Opera provocateur Calixto Bieito has struck again, mangling another mainstay of the repertoire. The victim this time is Jenůfa, Janáček’s searing tale of infanticide in a claustrophobic rural village, relocated to a modern abstract setting and littered with pointless distractions.
The production opens on a mostly bare stage which stays that way throughout the evening, with the few chairs and tables supplemented by props more puzzling than enlightening – a basketball hoop where two minor characters play during the first act, a sewing machine Kostelnička busies herself with during Jenůfa’s wedding celebration. Lighting provides the missing focus, though not very well, and not very often. Nor do the costumes move the characters beyond stereotypes. Visually, it’s like watching a rehearsal rather than a finished production.
That puts all the weight on the singers, who aren’t given a lot of latitude. Jenůfa is portrayed as a good-time gal, not very bright, the kind of girl who keeps cigarettes in her cleavage. Števa, who got her pregnant, is an incorrigible drunk without a single redeeming quality that a woman might find attractive. Stepmother Kostelnička is menacing from the moment she first takes the stage, then more comical than tragic in her overwrought breakdown at the end of the second act. And Jenůfa’s suitor Laca, despite his good intentions, is whiny and overbearing. In short, rather than a believable group of hidebound villagers, Bieito offers an offensive, dysfunctional family that you hope will never move in next door.
At the premiere, the cast worked hard to overcome those handicaps, with limited success. Alžběta Poláčková was sturdy in the title role, her lustrous soprano filled with a tenderness otherwise missing onstage. Making her National Theatre debut, English mezzo Rosie Aldridge had the voice and intensity to carry Kostelnička, but was undercut by unnecessary histrionics. Martin Šrejma flailed as Števa, called on for no more than superficial singing and acting. Aleš Briscein was just the opposite as Laca, overly earnest and pleading to the point of being annoying. Rising above it all was Eva Urbanová, the veteran Czech soprano who has sung the role of Kostelnička many times, making a smooth and persuasive transition to Grandmother Buryjovka.
Better support from the pit might have helped. But Norwegian conductor Stefan Veselka, who has led previous performances of both Jenůfa and Káťa Kabanová, displayed little feel for the score. The emphases were obvious and percussion-heavy, details were lost and the usual tight fit between Janáček’s language and music was almost entirely missing. Moreover, the normally sharp National Theatre Orchestra sounded rough around the edges and one-dimensional, missing many of the nuances in the music. The choral scenes were the few bright musical moments of the evening, with robust singing and, for a change, effective staging by Bieito.
To be fair, it seems unlikely that performances of any caliber could overcome the core problem with this production. Stripped of its original setting and dynamics, the story loses its power and credibility. Absent the insular pressures and strictures of village life, there’s no driving motivation for murder – especially in the modern world, where it’s common for an unmarried woman to have a child. And with no depth in the relationship between Jenůfa and Kostelnička, the dramatic tension in their conflicting desires never develops, robbing the piece of much of its emotional impact. The overriding impression was one of watching performers going through the motions rather than digging deep to reach emotional authenticity.
Bieito himself reinforced that with gratuitous add-ons. A totally invented subplot that started in the prologue and bled into the opera proper showed mill foreman Stárek breaking up a tête-à-tête between one of his workers and a girlfriend, then beating the worker. In the closing scene of the opera, Jenůfa and Laca celebrated their future together by (spoiler alert) smearing wedding cake in each other’s faces. There were too many of these unwelcome additions.
This was a hollow, sterile version of what should be a gripping music drama. After the performance, an audience member was overheard saying, “I hope tourists don’t see this and think it’s Janáček.” Agreed. Even – and maybe especially – visitors who may know nothing about Czech opera deserve the real deal rather than a pale imitation.