Berlioz - Les Troyens (Paris, 2019)

Hector Berlioz - Les Troyens

L'Opéra national de Paris, 2019

Dmitri Tcherniakov, Philippe Jordan, Ekaterina Semenchuk, Stéphanie d'Oustrac, Brandon Jovanovich, Véronique Gens, Stéphane Degout, Cyrille Dubois, Paata Burchuladze, Sophie Claisse, Michèle Losier, Christian Helmer, Christian van Horn, Aude Extrémo

ARTE Concert - 31 January 2019

Dmitri Tcherniakov may not to everyone's taste as an opera director, but he is still highly regarded in Paris, by the director of the opera house Stéphane Lissner at least if not by the vocal traditionalists in the audience. He's certainly highly enough regarded to be given a prestigious event like the full version of Berlioz's Les Troyens on the 150th anniversary of Berlioz's death, the 350th anniversary of the Opéra de Paris and the 30th anniversary of the opening of the Bastille theatre. Whatever you think about Tcherniakov, he certainly rises to the big challenge and occasion and doesn't compromise on his own vision (playing a little safe only perhaps at La Scala with La Traviata in 2013).

The director's strength is often in harnessing and clarifying the undercurrents that drive an opera and present them in a modern way, but his direction of singers to be capable actors and persuade them to come on board with his ideas is also superb. That doesn't mean overriding the intentions of the composer, and in fact Tcherniakov's approach to Les Troyens is a measure of trust in Berlioz's work itself. It can be updated, it's not just a historical work - either in mythological or musicological terms - but a work that confronts human fears about war and terrorism on the one hand and love, healing and security on the other.

Is there anything more to Les Troyens than that? Well, of course there is. As it stands, Berlioz's masterwork doesn't need to be 'filled out', 'clarified' or 'updated', but that doesn't mean that you can't read between the lines and interpret human actions and motivations. Not everyone will like the interpretation that Tcherniakov has proposed and the professional boo-ers at the Bastille certainly don't (which makes you wonder why else they continue to go, since creative modernisation has been the case at least since Gérard Mortier's period in charge of the Paris Opera), but it's valid to interpret and see the work as more than just a grand spectacle.

Part 1 of the work, La prise de Troie, does indeed present a very different spin on Virgil's epic account of the siege of Troy, Tcherniakov placing it in a Russian or Soviet setting that is much more familiar and easier to elaborate on the underlying tensions and reality of war. He marks a strong distinction straight off between King Priam and the royal family in their wood-panelled mansion and the ordinary people fighting on the streets, taking the time with large titles to ensure that the audience know who each member of the legendary Trojan family are and what the relationship is that lies between them, while a running commentary on the developments of the coming to an end of the ten-year long siege are rolled out on breaking news TV ticker-tape reports.

Cassandra addresses her premonitions then to a crew of shocked news reporters who are expecting a more positive outlook from the royal family, which is a nice touch but it's not exactly new (Krzysztof Warlikowski did something similar with his Princess Di lookalike Alceste for Madrid in 2014). Where Tcherniakov dares to go further than most however is in projecting the imagined thoughts of the royal cortege and the elements of distrust that lie between them during the solemn ceremony for the Trojan dead. Contributing to that - much more controversially - is the suggestion that Cassandra has been abused as a child by her father Priam (perhaps accounting for her being something of an outsider), and Aeneas is seen collaborating with the Greeks (which accounts perhaps for feelings of guilt and trauma later).

In terms of spectacle and the sheer horror of the war that you expect to find overwhelming in this part of Les Troyens, the Paris production is effective on every level. Philippe Jordan finds the dark undercurrents in Berlioz's music and there's a fine cast of singers to play out these deeper undercurrents that lend it additional weight. More often associated with opéra-comique and Baroque opera, you wouldn't expect Stéphanie d'Oustrac to carry that necessary dramatic weight as Cassandra, and she does sound a little light in places, but it's a strong performance of great conviction and it's supported by the likes of Stéphane Degout as Chorèbe, Brandon Jovanovich as Énée and Véronique Gens as Hécube. It makes the fate of Troy more present. Or maybe not 'more' since Berlioz's composition has been proven to work effectively as long as it has scale, grandeur and conviction, and it certainly has all those elements, Tcherniakov's direction in no way diminishing the impact.

Which, of course is only half the story, since Les Troyens à Carthage has even more of a spin placed on it. Rather than arrive in Dido's Carthage, the displaced survivors Aeneas and his crew spend the second half of Berlioz's epic end up in a PTSD centre for victims of the war. Énée is almost catatonic from the trauma and guilt for his part in the downfall of Troy, hearing voices in his head calling 'Italie!', with only occasional moments of lucidity and spurring into action coming through group therapy role play battles and relaxation yoga sessions that bring about that "nuit d'ivresse et d'extase infinie' with Dido, who has also been dealing with loss and bereavement and is also looking to find peace.

It all perhaps takes away from the romanticism of the work in favour of psychological realism, and perhaps romanticism is actually more in keeping here for Berlioz. For a modern audience too perhaps an escape from the brutal reality of the world outside wouldn't be such a bad thing. So we really need to see the contemporary world reflected and imposed upon Les Troyens? Well that would depend on what you want to get out of the work, whether you see it (and Latin epic poetry) as having contemporary relevance, or whether it's just escapist grand opera musical entertainment and spectacle.

Tcherniakov nonetheless is successful in tapping into the undercurrents (even if he has to invent some if it to fit) and in how they are relevant to today. The spectacle is there too in La prise de Troie, even if it the glamour is undercut by Les Troyens à Carthage, but I'd argue that all the romanticism and escapism is there still in the music. Philippe Jordan is mindful of Berlioz's musical sensibilities and influences and he plays to the works melodic colours and dramatic strengths. Brandon Jovanovich and Ekaterina Semenchuk also bring a new colour to the royal couple with soft lyrical sweetness that taps into their sensitivities and their past suffering, very much humanising the characters in line with Tcherniakov's direction and purpose. After an effective La prise de Troie however, Les Troyens à Carthage becomes repetitive, lacking in ideas and consistency, its purpose increasingly distant from the grander vision of Berlioz.

Links: L'Opéra national de Paris, ARTE Concert

Monteverdi - L'Incoronazione di Poppea (Salzburg, 2018)

Claudio Monteverdi - L'Incoronazione di Poppea

Salzburg Festival, 2018

William Christie, Les Arts Florissants, Jan Lauwers, Sonya Yoncheva, Kate Lindsey, Stéphanie d’Oustrac, Carlo Vistoli, Renato Dolcini, Ana Quintans, Marcel Beekman, Dominique Visse, Lea Desandre, Tamara Banjesevic, Claire Debono, Alessandro Fishe, Davic Webb, Padraic Rowan, Virgile Ancely

Medici.TV - 18 August 2018

The importance of Monteverdi's L'Incoronazione di Poppea in the world of opera lies in its innovation, in extending the boundaries of opera beyond classical myths and bringing real historical figures to the stage. The strength of the work and the reason why it still holds such power almost 400 years later however lies in Monteverdi and librettist Busanello's fearless examination of human nature caught up in a powerplay and tyranny of love. And it's not just the interplay of the central figures competing, gossiping and plotting but the impact that this has on peripheral characters and society as a whole is very much a part of the wider remit of the opera.

Or at least it ought to be. Such is the strength of characterisation and the accumulation of events, plots, murders, suicides and, yes some of the most passionate expressions of love committed to music, that there can be a tendency for the drama to revolve around and turn inwards on the relationship between Nero and Poppea and forget about the devastating impact that their scheming and actions would have on the rest of the world. Directing for the 2018 Salzburg Festival production Jan Lauwers wants to keep that wider context present in the mind and visible, but essentially do it without detracting from the intensity of the musical content of the work.

That would be hard to do and not a wise move to make when you have William Christie conducting Les Arts Florissants, and when you have a cast like the one assembled here, one that combines experienced practitioners of Monteverdi and the Baroque (Stéphanie d’Oustrac, Ana Quintans, Dominique Visse) with a few major stars in the making not often heard in this repertoire (Sonya Yoncheva, Kate Lindsey). It's a tall order for any singer; there are few heroes or noble actions in L'Incoronazione di Poppea, all of them display at the very least meanness, arrogance and self-importance - arguably even Seneca, and certainly the gods of the Prologue.

As such, it's easy to get lost in these characters, and the superb cast make the most of them. Stéphanie d’Oustrac plays a particularly embittered Ottavia and takes it with relish, holding back on grand gestures but putting it all into the voice. Sonya Yoncheva puts everything into her singing and performance, an alluring presence that convincing turns Nero's head, but you don't get the same sense of engagement with her Poppea and I'm not certain she connects with the audience either, which has always been my experience with her at least. Full credit to her however for this ambitious venture out of standard repertoire that she takes well.

Kate Lindsey is a marvellous Nero. It's a stylised performance rather than a naturalistic one, but Nero is and should be seen as a larger than life character, albeit one with deep human feelings and failings. Lindsey navigates between anger and tenderness in a flash as Nero is driven by lust and power. "The heart is a poor counsellor. It hates laws and scorns reason", Seneca tells Nero, who retorts that "Laws are for those who serve". "Those who don't know how to rule gradually lose their power" warns Seneca, incautiously as it turns out, and therein lies the brilliance of what Monteverdi and Busanello observe and achieve in L'Incoronazione di Poppea, daring to put on stage sentiments that had never quite been expressed like this on an early opera stage before.

The challenge is to make the impact of all this visible on the stage and it's too easy to get overpowered by the scandal of powerful people behaving abominably to realise that it has consequences for everyone else. Monteverdi's opera however has many other parallel situations and characters that show that such behaviour is common across all social classes and sexes. Jan Lauwers however not only takes on the challenge of expressing the wild and contradictory facets of larger than life character like Nero or the ambition and ruthless single-mindedness of Poppea, but he extends it out and makes it vivid and real for each of the secondary characters and applicable to the wider world as well.

The quality of the performers in the  supporting roles accounts for the success of this endeavour to some extent - Carlo Vistoli's Ottone, Ana Quintans' Drusilla, Lea Desandre's Amore/Valletto and Marcel Beekman's Nurse all impressive - as does the presence of dancers of BODHI PROJECT and SEAD Salzburg Experimental Academy of Dance, who are given more to do than just the typical interpretative double mirroring of characters. A constant presence in the background, spinning and whirling, they occasionally move forward and interact with the characters, deepening relationships, expressing and visualising those contradictory elements as well as helping force the sense of real relationships between characters who could typically and easily be left to express solitary sentiments in individual arias.

That's extended to keeping other main characters on-stage, such as Poppea wandering past when Ottone is expressing his secret feelings for her, and it also extends to some limited interaction with the musicians who are all there in a shallow pit on the stage. There should be a very definite interaction between the music and the performance, more so in the semi-improvised measures and accompaniment of music that is not fully scored. Interpretation is very much a feature of Monteverdi's operas and there's no right or wrong way, but there certainly ways that bring the music to life better so that they connect with the tone of the drama and communicate it to the audience. There's no doubting the ability of William Christie and Les Arts Florissants to do that exceptionally well here.

It's Jan Lauwers however who manages to most successfully focus all those elements of music, dance, characterisation and expression and push them out beyond the stage. The stage itself is covered with images of classical paintings, a mass of bodies that remind you that this is not just a heated drama of consequence only to a little group of self-interested and self-serving people, but that their actions have consequences out in the wider world. That's a lot to take on, and much more than would normally be considered necessary when you have Monteverdi's music to express and enchant, Jan Lauwers' production for Salzburg, with its fine cast, make this ancient work feel as fresh and modern and relevant as many contemporary works, and perhaps even more so.

Links: Salzburger Festspiele

Bizet - Carmen (Aix, 2017)

Georges Bizet - Carmen

Festival d'Aix-en-Provence, 2017

Pablo Heras-Casado, Dmitri Tcherniakov, Stéphanie d'Oustrac, Michael Fabiano, Elsa Dreisig, Michael Todd Simpson, Gabrielle Philiponet, Christian Helmer, Pierre Doyen, Guillaume Andrieux, Mathias Vidal, Pierre Grammont

ARTE Concert - 6th July 2017

Obviously there's going to be a significant proportion of an opera audience that are going to want their Carmen with all its idealised exoticism, wild gypsies and romantic passions; those are surely the essential ingredients listed on the package. That percentage might be significantly lower and expectations rather different at a production of Carmen at the Aix-en-Provence festival, particularly one directed by Dmitri Tcherniakov. The challenge surely is to repackage the work, but not change the ingredients too much, but is that even possible for a dish like Carmen...?

There's some truth to the idea that Tchernaikov's method is a cool Russian response to wild Latin passions, but there is a sense that the director is genuinely trying to find another way to connect with the underlying essence of the work. Tcherniakov's Carmen has one of his distancing constructs built around it, which he tends to do when an opera's plot is too ludicrous to take seriously in this day and age. Similar to his Il Trovatore for La Monnaie - another over-heated drama - it encloses the work within a kind of dramatic version of inverted commas, where the story is played out by a group of actors in a role-playing exercise.  

The introduction shows a husband and wife whose marriage has lost its sparkle, who have gone to an unusual form of counselling that involves role-playing. The administrator has examined the questionnaire and profiles and has determined that the opera Carmen is the best fit for therapy. The husband will be Don José, his wife later participating as Micaëla in an effort to eventually draw her husband and his Carmen experiences back into the real world. Tchernaikov then ditches the conventional spoken dialogue pieces of Carmen and replaces them with various interventions from the administrative staff and actors who read out the stage directions in preparation for the next scene.

The Carmen role-play all takes place within an office-like environment with everyone donning name badges of the characters they will play. There's certainly nothing of the more familiar Sevillian imagery of seductive gypsy women and macho bullfighters, the Carmen of this production an actress who acts self-assured but who in reality is a little self-conscious, struggling awkwardly with the rose in her hair and a little embarrassed at the kind of role she has to play. Her aim however is not to seduce Don José in the traditional manner as much as encourage him to participate, to inject a little imagination and find a way to let some passion back into his life.

Such a construct proves to be a little infuriating in places, with a lot of silly fooling around that risks over-complicating and distorting the intent of the original work. Arguably, the romanticism of Carmen is already implicit in the idealised exoticism of its imagery and rhythms and in the artificial construct of the opera drama. Surely no-one thinks that Carmen is a work of social realism and everyone is aware of opera as heightened drama and passions? On the other hand, stepping back a little further does provide a way of looking at the themes and the passions of the work in a more (post-)modern context.

Whether it needs this kind of reconstruction and updating is debatable then, but there is a case to be made that Dmitri Tcherniakov is just turning the focus of the opera back onto the dramatic content of Bizet's musical arrangements to see if it still stands up and achieves its aims when removed from all the lazy mannerisms that have become attached to the work. It could be argued that by cutting most of Henri Meilhac and Ludovic Halévy's dialogues and plotting, liberating it from the opera-comiqué conventions that would have been similarly restrictive to the composer, Tcherniakov is even reducing the work down to its purest essence.

Even if you have to indulge Tcherniakov's twisting of the plot, it does turn the focus back to the power of the music to tell its own story and to touch on the underlying reality. Conductor Pablo Heras-Casado works with Tcherniakov on this with arrangements that might not always be "authentic" to the intentions of the original, but which through their ringing rhythms and popular melodies nonetheless touch on the passions at the heart of the work. Like this production's "Don José", the music similarly has to find its own inner truth and connect with it afresh to put some real excitement back in there, rather than just relying on lazy mannerisms and faked emotions.

It's important to find your way into Carmen, but you can't run into it blindly, Tcherniakov's production seems to say, and it's important to find your way out again refreshed by the experience and not ready to murder someone. I think. With this director, you never know quite where that will lead, whether to take it entirely seriously or even if it all will make sense. This is after all a director who completely reversed the ending to Dialogues des Carmélites (a controversial move that led to a legal challenge and the DVD of the Paris production being removed from sale), so there is always the potential for it to be as if you were seeing a work for the first time. And if you can do that with Carmen, that's really something.

If Carmen felt fresh and held one's attention once again at the 2017 Aix-en-Provence festival, a lot of it was also to do with the casting. The singing might have been slightly compromised by the need to act in and out of character, but only slightly. Interpretation counted for more in this production and Stéphanie d'Oustrac's Carmen and Michael Fabiano as Don José were never anything less than committed and passionate in their performances, delving deep into the complex personalities that Tcherniakov has created for them here. Elsa Dreisig's Micaëla was also excellent and made a great impression.

Links: Festival d'Aix-en-Provence, ARTE Concert

Chabrier - L'Etoile (De Nederlandse, 2014 - Webcast)

Emmanuel Chabrier - L'Etoile

De Nationale, Amsterdam, 2014

Patrick Fournillier, Laurent Pelly, Stéphanie d’Oustrac, Christophe Mortagne, Hélène Guilmette, Jérôme Varnier, Elliot Madore, Julie Boulianne, François Piolino, François Soons, Harry Teeuwen, Jeroen van Glabbeek, Richard Prada

Culturebox - 16 October 2014

Aside from Offenbach, we don't often get the opportunity to see much French comic operetta outside of France. In Paris, the Opéra Comique do outstanding work in keeping this distinctive lyric tradition alive and presented in its best light. And, it might be a bit of an obvious remark to make but it's true - Chabrier's L'Etoile is one of the brightest stars of the repertoire that is rarely performed nowadays. It's surprising then to see it performed and done so well in this recent production at DNO in Amsterdam, but there's a well-appointed French production team in place here with Patrick Fournillier conducting and Laurent Pelly directing, that does justice to the musical and comic qualities of the opera.

What makes Chabrier's L'Etoile great are the same things that make any opéra-comique or opéra bouffe great. It's funny and it has great tunes. It does however need a good comic actors/singers and direction that plays to these advantages, and that's all perfectly in place here with Stéphanie d’Oustrac leading the cast and Laurent Pelly bringing his colourful and often absurd sense of style and fun to the proceedings. Optionally, a great comic opera can have a satirical leaning, or it can have one worked into it by the director, but I don't detect any particularly subtle social commentary in L'Etoile or much opportunity for including one. The plot, as silly as it is, is however a lot of fun and moves along well, providing plenty of opportunity for comic situations, romance and lovely music.

We're in the kingdom of King Ouf I. He's a ruler who likes to keep his people entertained. A few fireworks on special occasions and the odd impalement - what better way to keep the populace happy and maintain order? Traditionally, it's a troublesome rebel who is executed on these occasions, but such is the terror among the general public that even in his best disguise, setting traps and making provocations, Ouf can't find a single unruly citizen. But the king has another problem. According to the constitution, the ruler must announce his successor by his 40th birthday, and King Ouf is 39. Ouf depends on the court astrologer Siroco to help guide him though this dilemma through observation of the stars.

Princess Laoula has however just arrived incognito from a neighbouring kingdom to sound out the possibility of a marriage alliance, but on their way they meet Lazuli, a travelling salesman who falls in love with the Princess. Rebuffed by her minder, the ambassador Hérisson de Porc-Épic, Lazuli strikes out at the next person he meets, who just happens to be King Ouf. Ouf is livid and delighted that he now has a legitimate victim to execute. Siroco however warns the king that the stars indicate that his and Lazuli's destinies are connected, and that the king's death will follow within 24 hours of Lazuli's. Lazuli is therefore treated like a Prince at the palace, until the Mataquin royal delegation arrives and Lazuli's elopement with the Princess throws everything into turmoil.

As inconsequential as the plot might seem - despite the contrivances, it's not even particularly involved - Chabrier's music for L'Etoile is beautiful, melodic and sophisticated. In contrast to much comic operetta and even Offenbach's straightforward arrangements, Chabrier's music is much more operatic and fitted to the mood as well as the dramatic context. It's also wonderfully paced, the spoken dialogue sections kept to a minimum, moving rapidly from one situation with a beautiful aria to another. Much of the work revolves around solo singing in this respect, but there are also some duets - appropriately in those love scenes, of course - and some wonderful chorus work, all of which enlivens the work with great variety.

It's this colour and variety that is reflected in Laurent Pelly's direction and in the set designs by Chantal Thomas. The setting of the opera is abstract enough that it can work in any time period, but Pelly resists modernising what is an old-fashioned work too much and keeps it playful. The idea that we are in a police-state is indicated in Act I not with spy cameras but with loudspeakers on numerous poles, with fearful citizens scurrying around in trenchcoats. Later we see secret police with hound heads, and Ouf himself is depicted as a pantomime Teutonic dictator in oversize shorts. Stylised old-fashioned vehicles are used for Lazuli's mobile shop and for the Mataquin entourage, and the devices for impalement and astrological observation are clockwork cog, wheel and pulley operated. Even the pink puffball dresses of the maids of honour fit in perfectly with the cartoon look and feel of the work.

Pelly's direction of the cast also contributes greatly to the success of the production. The acting is comically exaggerated, but not overly so, letting the delivery of the libretto carry the humour. Stéphanie d’Oustrac is particularly good here in her inhabiting the trouser-role of Lazuli. I'm more used to seeing the mezzo-soprano in rather more glamorous roles and in Baroque opera, but her opéra bouffe work is just great. It's a tricky role to sing, and the physical acting required doesn't make it any easier, but that lovely rich voice is full of colour and character. Christophe Mortagne is an energetic Ouf, perfectly pitched in the comic acting with a lovely lyrical tenor voice. Hélène Guilmette's Laoula is also well sung. Patrick Fournillier and the Residentie Orkest fairly romp through Chabrier's delightful score, and the De Nederlandse chorus are as impressive as ever.

Links: Culturebox, Dutch National Opera

Gluck - Orphée et Eurydice (La Monnaie-De Munt, 2014 - Webcast)

Christoph Willibald Gluck - Orphée et Eurydice

La Monnaie-De Munt, 2014

Hervé Niquet, Romeo Castellucci, Stéphanie d'Oustrac, Sabine Devieilhe, Fanny Dupont

La Monnaie, Internet Streaming - June 2014

Orphée et Eurydice has the distinction not only of being one of the purest and most pared-back expressions of Gluck's reformist agenda, reducing extravagant ornamentation and bringing opera back to its strength as a dramatic artform, but it's exquisitely beautiful in its simplicity.  The intent of the work is carried principally through the expression of one singer and the music itself. And, even though it has an ancient mythological subject, Orphée et Eurydice is not some lofty expression of sentiments detached from everyday life, but it has something real and meaningful to communicate to its audience. To its credit, I've never seen a performance of the work - in any of its many forms - that was anything but deeply heartfelt and humanistic in its outlook, but Romeo Castellucci's extraordinary 2014 production for La Monnaie touches deeply on the themes in the work in a way that takes it to an entirely new level.

Dealing with gods, demigods and supernatural events, it's easy to forget that there is a real human element to grand mythological subjects. They are only myths because they speak for all of our suffering, our struggles to exist, live, find love and happiness. Using the story of Orpheus, who in his overwhelming grief for the death of his wife Eurydice travels to the Underworld to retrieve her, Gluck recognises that the Orpheus myth is all about love, loss and bereavement. Despite the beauty of the sentiment and the sincerity of his intentions, it of course proves impossible for Orpheus to bring his loved one back to life (notwithstanding the reworked happy ending in the opera version). Those sentiments can work perfectly well in the concise and expressive beauty of Gluck's score alone, but the dramatic expression on the stage is also a vital part of opera, and Castellucci finds an innovative way to reconnect the myth with the reality.

Like mythology, opera too must not be lofty and detached, but should be relatable on a human level. Having carried out extensive research into 'locked-in syndrome' Castellucci literally takes the opera beyond the stage of La Monnaie and out into the world, the production being broadcast live directly to a medical ward 14km outside Brussels where a young Belgian woman called Els lies in bed, completely paralysed. She's effectively dead to the world, beyond the reach of her husband and loved-ones, unable to move or communicate other than through the blinking of her eyes that allow her to painstakingly form words and sentences one letter at a time. At the same time as the music of Orpheus reaches out to her in her condition, Gluck's music reaches out to express Els/Eurydice's condition to the audience and give us some indication of how her family must feel about their loss.

How this is achieved in the production is, like Gluck's music, outwardly simple, but in reality very precise and sophisticated technical measures are used to present art as an expression of deeper truths. For almost the entirety of the performance, Stéphanie d'Oustrac sings the role of Orpheus on a dark bare stage with only a pseudo-microphone in front of her. To the right of the stage is what looks like a life-support system, although it has lights showing music volume-control levels, so it could represent a transmitter of sorts. While Orpheus sings of his loss, the captions on the screen behind the singer show English captions that have nothing to do with the libretto, but rather tell the story of Els, a 28 year-old woman who has been in a pseudocoma for the last 18 months, suffering complete paralysis but retaining full cognitive abilities after brainstem damage caused by a thrombosis. The audience are advised that the opera is being broadcast live to her at this moment.

There's evidently no direct correlation between the story of Els and the Orpheus myth, but the broad sense of losing a person, of them being present but beyond reach and unable to interact with the world outside is identical to how Orpheus, despite every effort to reach Eurydice, is unable to bring her back to life. The descent to the Underworld is in some respect mirrored in the blurred black-and-white footage on the screen that shows a journey towards the medical centre where this real-life Eurydice lies, arriving there as Orpheus finds Eurydice among the spirits of Elysium ("Cet asile aimable et tranquille"). As the on-stage Eurydice (Sabine Devieilhe) appears behind the mesh screen, we meet Els, lying in her bed, blinking but unmoving, a pair of headphones relaying the song of Orpheus direct from the opera house of La Monnaie.

Castellucci's direction is simple but daring and completely in touch with what the work is all about - human grief, battling against outrageous fortune - and relating it back to ordinary people who suffer terribly from everyday trials. Although there's nothing abstract about Gluck's music, it takes the drama away from mere theatricality to show how it fully explores and expresses these vital aspects of the human condition. Castellucci even takes into consideration the happy ending that Gluck was obliged to provide for the stage, showing an Eurydice revived and alive, but - reflecting Els' condition - remaining behind a veil, unable to fully return to the world. This works for the audience and for the intent of Gluck's music drama, making the story vividly real and deeply moving, but Castellucci's production goes beyond even this, telling us something about the power of music and opera to touch on aspects of our lives that other arts cannot reach.

One person who recognised the power of the work and who was instrumental in keeping this Baroque work alive through the 19th century and beyond, was Hector Berlioz. The French version is understandably more popular in French-speaking countries than Gluck's original Italian version, and if Berlioz's 1859 version is not the most "authentic" edition (Gluck wrote a "definitive" French version himself as well as the original Italian and even a German-language version), it at least brings together the best elements of Gluck's variations while retaining the purity of its expression. I have a particular fondness for the Berlioz version myself and this is a superb performance of the work conducted at La Monnaie by Hervé Niquet. It's played slightly faster than usual, the overture in particular a little rushed when it should be a more brooding, but the tone and expression of the work is all there.

It's also there in the singing, which is just as vital in a work with only three individual roles. The singing here is just outstanding, Stéphanie d'Oustrac one of the best mezzo-soprano singers I've heard singing Orpheus, and you could hardly expect to find a brighter or more colourful voice for Eurydice than Sabine Devieilhe, who continues to impress. Also worth mentioning are Fanny Dupont's sensitive and delicate Amour and the powerful work of the Chorus that also serves to establish that otherworldly character of Orphée et Eurydice. It's no coincidence that the Orpheus myth was frequently chosen as the subject for the very first works of opera almost 400 years ago, exploring as it does the power of music to take us to those kind of unreachable places. That myth found its purest expression in Gluck's opera, and Romeo Castellucci's remarkable production of it is one of the finest expressions of opera as both art and life.

Links: La Monnaie - De Munt, RTBF Musiq3

Mernier - La Dispute

Benoît Mernier - La Dispute

La Monnaie-De Munt, Brussels, 2013

Patrick Davin, Karl-Ernst Herrmann, Ursel Herrmann, Stéphane Degout, Stéphanie d'Oustrac, Julie Mathevet, Albane Carrère, Cyrille Dubois, Guillaume Andrieux, Dominique Visse, Katelijne Verbeke

La Monnaie - Internet Streaming, March 2013

For his second opera the Belgian composer Benoît Mernier set about trying to find a text that would work with that particular quality of opera that is able to touch on mythological and universal subjects and make them vital and human.  The subject of La Dispute, based on an eighteenth century drama by Marivaux has a theoretical, experimental edge as well as a human drama at its centre which makes it a perfect fit for Mernier's intentions.  It's one consequently that the composer scores with precision and sensitivity, even if neither he nor the production entirely succeeds in bringing it to life.

It's somewhat appropriate however that Marivaux text, written in 1744, is treated musically in Mernier's La Dispute not entirely unlike a French Baroque opera.  At the outset, in the first dispute, you have Cupid and Amour defending their respective positions of influence over the human heart, Cupid advocating liberty and freedom of choice, Amour seeing him/herself as the protector of romance and fidelity.  Who is to blame then when the rot sets in, as it seems to be doing in another dispute that is taking place in the mortal world between the Prince and Hermiane?  Having been caught dallying with another woman at a party, the couple's argument takes a theoretical turn as they debate whether it is the man or the woman who is ultimately responsible for infidelity.

To answer that question, the Prince says, you would need to go back to the beginning of time to the first man and woman, which of course is impossible.  Enter Cupid and Amour, disguised as Mesrou and Carise, who are just as interested in the resolution of this question.  It just so happens that they have four young people, two of each sex, brought up in isolation with no outside influences and completely unaware of each other.  Wouldn't it be interesting to see how these perfect subjects interact with each other?  Wouldn't an experiment undertaken under these strict laboratory conditions provide some insight into the matter being disputed?

What develops does indeed follow the lines of a dispassionate scientific experiment and, unfortunately, that seems to apply to the music and the opera as a whole.  Like George Benjamin's recent Written on Skin, one wonders whether it is even possible now to really engage with operatic characters in modern opera or whether there isn't necessarily always going to have to be some kind of detached observation and commentary.  It's all a little too coldly calculated here in La Dispute which never really seems to come to life for all the accuracy of the observations.  The conflicts of Amour and Cupid and the Prince and Hermiane are really just a framework then, one that has been filled out by the librettists Ursel Herrmann and Joël Lauwers from other Marivaux texts, while the main part of the work indeed focuses on the lab experiment of the two young couples who are gradually revealed to each other.

This experiment takes place under observation within a brilliantly designed set by Karl-Ernst and Ursel Herrmann, a neon lit cube framework within a Garden of Eden-like environment cut off from the real world.  First we meet Églé, a young woman enchanted by her own reflection in a stream, who finds her belief in her own beauty validated when she is introduced to the adoring Azor.  The young couple, who have never seen anyone other than Mesrou and Carise, are inevitably totally enraptured with the discovery of each other.  Until, that is, they become aware of another young couple, Adine and Mesrin.  Then, as they become less certain of their own uniqueness and start to develop insecurities, things begin to get complicated.

Principally, the answer to the question of 'la dispute' would appear to be clear enough from how things develop.  The insecurities initially arise when the two women, Églé and Andrine, meet each other.  It's not a pretty sight.  Jealousy arises out of the thought that someone might regard the other as more beautiful than themselves and that person becomes a threat.  The only way to prove one's superiority it seems is to win over the other's lover, and since they are merely men that is not a difficult object to achieve.  This might seem a rather slight if not entirely inaccurate observation, but it ought to be developed further and on a less theoretical level by the various other levels of the dispute.  There is a little more edge and ambiguity introduced through the human presence of the Prince and Hermiane, but not to any real conclusive end.  But perhaps a true conclusion ought not to be reached other than making the observation that, ultimately, human feelings cannot entirely be understood or even trusted.

When you are getting into such matters in opera, this is where the music should say more than the text, but unfortunately - beautiful though it is - Benoît Mernier's score doesn't reveal any great depths to these academic characters.  There's something academic about the score also, which accompanies the situations perfectly, picking at the characters' hesitant first steps, showing developing emotional awareness and curiosity, extending out into more complex personality traits as the characters interact through some marvellously written duets, but little of it seems to hint at anything more than is already apparent in the text and the dramatic situations alone.  The musical language inevitably leans towards Debussy, but without the mystery and haunting impressionism.

If it doesn't entirely come to life then or reveal any great depths, the qualities of the singing, the production and indeed the work itself are still clearly apparent.  Stéphane Degout and Stéphanie d'Oustrac are two of the finest talents in French opera and sing beautifully here, but they aren't really given a lot to work with in characters as insubstantial as the Prince and Hermiane.  There's rather more of a challenge in the roles of the young couples, and Julie Mathevet and Cyrille Dubois stand out as Églé and Azor, but there is fine work and good interaction also with Albane Carrère's Adine and Guillaume Andrieux's Mesrin.  Dominique Visse throws himself fully into another ambiguous cross-dressing role as Amour/Carise with verve and personality, and is matched in this by Katelijne Verbeke's Cupid/Mesrou.

The clarity of the diction and the purity of the singing voices are supported by a meticulously arranged score that is perfectly balanced between spoken accompanied dialogue, arioso singing, duets and purely musical interludes in a way that allows each of the singers and their dramatic expression to stand clear and shine.  The Hermann's sets, lighting and direction also work to enhance every aspect of the dramatic text, everything coming together to provide a superb spectacle and beautiful accompaniment for an interesting work that nonetheless never amounts to more than the sum of its parts.

La Monnaie/De Munt's production of La Dispute was broadcast on the internet via their web streaming service, the performance recorded on the 10th and 13th February 2013.  It's available for viewing until 17th April 2013.  Subtitles are in French, Dutch and German only.  The next broadcast from La Monnaie is Pelléas et Mélisande, which will be made available for viewing for three weeks from 4th May 2013.

Ravel - L’Heure Espagnole, L’Enfant et les Sortilèges

Maurice Ravel - L’Heure Espagnole, L’Enfant et les Sortilèges

Glyndebourne, 2012

Kazushi Ono, Laurent Pelly, Elliot Madore, François Piolino, Stéphanie d’Oustrac, Alek Shrader, Paul Gay, Khatouna Gadelia, Elodie Méchain, Julie Pasturaud, Kathleen Kim, Natalia Brzezinska, Hila Fahima, Kirsty Stokes

Live Internet Streaming - 19 August 2012

It seems only natural to bring together the two short one-act operas by Maurice Ravel, the only two opera works written by the French composer, but they are strangely - perhaps on account of the different challenges presented by the two works - more commonly performed separately or alongside short works by other composers (Zemlimsky’s fairytale Der Zwerg is often seen as a younger audience-friendly companion for L’Enfant et les Sortilèges than the risqué comedy of L’Heure Espagnole). Glyndebourne’s production for the 2012 Festival therefore provides an interesting opportunity to compare two works that aren’t often performed, all the more so since they are both directed for the stage by Laurent Pelly, a director with a good affinity for the works who is able to highlight both their commonalities and their contrasts.

One thing that both operas have in common, even if they use different means of expression, is Ravel’s playful and inventive approach to musical accompaniment. L’Enfant et les Sortilèges might be made up of apparently more conventional set pieces for singing, while L’Heure Espagnole is more declamatory in recitative than sung, but both make use of American influenced jazz and ragtime and other unconventional arrangements and instruments in order to express the variety of situations, movements, gestures and attitudes that take place from moment to moment over the course of both of the works.

Set inside a clock shop in Toledo, if the music of L’Heure Espagnole isn’t conventionally rhythmic outside of the famous synchronised ticking of three different clock times at its intro, there is nonetheless a definite metronomic timing to the pace of the opera itself. While the clockmaker is out of the shop for an hour - by deliberate arrangement - checking the town clocks, the presence of a customer, the muleteer, forces his wife Concepción to have her lovers transported pendulum-like back and forth to and from her bedroom inside grandfather clocks by the unwitting but brawny muleteer. The opera has all the timing and rhythm of a typical French farce of slamming doors and hiding of a succession of lovers in wardrobes, and the rhythm of all these comings and goings even reflects the sexual implications that are suggested but not shown.

If that seems a bit of a limp subject for an opera, well imagine how this only reflects the disappointment felt by the clockmaker’s wife at the disappointing performances of the poet Gonzalve and the banker Don Iñigo Gómez who talk a good line but prove to be not really up to the job - unlike the muleteer Ramiro who handles all the exertions demanded of him by Concepción unfailingly. All such considerations are taken into account by Ravel, as lightweight as they might seem, including the suggestive double-entendres that come along with talk of pendulums, and the work is scored accordingly with flirtatious melodies, bursts of bluster, and shrill lines of frustration and disappointment, everything moreover seeming to play to the deliberate pace dictated by the presence of the muleteer. Ravel’s knowing treatment belies the apparent lightness of the work - the nod-and-a-wink ensemble finale offers no moral other than the intention of the work to “stress the rhythm, spice up the lines, with a soupcon of Spain” - but it’s never so clever as to get in the way of the genuine comic potential and satire of the subject.

L’Heure Espagnole is not an opera that you would think requires much in the way of sets or props, but set designers Caroline Ginet and Florence Evrard pull out all the stops for this Glyndebourne production, fitting out the Toledo clock shop with a variety of timepieces, religious icons and assorted junk. It serves the purpose of being eye-catching as well as perfectly functional for the farcical operations of the plot, but it also serves that perfect sense of situation that you find in Laurent Pelly productions, where you feel not so much in a real-world location as in the world of the music itself. Evidently, in such a work it’s all about the timing and Pelly, along with conductor Kazushi Ono, find that ideal pace of rhythm and direct the five-person cast through the work wonderfully well.

The singers too realise that it’s all there in the music and match the tone of their performances to the sense of comic timing and the intricacies of the score. Stephanie d’Oustrac is alternately flirtatious and ferocious as the man-eater Concepción, commandingly delivering lines that demand obedience and satisfaction. Alex Shrader puts on a fine comic performance as the poetry-spinning Jim Morrison-lookalike Gonzalve, with a lovely tenor voice to match his lyrical musings, while Paul Gay’s bass-baritone seems better suited to the lighter comic delivery of Don Iñigo Gómez here than the heavier dramatic roles such as Mephistopheles in Gounod’s Faust that I’ve seen him sing before. Elliot Madore was excellent in the vital role of Ramiro, as was François Piolino as Torquemada.

With its surreal imagery, L’Enfant et les Sortilèges is a stage designer’s dream (or perhaps nightmare), but there is a deeper psychological element to author Colette’s original libretto of a naughty schoolboy and its treated to some ravishingly beautiful as well as inventive and playful arrangements by Ravel. In the case of the Glyndebourne production, it’s definitely a dream to have the imagination of Laurent Pelly set loose on a work like this. You get a sense of being somewhere unique with Pelly at the best of times, but it’s even more the case with a work like this. By the laugh raised from the Glyndebourne audience right from the moment the curtain opens on an over-large table and chair that miniaturises Khatouna Gadelia as an ‘enfant’, you can tell that the stage design has already made the right kind of impact. But there are still considerable challenges that have to be met not only to have the child’s mother appear as a grown-up within this set (it’s very well done), but in the rapid changes of scene that are required over the course of the rest of this short work that also relies on the keeping of a regular rhythm.

Having a tantrum at being told he has to do his homework, the victims of the child’s violent and selfish actions come back to haunt him as enchanted objects, each forming a little scene of their own. A dancing Sofa and an Armchair give way to a spinning Clock, than a Teapot and a China Cup, the Flames from the fireplace and then the Shepherd and Shepherdess from the wallpaper that the child has torn in his bad temper, each of them scolding the child for his behaviour, the Princess from the ripped-up storybook making him tearfully aware of the consequences of his actions. The separate pieces slip in and out of the dark like flitting figments of a child’s imagination, each imaginatively assembled, but contributing to create a surreal mood that has more sinister, or perhaps just deeper psychological significance that becomes clear with the final cry of ‘Maman’ at the arises out of the musical arrangements as much as from the psyche of the child.

The challenge of staging the work then is not just in keeping that procession of scenes moving, but in linking them together in a way that they lead to that natural conclusion. That progression is there in the music too, which seems to be made up of a variety of styles, some melodic, others less so, some abstract and playful, such as the song of the Cats, whose mewling vocalises their discontent just as effectively as an words. L’Enfant et les Sortilèges does feel at times like it’s trying to be too clever in this regard - and exercise in mood expressed very precisely and evocatively in musical and visual terms - all the more so considering the light subject of a naughty child being scolded by the objects that he has inflicted his anger upon, and it might indeed come across like that were it not for the ending in Colette’s libretto and the interpretation placed on it by the strong combination of Pelly’s direction and Ono’s approach to the score.

That really comes together then, as it should, in the final scenes where the knife-scored trees and the creatures of the woods - squirrels, dragonflies and frogs - bring us back to nature and, through them, to the essential nature of the child itself. L’Enfant et les Sortilèges isn’t just a clever theatrical show of animated objects and anthromophism - well, it is and it needs to be, but it’s also more than that. The director and conductor have their part to play in making the work more meaningful than that, in making its meaning come to life, but the singers have a large part to play in that as well, and it’s a work that is just as challenging in that regard. Khatouna Gadelia isn’t the strongest of singers to rise above this cacophony, but she doesn’t have to be, and it’s much more important that she gets across that this is the journey of a child’s experience. Kathleen Kim takes on the challenge of the coloratura Fire, Princess and Nightingale roles well, but there’s strong work here also from L’Heure Espagnole’s team of d’Oustrac, Gay, Madore and Piolino. The work of the London Philharmonic Orchestra and the Glyndebourne Chorus was also instrumental in maintaining that continuity within the work as well as in the combination of the two works as a fascinating double-bill.

The Ravel Double Bill was reviewed here from the Live Internet Streaming broadcast via The Guardian.

Lully - Atys

Jean-Baptiste Lully - Atys

Opéra Comique, Paris, 2011

William Christie, Les Arts Florissantes, Jean-Marie Villégier, Bernard Richter, Stéphanie d’Oustrac, Emmanuelle di Negri, Nicholas Rivenq, Marc Mouillon, Sophie Daneman, Jaël Azzaretti, Paul Agnew, Cyril Auvity, Bernard Delatré

FRA Musica

In contrast to most of William Christie’s recent productions reviving forgotten gems of early French Baroque opera, this 2011 production of Jean-Baptiste Lully’s 1676 opera Atys for the Opéra Comique in Paris is rather more faithful to the period and tradition of the original work. It may be the case that the works of Lully’s successor Rameau are better suited to a more experimental approach that strives to find a balance between the classicism of the subjects and the modern perspective from which they must inevitably be viewed, but the Les Arts Florissantes’ production of Lully’s Armide directed by Robert Carsen shows that this doesn’t necessarily have to be the case. As a revival of one of Christie’s earliest productions, from 1987, what is fascinating about Jean-Marie Villégier’s production (amply documented in the extra features on this Blu-ray disc), is the careful consideration of how to present works that hadn’t been played anywhere for several hundred years in as faithful a way as possible while still making them relevant and meaningful to a new audience. The fact that a wealthy benefactor was so moved by the original production that he paid for the lavish production to be restaged in 2011 is testament to the fact that the producers got something right, and the reason why a greater audience can share in the enjoyment and beauty of this work in the age of High Definition video.

Inevitably, at this early stage in the revival and presentation of such works, the tendency is to aim towards fidelity to the period and the intentions of the work as closely as possible, but not slavishly so. There are good reasons for this, principally the fact that, even with great amounts of research on the part of Villégier - an expert on the theatre of this period - one can only come up with at best an approximation of how it was originally staged based on the scarce accounts and documentation of the opera’s original performances for the Royal Court of Louis XIV. Secondly, one has to take into consideration the expectations of a modern opera audience to some degree, since Atys itself was written and tailored to the expectations of a contemporary audience, and there’s a huge gulf of history and opera now that lies in-between that cannot be ignored. Any attempt to create authentic props, backdrops and stage effects would consequently only be a representation of a dull and dusty museum piece, making it nothing more than a curiosity of how opera would have looked in Baroque times, but Christie and his collaborators evidently believe that Lully’s Atys (like their revivals of other works from this period) has inherent musical and entertainment value that doesn’t need to be tied to a historical tradition.

Villégier’s production manages very well in this respect, aiming for period authenticity in the set and costume designs, capturing a sense of the elaborate extravagance of the work - in musical as well as in production terms - without going overboard and cluttering the stage with unnecessary props and effects. The costumes are actually those of 17th century nobility, not the robes and tunics of classical antiquity in a pastoral setting that would have been more likely employed for this subject, so the intention is clearly to give a semblance of the opera in its time rather than how it would actually have been staged. In the same vein, there is just one all-purpose grand palatial room used for all three acts, based on an historical etching, which gives sufficient room for the large cast of singers, dancers and chorus to play out the comedy, drama and tragedy of the work, conveying everything that is required through the quality of the musical and vocal presentation. The splendour and the sense of the work is thus preserved, without the need for programme footnotes to explain the tradition or make excuses for peculiarities of the production design.

The prelude in praise of the Sun King Louis XIV in this particular opera is an interesting one then, since it serves to set out the whole tone of the opera and the approach taken towards it. In the prelude, Time and the Seasons are put on hold while Melpomene, the muse of tragedy, begs leave of the king himself to delay the arrival of Spring so that the tale can be told of the tragic loves of Atys and the goddess Cybèle. It’s a very formal proposal, though it’s enlivened by comic touches, and this production accordingly plays out in the same fashion - respectfully, but with a lightness of touch. The theme, as is often the case in Baroque opera, is a romantic and a tragic one - of lovers who are kept apart by the whims of gods and kings. And, as is also often the case, gods and kings are not immune either from the forces of love. Here, Atys has just discovered that his secret love for Sangaride is reciprocal, but, alas, the discovery comes too late, for Sangaride is about to be married to the King of the Phrygians, Celenus. The lovers appeal to the goddess Cybèle, who has just appointed Atys her high priest, not knowing that Cybèle is in love with Atys herself. The results in such works when the lovers are not united with their true partners, are inevitably tragic.

While that sounds like a typically Metastasian kind of situation for a long-winded opera seria, but while Atys does indeed run to some three and a quarter hours with lots of tragic bemoaning of the cruel twists of fate and the unfathomable will of the gods, it is not a typical opera in this respect. There are no long repetitive da capo arias and no extravagant coloratura, practically no recitativo secco either, rather Atys almost holds to the model that Gluck would aspire to in his opera reforms. There is little that really stands out as an aria, but rather, a wonderful continuous flow to the singing which purposefully carries the drama and the inner feelings of the characters forward in an admirably concise and direct fashion. There are no longeurs, despite the length, the opera having a wonderful rhythm and structure of its own, the ariosos varying in pace and being broken up with ballets and the most beautiful choral arrangements. Even little divertissements, such as the prelude and the quite stunning Sleep quartet of Act III (”Dormons, dormons tous“) have a dramatic purpose, Le Sommeil arriving to transport Atys to the realm of Cybèle. All of this serves to make Atys dramatically engaging at the same time as being spellbindingly entertaining.

More than just serving these functions as should any good opera, one is equally struck and impressed by Lully’s musical sensibility, which is brought to life beautifully by William Christie and the orchestra and chorus of Les Arts Florissantes. Despite there being some discussion of research into the instruments played and the composition of the orchestra in the accompanying documentary on disc two of this Blu-ray set, it’s not known how much reconstruction, interpretation and improvisation was involved on the part of Christie, but the results are genuinely impressive. It’s not just the interpretation and performance of the music that are successful however, but rather how every element of the production, direction and choreography falls into place with no jarring elements, creating a consistent and fluid dramatic and musical wholeness. It’s within that perfect setting that the performance of Stéphanie d’Oustrac stands out all the more vividly like a sparkling jewel. Her singing is beautiful, perhaps no more exceptional than the other fine performers in the principal roles, but in her acting, in the rush of emotions that flit across her face and rest in her eyes, she brings that much needed humanity that is essential to prevent the opera being just a dry museum curiosity and instead, as Villégier accurately describes it in the documentary feature, “a catharsis of passions” that is recognisable to any viewer of any age or period. It’s all the more impressive that it is a goddess who displays such passions and, likewise, that those all too recognisable human passions can be found in a work that is almost 350 years old.

It’s remarkable too how such an old work can look and sound so fresh on the impeccable High Definition presentation of the Blu-ray release from FRA Musica. The beautifully lit image captures all the beauty in the detail of the costumes and the production design, the direction for television by Francois Roussillon capturing it all wonderfully as ever, allowing the camera to linger on the expressions of the singers at crucial moments. Nothing is missed. The usual PCM stereo and DTS HD-Master Audio 5.1 tracks are provided and have a similar crystal clarity with fineness of detail. The surround mix in particular on this release makes great use of the additional spacing and separation of instruments. A two-disc set, disc one contains the entire opera, with disc two given over to an interesting 100-minute documentary reuniting most of the creators involved in the original 1987 production recreated here in 2011. Subtitles are in French, English, German, Spanish and Italian. A very impressive set of a production (like Christie’s stunning Les Indes Galantes) that deserves to be retained for posterity.

Lully - Armide

Jean-Baptiste Lully - Armide

Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, 2008

Les Arts Florissants, William Christie, Robert Carsen, Stéphanie d’Oustrac, Paul Agnew, Laurent Naouri, Claire Debono, Isabelle Druet, Nathan Berg, Marc Mauillon, Marc Callahan, Andrew Torise, Anders J. Dahlin

FRA Musica

It’s difficult to know what balance to strike when putting on a production of a Baroque opera since, in many cases, the works in question are incredibly old and so rarely performed that they are indeed often being introduced for the first time in centuries to a new modern audience. You can’t go too far wrong with a straightforward staging using traditional painted backdrops and period costumes (which I’ve seen on DVD, for example, in productions of Cavalli’s La Calisto, Rameau’s Zoroastre or Landi’s Il Sant’ Alesio). While they would certainly cater to a specialist audience, it’s hard to imagine those kinds of productions reaching a larger audience or even being revived too often. I find however that William Christie, with whatever director he is working with, strikes a much better balance between fidelity to the spirit of the original Baroque opera – using period instruments of course – and making use of modern theatrical techniques that don’t so much revise the work as put it into a context that makes it more accessible to a wider audience. That’s certainly the case when working with the opera director Robert Carsen (Les Boréades), who also manages – whatever period of opera composition he is working in – to align the opera to a unique and workable concept that gets to the essence of the piece and its themes, while also managing to be a remarkable spectacle.

The bridging of the gap between the past and the present is taken quite literally in this 2008 production of Jean-Baptiste Lully’s Armide (1686), the prologue traditionally added to French opera of this time to praise and glorify King Louis XIV set out as if it were a tourist excursion to Versailles, where guides describe the history of the subject. Carsen, with film director François Roussillon, even go as far as filming the entire prologue sequence on location at Versailles, with ballet sequences much like the ones traditionally seen in the intervals of the televised New Year’s Day Concerts from Vienna. It’s a device that certainly uses modern technology to extend the scope of the theatre stage and the historical context – which simply has to be taken into account in any modern representation – setting the scene and location more effectively than any painted backdrop will do. And such techniques help bring the work more to life and set it into context for a modern audience, without altering the intent of the original, then why not?

There on the bed of the King of France then, Paul Agnew falls asleep and, like in a dream, goes back to a stylised past where the story of Armide unfolds. Thereafter, there is less cleverness and a more straightforward operatic staging, but like Carsen and Christie’s work on Rameau’s Les Boréades, it’s a highly stylised, fictional period setting, with elegant courtly uniformity of design and colour schemes to suggest location and mood. It’s utterly beautiful and aesthetically pleasing, making striking use of light and colour, but working also in coordination with the tone, mood and rhythm of the music score. Christie, an American, is a recognised national treasure in France for the work he has done breathing life into the dusty, stuffy academicism of old-fashioned French Baroque opera, works his usual wonders here with Lully. Although it follows the usual conventions of the five-act Baroque opera form, with recitative, aria and ballet sequences, there’s a wonderful flow to the piece, which doesn’t have the usual stop/start rhythms, but a musical coherence and gentleness that is closer to Monteverdi than the later heavier dance rhythms of Rameau.

The content of the opera itself – a mythological story of a noble knight who resists the lure of bewitchment from a dangerous siren (Ulysees, Parsifal) – is nothing special and not particularly dramatic, but it’s given a remarkably beautiful and sensitive treatment by Lully and librettist Philippe Quinault in their consideration of the characters and the emotional journey they undergo. The followers of the sorceress Armide are celebrating her latest victory over her rivals, but she herself is not happy, as she has failed to seduce the knight Renaud, who has remained immune to her charms. Over the course of the five acts, Armide eventually succeeds in her enchantment of Renaud, but falls in love with him – even the all-powerful are subject to sentiments that may render them powerless – and this causes her great emotional distress, torn between hatred and love, between glory and wisdom. These are of course personified in characters (Laurent Naouri is a red dress-wearing Hatred), but the production also attempts to implicate the actual audience themselves into the staging, which is a little gimmicky, but effective nonetheless in achieving its intentions.

As tastefully and as pitch-perfectly as Carsen, Christie and Les Arts Florissants present the work, in complete accord with each other and within the themes, tone and tenor of the original work, the singing brings out the wonderful, beautiful human touch and emotional heart of Lully’s opera work. Stephanie d’Oustrac takes Armide through a deeply emotional journey that culminates in her famous aria at the end of Act III (“Enfin, il est en ma puissance”), but she also harmonises beautifully with Paul Agnew’s wonderful Renaud in their Act V duet (“Armide, vous m’aller quitter”). Anders J. Dahlin also has the lovely aria of the fortunate lover in Act V, who advises all to take advantage of the fleeting years of youth and happiness before they are gone forever (again reminiscent of Monteverdi’s L’Orfeo). It may seem like little more than a ‘divertissement’, glorifying noble sentiments that have the power to enchant (banishing Hatred and inspiring Love), but the proof of these powers is in the enchantment of Lully’s music itself.

There are no complaints with the presentation of the opera on Blu-ray. The image is clear throughout, conveying the stunning colour schemes perfectly, with bold reds standing out against the subdued uniformity of the silver/grey and gold tones. The soundtrack in the usual PCM Stereo and DTS HD-Master Audio 5.1 mixes gives a wonderful, warm stage to the music and the singing. There’s a fine half-hour extra feature ‘Armide at Versailles’, which has Christie and Carson talking about their approach to the production, but also has a superbly informative contribution from Benôit Dratwicki on the fascinating history of the piece, its relevance to its time and its place in the tradition of the French tragédie-lyrique.