A day before I attended a performance of Jakov Gotovac’s Ero s onoga svijeta, I was chatting to a young vineyard owner in the hills some 50 minutes from Zagreb. When I mentioned that I would be seeing one of the great works of the Croatian-language repertoire, he beamed and then sternly corrected me. “English people always call it Ero the Joker, when in fact it should be Ero from Another World.” The knowledge and affection that Gotovac’s great comedy commands among the Croatians was uplifting. Alas, I did not see the opera at the magnificent house in Zagreb, but caught the Croatian National Opera in a guest performance two hours north in Slovenia, in the Ondine Otto Kasinc Hall of Maribor’s charming opera house.
Gotovac, a titanic figure in 20th-century musical Croatia, premiered Ero in 1935 in Zagreb, and although few operagoers in the UK will have encountered the work, it does have something of a performance history abroad. A comic opera in three acts, it is full both musically and dramatically of Croatian folklore. The opera begins on the farming estate of the wealthy Marko in a village at the foot of the Dinara. Marko’s first wife has died, leaving a daughter, Đula, and he has now married Doma, herself a widow and not warmly disposed towards her stepdaughter. As Đula bemoans her lot, surrounded by peasants from the village, a young man slides down from a large haystack and declares himself to be Ero from another world.
The credulous villagers believe his tales and once he has tricked Doma into absenting herself, he declares to Đula that her late mother has dictated that he will be Đula’s husband. Marko drives Ero off, who then tricks Doma by suggesting that her late husband is very unhappy with her new marriage and wrangles a large bag of gold from her. Subsequently Đula and Ero marry, Marko invites them home and it transpires that Ero is in fact the wealthy Mića – not from another world but from a neighbouring village, who hid his wealth and identity to ensure that his bride married him for love. There’s nothing overly unconventional in the plot, and the score is full of the lush romanticism of the period, seasoned with some interesting subversive percussion which if not avant-garde gives a touch of modernity to the music. It’s a deeply pleasant listen, with moments across all three acts that capture the ear.
Krešimir Dolenčić’s production is entirely traditional, with period costumes and an appealing set dominated in the first act by a haystack that becomes a milling device in the second. There is a degree of old-fashioned standing and delivering which is to the detriment of the more serious scenes, but the choreography of the finale kolo – a type of regional dance – was delightfully handled, and all performing seemed to be dancing with genuine smiles.
Vocally, it was more of a mixed picture. Tenor Stjepan Franetović struggled to convince as Ero, lacking both the charisma and mystique that the role seems to demand, failing to convey much in the way of ardour towards Đula and generally giving the impression of inertia. His tenor sounded somewhat arid, lacked pliancy and was often muted, struggling to rise above the orchestra and to compete with other singers.
It was Valentina Fijačko Kobić as Đula who provided the heart of the opera, with a consistently emotive performance. Her big moments in Acts 1 and 2 were sensitively delivered; her soprano has weight to it and was deployed with a sense of line and colour, the plangency of her character’s position redolent in every note. Ivica Čikeš gave an authoritative Marko, showing a bitter chocolate bass with some heft in it, particularly when mustering his subordinates for the chase at the end of Act 1. Some credit is due to Čikeš for making Marko’s switch from menace to affability in Act 3 believable. As Doma, Dubravka Šeparović Mušović provided perhaps the most comedy of the evening, her slightly citric mezzo apt for taking Doma from shrill, but self-assured shrew at the start to a figure of absurdity by the end. Ljubomir Puškarić’s robust, but smooth baritone was well fitted to Sima the Miller, deployed with charm and energy.
In the pit, Srba Dinić conducted the Orchestra of the Croatian National Theatre in a performance of total conviction, with no stray notes, consistent thrust and a warmth that resonated throughout. A little more definition to the strings was all that was needed to lift the orchestral sound. It was a pleasure to hear a work so central to the Croatian repertoire and provided a gateway to other works in the canon. One to revisit!
