It’s taken over a century for Die Frau ohne Schatten to make it to Warsaw’s Polish National Opera. And the company has now followed recent productions of Salome and Ariadne auf Naxos – its first tentative steps into music by Richard Strauss – by bringing Mariusz Treliński’s smart, serious staging of this grand allegorical fairy tale (first seen in Lyon in 2023) to the generous stage of the Teatr Wielki.
It can’t help feeling like a statement of intent in set-designer-turned-intendant Boris Kudlička’s first season in charge of the theatre, even if his own note in the programme highlights the limits of any Strauss tradition in the house. That can’t be learnt overnight but, under Bassem Akiki’s direction, the orchestra threw itself heroically at this beast of a score – arguably one of the most technically challenging in the repertoire – and emerged relatively unscathed.
The lack of experience in this music nevertheless manifested itself in some hairy moments of ensemble and problems with balance, the brass often drowning out somewhat undernourished strings. The necessary rich Straussian blend proved elusive. And if Akiki rallied his forces for a satisfyingly rousing conclusion, the intensity of the playing – and by extension of the drama – often fell short.
As the run progresses, this will no doubt improve. Matters on first night were not helped by the fact that Annemarie Kremer’s Empress was announced as indisposed. She managed her compromised resources shrewdly, though, and acted well. Trelińksi’s production reimagines the work as a study of the Empress’ psychological exhaustion, and Kremer was especially moving in the final minutes, where she and her husband (the slightly stiff but vocally superb Tadeusz Szelenkier) are revealed as older, childless benefactors of the Dyer’s newly expanded family.
Indeed, Trelińksi’s production only really reveals its hand fully in Act 3, not only in this ultimate revelation, but also in the inclusion of an elderly Keikobad, who lies motionless on an altar in the temple scene, a giant rock pointing down from above, before rising to castigate his daughter at the scene’s shattering climax. The text of the Empress’ melodrama is dramatically shortened and rewritten to accommodate this change. (Beyond the standard cuts, the production also shortens the Watchmen’s song at the end of Act 1.)
Until the final act, the action is presented clearly and relatively conventionally. Fabien Lédé’s single revolving set accommodates both spirit and human worlds around an angular frame: a generous bed and oversize plants for the former, washing machines and industrial vents impinging on living space for the latter. Marc Heinz provides the stylish lighting, Marek Adamski the contemporary costumes and Bartek Macias the projections, which add an oppressive, dreamlike atmosphere.
Dancers and actors add extra colour (choreography by Jacek Przybyłowicz). There’s a twitchy, wounded falcon, and a “Golden Boy”, sent to seduce the Dyer’s Wife with his nifty moves and leather trousers. A group of children in doll-like white masks is used effectively, quietly threatening one moment, inspiring sympathy the next.
Trelińksi’s detailed direction, apparently drawing inspiration from Lars von Trier and Ingmar Bergman, extends to the other principals, too, with Lise Lindstrom an unusually sympathetic Dyer’s Wife, the voice – its edges rounded rather than steely – growing in power as the evening progressed. Lindsay Amman’s Nurse was excellent, vividly capturing the character’s duplicity and equal to its vocal challenges. Only Lauri Vasar’s underpowered Barak was a disappointment.
With good work from an extended ensemble cast, led by Krzysztof Szumański’s implacable Spirit Messenger, this is an impressive company achievement. Kudlička apparently has big plans for his house, and, despite some reservations, this bold first foray into previously uncharted territory points to an exciting future.
Hugo's press trip to Warsaw was funded by Polish National Opera
