Adventurous foxes, lovers’ tiffs, disillusioned men chatting over a few drinks... Despite what you might be thinking, this is not the description of an average London park, but rather the plot of Leoš Janácek’s 1924 opera The Cunning Little Vixen. This enchanting tale of life and death, nature and man, premiered in a new production at the Staatsoper Berlin on one of the first sunny days in the city after a particularly rigid winter, making this writer finally feel like emerging from hibernation. As if the good weather wasn’t enough, Sir Simon Rattle on the podium and Vera-Lotte Boecker and Magdalena Kožená as the two leads should have guaranteed high spirits.
Unfortunately, a few reservations need to be raised about the staging. Director Ted Huffman’s resume has some interesting feats, including contemporary opera productions and theatrical adaptations of key texts of Queer literature – and indeed, some of Huffman’s ideas seem inspired. Having students of the Staatliche Ballettschule mimic animals, with a pair of dancers performing aerial silks, makes for a vibrant scene in accordance with Janáček’s score. Thought-out choreographies and stage movements make singers and extras gain in authenticity, like when the Vixen and the Fox romantically dig their snouts into a freshly hunted hare. The close of Act 1, when the Vixen wreaks havoc in the chicken coop, is delightful thanks to Astrid Klein’s puffed-up chicken costumes, which explode in feathers as soon as they are ripped apart.
So much care contrasts with a bare, coldly lit backdrop that remains almost unchanged for the entire opera – which regrettably seems to be the trend at the Staatsoper in the past few months. It is hard to find significance in Nadja Sofie Eller’s alienating set design. Rather than providing a meaningful opposition to the bustle of people on stage, it simply looks unfinished, adequate only in the indoor scenes where furniture mitigates it. A transition to warm orange lights at the beginning of Act 3, together with a shower of autumn leaves on the empty stage, may cause a certain feeling of déjà vu to those in the audience who are familiar with Robert Carsen’s Eugene Onegin.
Janáček veteran Rattle relished the peculiarities of the score, where scenes built on the idiosyncratic sčasovky (short, repetitive motifs) alternate with lyricism of either folkloric or good old operatic inspiration. In a context where even minimal elements are eloquent, the conductor was sensitive to Janáček’s harmonic nuance. Strings were the leading and transmutable force, plunging the listener into rhythmic patterns that suggested some kind of curious dance. Especially in the first half of the opera, the effect was almost hypnotic, favoured by the warmth of the Staatskapelle.
As the Vixen grows, so does her musical language, developing towards more spacious melodies. The duets of love and seduction between the Vixen and the Fox were accompanied by a lush, passionate sound that would be the envy of many human-centred operas. Also engaging were choral moments like in the middle of Act 2, where soft, drone-like low winds and wordless singing evoked the contiguity of folk music and nature.
In the title role, Vera-Lotte Boecker showed mastery of her voice, movements and – as far as I could tell – Czech prosody. Her soprano has retained its projection and volume since I last heard her Daphne in 2023, but here in Janáček she also proved herself as an agile, receptive singer in comic group scenes. A pleasant, steady high register and embodied stage presence were common traits of Boecker’s Vixen and Magdalena Kožená's Fox. The two maintained the ambiguity between human and animal exquisitely – it is not often that one sees foxes scurrying around on all fours and hunting hares, to then share cigarettes and sign marriage certificates. Kožená’s mezzo was light, warm and easy across the role’s range, which rarely ventures into the lower register. This, together with a smug attitude on stage, established her as the perfect Fox.
The rest of the cast was equally up to the task. Svatopluk Sem sang the Forester with a solid, well-phrased baritone, conveying the complexity of a character whose deep attunement to nature entails a necessity to occasionally harm its inhabitants. Florian Hoffmann and David Oštrek gave contributed to the slice of life with convincing and well-sung performances as the Schoolmaster and Parson, respectively.
