Why stage an opera? That Don Giovanni is guaranteed to be sold out when put on by a world-class orchestra and headlined by a charismatic young star is the practical answer, but it’s no artistic raison d'être. Although musically compelling, Iván Fischer’s new production, unlike its 2017 predecessor, offers no incisive insights or inventive stagecraft to make a strong argument for its existence.
A core issue with this Don Giovanni, similarly to the BFO’s recent operatic outings, is Fischer’s increasing draw towards a kitschy sense of realism. At the 2017 performance, I was struck by Fischer’s intelligent use of the concert hall’s limited space and pared-down aesthetic. That magic has now gone. The striking core component of that dark, minimalist staging – the use of dancers’ bodies as a live set – remained (impressively choreographed by Georg Asagaroff and Fanni Czvikli), but melded into a largely traditional production (a storybook look by Andrea Tocchio and Anna Biagiotti), it felt incongruous and convinced little.
The concert stage's utilisation proved another issue. For years now, Fischer’s stagings have been co-produced by the Vicenza Opera Festival: they have to function both in a late Renaissance theatre and in a modern concert hall. Here, the former’s spirit dominated: paper columns hung from the rafters imitated the Teatro Olimpico’s famed quasi-Roman scaenae frons and mimicking its decorations, singers and dancers acted with an awkward mix of realism and stylisation. Striking statuesque poses and staying rooted to a spot may read better in Vicenza, drawing a veneer of authenticity from the setting, but here, it felt stilted and kitsch, often offering only park and bark.
Individual performances and interactions still convinced. Andrè Schuen’s Don and Luca Pisaroni’s Leporello offered sizzling chemistry and a symbiotic sleaziness, resulting in explosive, heartrending confrontations with Miah Persson’s spirited Donna Elvira. But the drama’s more complex elements remained frustratingly opaque. The Don himself was a faceless entity, neither the violent sex addict, nor, per Fischer’s preferred reading, the young, charismatic libertine. It was difficult to see what would have drawn two thousand women to him. Don Ottavio was skewered by the staging as self-righteous and useless and Donna Anna’s character fell by the wayside along with him, with strangely little dramatic weight given to her tragedy. The production’s leaning into the work's giocoso aspect ultimately also clashed with the use of the Vienna finale – Don Giovanni’s supernatural punishment felt a jarring end to a largely comic evening.