture expressive, and Martinez is as moving in her silent responses as when she sings. My only reservation is that her voice occasionally hardens, and it lost some power in Act III. But how often does one encounter such a complete dramatic representation from a star? — though here one only has to go as far as her Prince, the American Brandon Jovanovich, to find her match. The Prince has little memorable music to sing, yet Jovanovich gives us as full a sense of a loving and torn being as Martinez does. In the closing minutes of the opera he produced some unbelievably quiet high notes, but they emerged just after some equally impressive low ones. The Vodnik of Mischa Schelomianski and the baleful Jezibaba of Larissa Diadkova — casting from strength with a vengeance — complete the roster of impeccable leads. Here the Vodnik is a moving, sad figure, a kind of inverted Alberich, a water sprite spurned by land-bound teases.
It would be a pity if this marvellous production led to an overvaluation of Rusalka, which remains a problematic and imperfect piece. Max Loppert makes an impassioned plea for Dvorak’s operatic oeuvre in the programme, but I think it is only under special circumstances that one can be so impressed by Rusalka. There is the problem that its big tune comes so early on, and never recurs, despite lots of teasing that it is about to; there are no other memorable melodies, and it needs them. Much of the hammer-and-tongs conflict between the Foreign Princess, the Prince and Rusalka works only if the performers give it more than its worth, as these did. And Act III shows a marked falling off of inspiration, with Dvorak in several minds, as so often, about how to end the piece, so that one begins to wonder whether he is actually going to. This despite the authoritative conducting of Jiri Belohlavek, in a different class from any other that I have heard in this opera.
At ENO, Kaija Saariaho’s first opera, L’Amour de loin, is also given a virtually exemplary production. That the evening is one of paralysing boredom is entirely due to the vacuity of the work. Take any two minutes and you will almost certainly hear lovely sounds, especially from the orchestra, lush and rolling. Go on and you will hear the same thing again, and again, and so on for immense stretches. Variations of tempo, harmony, suggestions of melody, traces of rhythm, will be looked for in vain. Three very good singers learnt a great deal of text, which they chant in a sub-Pelléas mode, evoking ‘The Middle Ages’ and courtly love. The new wave circus director Daniele Finzi Pasca directs, so there is plenty of physical theatre and acrobatics, each character being pointlessly trebled. It is very beautiful to look at, and many in the audience loved it.
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