Janáček The Makropulos Affair Prom 45

Karita Mattila was born to sing Emilia Marty, the diva around whom revolves Leoš Janáček's The Makropulos Affair (Věc Makropulos). At Prom 45, she shone all the more because she was conducted by Jirí Belohlávek and performed alongside a superb cast from the National Theatre, Prague, probably the finest and most idiomatic exponents of this repertoire. For Emilia Marty is much more than a diva. She's the embodiment  of a universal life force that transcends time and place. Emilia Marty is one of Janáček's Dangerous Women (read more here) who live life to the full and change those around them, and who symbolize freedom. Yet, ultimately, freedom comes at a price.

The Overture opens like an expansive panorama. Belohlávek's generous style suggested warm, glowing colours, adding richness to Janáček's energetic rhythms, underlining the contrast with the claustrophobic litigation that's drained the Prus and Gregor clans for centuries. Tense, jerky figures in the orchestra. The lines of Dr Kolenatý (Gustáv Beláček) are long and ponderous; Mattila's timbre is lustrous, but she's astute enough to make Emilia Marty's short, sharp lines bristle, but suddenly softens gently.  She knows more about the forebears of  Albert Gregor (Aleš Briscein) than he does. Mattila's emotional range is as extensive as her vocal range: her singing was extraordinarily subtle. In the Second Act, Mattila manages to convey even more complex feelings. She's tender towards Baron Prus (Svatopluk Sem) and his son Janek (Aleš Vorácek). She understands what Emilia Marty must have felt when she sees how Kristina (Eva Šterbová), the aspiring young singer, fancies Janek. But there's still something in EM that drives men mad. "Ha ha ha", she laughs, as if she didn't care.

The point cannot have been lost on Janáček himself. whose best years came late.  Significantly, Count Hauk-Šendorf (Jan Ježek) is written for the same Fach as the protagonist in The Diary of One who Disappeared, which marked the composer's true creative breakthrough.  Hauk thinks Emilia Marty is the girl he loved 50 years before, a gypsy, an outsider beyond the pale of polite society. "I left everything behind,  everything with her".  The song cycle, the opera and the composer's private life are thus linked.  Kamila Stösslová, Janáček's muse but not mistress, was also a "chula negra" (a dusky beauty).  Hauk sings "It's an ugly business, being old" and wants to run off to Spain with Emilia, since making love keeps you young. Emilia packs her bags, but Hauk's doctor intervenes. Hauk's been insane since he lost his gypsy. Like Emilia, he laughs in hollow, mechanical tones, more tragic than funny.

This throws sinister light on the scene in which EM reveals her past, as Elian Macgregor, as Eugenia Montez, as Ekaterina Myshkin and as Elina Makropulos, whose father invented the potion that's kept her young for 337 years. That's the "Věc  Makropulos", the formula that disrupts the natural cycle of life. The opera ends with a kind of Mad Scene, where Janáček's music explodes into manic, yet oddly logical frenzy.  To EM, the explanation makes perfect sense.  Trumpets blare, the tuba howls, the strings whizz like demons. Emilia blasphemes.  "You believe in humanity, in greatness, in love!", she sings, "There's nothing more we could wish for!".  A small chorus (the men of the BBC Singers) appeared, singing responses in a parody of a Mass. Mattila's too good to screech but manages to show how EM unwinds, like a broken toy.  She wants Kristina to take the formula, and be famous. But Kristina is much too down to earth to fall for it.

Jirí Belohlávek was Chief Conductor of the BBC Symphony Orchestra for many years, concurrently with his role as Chief of the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra, which he brought to London earlier this year for Janáček Jenůfa. (Read my review here.)  The BBC SO rose to the occasion for this Prom, welcoming Belohlávek with wonderfully lively playing. They learned much in their "Belohlávek Years" and haven't forgotten.  His rapport with his singers and players was almost palpable.  None of us will make age 337, but the message, as such, is not so much how long you live but how well you live. As Janáček wrote to Stösslová, after attending the Karel Čapek play on which the opera is based,  "We are happy because we know that our life isn't long. So it's necessary to make use of every moment, to use it properly". Belohlávek is looking frail these days, though his conducting is still full of fire. As I watched, I thought how wonderful it was to be able to hear him again. I hope he realizes how much he's appreciated!

This review with extra photos appears in Opera Today
 

Exceptionally prescient : Janáček Jenůfa - Belohlávek. Mattila

Highlight of the whole opera season so far this year: Leos Janáček Jenůfa with Jirí Belohlávek, his team from the Czech Philharmonic, and Karita Mattila making her debut as Kostelnicka Buryjovka. British audiences embraced Janáček even during his lifetime and Rafael Kubelik introduced him to Covent Garden. Belohlávek has transformed the whole way in which Czech repertoire is received in this country. This Jenůfa continues Belohlávek's mission to present Czech music affirming its idiomatic individuality, fuelled by intuitive feel for language and culture. From Belohlávek we've had outstanding Smetana, Janáček, Dvorak, Suk  and  Martinů, so expectations were high, and totally fulfiilled.

Exceptional playing from the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra. When they come to London with Belohlávek, they seem to put their souls into performance. The dynamism and verve they offered brought this Jenůfa to vivid life. This performance was intense, yet clear-sighted, giving context to the extreme emotions in the narrative. In the glowing strings and richness of the winds, we could visualize the cornfields around the village, a symbolic metaphor for fertility, and by extension, the continuity of communal life. In her own way, like a good farmer, Kostelnicka protects the resources  around her. She wants the best for Jenůfa, and until Števa shows he can run the mill responsibly, the couple can't marry. Unfortunately, fertility plays tricks. When Laca stabs Jenůfa, sharp, violent chords suggest Laca's frustration. He, who cannot inherit or get the girl, can only destroy. Yet the abundance and energy in the music remind us that Nature is infinitely greater than mortal men. Eventually it will triumph.  

Significantly, the Second Act takes place in winter, when people are trapped indoors, physically and psychically. Hence the ominous drumbeats and the pale, fragile figures on winds, sharp chords and a dragging undertow, all suggesting the interplay between environment and human drama. Can we hear the river flowing beneath the frozen surface?  In this Act the vocal parts take prominence. Jenůfa's music is tender, contrasting with the harshness of her dilemma, and with the whining arrogance in Števa's music. Jaroslav Brezina sang Števa, and Adriana Kohútková sang Jenůfa, the lightness in her voice suggesting how innocent Jenůfa is, despite her past.  Aleš Briscein, a Czech Opera regular, whom we've heard many times, gave Laca firm definition, which matters, since the character will prove, in the end, to have the depth to overcome his flaws.  When Karita Mattila sang Jenůfa she was good, but Kostelnicka would seem to suit the complexity in her voice even better.  The intensity in Mattila's voice shows that, as a sacristan's wife,  Kostelnicka understands mortal sin, but the underlying warmth suggests that her love for Jenůfa makes the sacrifice worthwhile. 

In Spring, the ice in the river melts: we hear again in the orchestra lively motifs that suggest movement, and the energy of peasant life. Now the choruses really come into full focus: the Czech Philharmonic Choir Brno show how integral natural fluency in language connects to Janáček's idiom  The spikiness in the orchestration springs from a language invigorated by consonants and stresses very different to, say, Italian or German.  The interplay of individual voices in the final act was masterful: Belohlávek is an excellent conductor for voice.  Mattila's voice commands the action, at once tragic and resigned. Perhaps that's the fate which awaits Jenůfa and Laca. The music around them feels heroic, though pointedly not overblown. At the end, we hear the suggestion of bells ringing in the distance. Balance returns, wisdom is gained and the rhythm of Nature restored. People die, life goes on.

Jirí Belohlávek is looking older and more frail, but in many ways that might have enhanced the performance. This was a Jenůfa of very great emotional depth, executed with the kind of authority which comes from genuine sensitivity. We have been truly blessed to experience an interpretation as perceptive as this.

The photo above was taken in Prague last week.  Please click on the labels at right to read what else I've written about Belohlávek and the music  he serves so well.