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Don Juan/Giovanni had incarnations before Mozart, and has had plenty since; and Carmen one before, and also many since, lots of them based more or less on Bizet’s opera. That is partly because both Carmen and the Don are taken to represent something basic to female and male sexuality, which drives people to reinterpret the story of these characters to find what the ‘real’ one is like. And the libretti for both operas are so ramshackle and porous that they offer an irresistible temptation for directors to invade and to give a radical new view of what is so fascinating about Carmen and the Don, apart from the wonderful music that Bizet and Mozart composed for and about them.
Just in case Bizet’s opera and its text tied him down in an objectionable way, Kramer has chosen, mischievously, to relocate his Carmen to Seville, Ohio, and to update it to some time in the latter half of the last century. The curtain goes up immediately, always a bad sign, and the Prelude, excellently conducted by Andreas Delfs, is almost drowned out by the yelpings of the chorus, dressed as elderly boy scouts or spectating oldsters.
When Don José emerges, he looks so foolish that there clearly is no hope for him in love, and it is astonishing that Carmen is even momentarily taken with him. It must be a director’s decision to make Peter Auty look like that, and one can only commiserate. Despite which, once into his stride, he sings the part movingly, and though nothing can make José a coherent character, we do come to feel for him as Carmen taunts him for his good-boy behaviour in answering the reveille call in Act Two. What makes it still more unfair is that the Escamillo in this production, Kostas Smoriginas, is quite the sexiest I have seen, though to counteract that he enters not on a horse (as at the Royal Opera), and not as a bullfighter either, but with a pit bull terrier, and as its trainer. The final scene of the opera has the hoarse barks of the fighting dogs as an addition to the music.
Carmen is sung by Heather Shipp, a gifted performer who seemed, for the first two acts, at a loss as to what was expected of her — not a surprise. Kramer has turned them into a more or less non-stop romp, moving into the lowest camp for the end of Act II, a legs-up with everyone stripping down to their undies. Carmen Jones did something related to this enormously better. Then, in Acts Three and Four, the treatment varies. Act Three is in an inspissatedly dark pine forest, snow falling, through which ‘the outsiders’, as the smugglers are called here, wander; as does Micaela, dreadfully underdressed for such a location, and robbed of all her spoken lines. She has a hissy fit while singing her aria. Anne Sophie Duprels, a lovely artist in all ways, is unrecognisable here in a vast blonde wig and ugly suit; and untypically she forces her voice, to fit in with the Micaela-as-harridan idea.
Act Four has almost no scenery, everyone dressed in black, and seems to come from a different work. Here both Auty and Shipp really come into their own, making the final scene all the more harrowing for the contrast with what has preceded it — but that was all wasted. It’s important to add that, as Richard Mantle, general director of Opera North, puts it: ‘Those of you who know the work intimately may notice some cuts in the score.’ You don’t need to know Carmen intimately to love the great Act Two quintet, here eliminated, as is all the children’s chorus music. Whatever the key to Carmen may be, if there is one, don’t go to this production looking for it.
The next evening was a revival by the Royal Opera of Leiser and Caurier’s production of Il barbiere di Siviglia, the third of the trio of great operas with that location, and the one that usually fares best. On this occasion the overwhelming source of satisfaction was the marvellous conducting of Rory Macdonald, so that even the Overture sprang some surprises, and not perverse ones. The action onstage is pretty broad comedy, though well executed, and the team of singers this time round is decent without anyone remarkable, at least as yet. But the support they received from the pit, the timing of the ensembles in particular, and the range of colours from the orchestra, and emotional nuances, were an entrancing delight. There were empty seats. This is far too good to miss.
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