After Cavalli’s Ercole Amante in 2009 and Handel’s Deidamia in 2011, De Nederlandse Opera is continuing its exploration of obscure Baroque operas with Gluck’s Armide, until 27 October.
I always wondered why Armide was Gluck’s own favourite work. Surely, his French versions of Alceste and Orphée et Eurydice, and his late masterpiece Iphigénie en Tauride, are all much more appealing both dramatically and musically. I like to think that the main reason for Gluck’s preference was his sheer enjoyment at breaking the rules. He composed Armide using a libretto by Philippe Quinault that had been written almost a century earlier for Lully’s own Armide. Lully and Quinault being considered as the founding fathers of the French style known as tragédie lyrique, there must have been some kind of unwritten rule protecting their works. And Gluck pretty much put his foot in it by composing his new opera using the very same lyrics Lully had turned into music for his masterpiece.
The plot of Armide is based on Tasso’s epic poem Gerusalemme liberata (“Jerusalem Delivered”), a mythified tale of the First Crusade and Godfried of Bouillon’s knights. In a nutshell: Armide, a sorceress and the niece of the Muslim king of Damascus, has sworn to destroy the Crusaders and especially Renaud, the most valiant of all Christian knights. But at the moment when she is about to kill him in his sleep, she weakens and falls in love with him. Torn between guilt and love, she casts a spell to seduce him. When his fellow knights arrive to free him and break the spell, Renaud returns to his real love: glory. Armide is at first struck with grief, but soon swears vengeance and takes off on her flaming chariot, surrounded by dragons and demons. This is a Baroque, opera after all!
No flaming dragons in Barrie Kosky’s very contemporary vision, but breathtaking images perfectly suited to such a mythical tale. The piece starts in a modest desert landscape, bare but for a single shrub. Then, as Renaud enters Armide’s domain, the stage slowly opens up to reveal a stylized garden drowned in mist and pouring rain. The combination of the minimalistic sets (Katrin Lea Tag), superb lighting which often makes use of reflections in water (Frank Evin), and movements of the crowd on the stage, make the rest of the performance an exciting visual experience. The climax, in Act V, is a stunning tableau vivant including actors in various stages of (un)dress, a white horse smeared with blood and a storm of pink rose petals. The result is both beautiful and nightmarish: Armide’s world, created by witchcraft, is only idyllic on the surface.