Revolutionary zeal gives way to tyranny in The Royal Opera’s Fidelio

When one thinks of power, freedom and the struggle for self-determination in opera, Verdi tends to feature at the top of the pile, but Beethoven – that great humanist – produced in Fidelio an opera that encapsulates his philosophy on society, liberty and individual responsibility. Tobias Kratzer’s production for The Royal Opera – revived from its Covid-truncated 2020 premiere – is true to the spirit of Beethoven’s only opera while taking the opportunity to delve into the psychology of life under tyranny.

Kratzer’s production is divisive and not without flaws. The relocation of the action from 17th-century Spain to revolutionary France in Act 1 is loaded with the consequences of a set of principles that have been perverted to serve one bad actor over the state. It gives designer Rainer Sellmaier an opportunity to be generous with his impressive sets; the French flag looms out onto the stage, no longer a symbol of freedom but autocracy, while the stuffed and rapine Pizarro arrives on a magnificent horse. Appearance is everything, but reveals nothing. Jaquino becomes a borderline sexpest, reluctant to cease his pursuit of Marzelline who, by the end, liberated by being the one to take down Pizarro with a bullet to the arm, is clearly no longer prepared to subject herself to the whims of an inferior man.

Indeed, it is the second half of the production which provokes the greatest disagreement. Florestan is chained like a revolutionary Prometheus to the rock, surrounded by rows of modern-day citizens; a camera zooms in on their faces and projects these onto the stark white rear wall and we, another audience, see how they react. It’s a fascinating concept; the compliant citizenry in a modern tyranny is, itself, a prisoner. Easier, safer to accept the status quo where rebellion leads to chains and acts of kindness are treason. One woman starts to eat chocolate, only to pause, shamed, as Leonore brings a scrap of bread she’s saved for the half-starved Florestan. As the opera ends, the newly released crowd – vengeful, angry – attempts to wrap the reunited couple in the flag, seeking a new embodiment of the revolution, to Leonore’s obvious discomfort. As a meditation on the timelessness of the work’s themes, it’s incredibly effective, but dramatically it doesn’t quite segue. Despite this, it’s a deeply stimulating and thoughtful production which provokes uncomfortable questions.

Musically too, the opening night was not without flaws, but three particularly high quality performances stood out. Christina Gansch stood out from the start as a determined Marzelline, a woman who knows what she wants but is thwarted by the constrictions of the time. Gansch’s pearly soprano, open and generous, has a steadiness at the top and feels well supported. Her thicker soprano made an excellent contrast to Jennifer Davis’ lighter and silver-threaded instrument; she brought an honesty to Leonore’s music, giving us both desperation and resilience. Clean articulation, an agile higher register and a sense of text were evident throughout, but most particularly with Florestan in Act 2. 

Eric Cutler sang Florestan with a solid, forceful tenor, the Gott in “Gott! Welch Dunkel hier!” a howl of agony. Cutler’s performance was at times almost animalistic; chained, crawling and beating his chest, he veered from defeat to defiance. Peter Rose’s beery, hale bass gave a bluff heartiness to Rocco, a man who tries to cleanse his soul from his participation in wickedness with small acts of mercy. Michael Gibson brought a nasty resentfulness to Jaquino, but was underpowered and his smaller voice struggled to make an impact over the orchestra and other cast members. Similarly, Jochen Schmeckenbecher’s pointed diction lent malice to Pizarro, but a lack of projection diminished his performance. 

A vivid and coherent performance from the chorus – delivering a limpid “Leb wohl, du warmes Sonnenlicht” – brought revolutionary dynamism to the finale. In the pit, Alexander Soddy conducted the orchestra in an unassuming reading of the score, with some mild discomfort in the brass section. Kratzer's production will continue to divide, but it’s one that leaves the audience with some uncomfortable questions about individual accountability in a dictatorship. It is right that we are challenged.