There are a lot of competitors for the title of silliest opera libretto ever, but Bizet’s The Pearl Fishers (Les Pêcheurs des Perles) is in there with a real chance. It might be seen just as a melodramatic romantic triangle dressed up in exotic garb – originally intended to be “ancient” Mexico and relocated before its première to “ancient” Ceylon. To post-colonial eyes, this is somewhat problematical, having nothing to do with any genuine stories of indigenous Sri Lankans. Michael Gow’s new production for Opera Australia (already seen earlier this year in Sydney and Melbourne) compounds these issues by recasting the “native” male principals as Kiplingesque Europeans while leaving Leïla as a Sri Lankan. This is not an entirely new idea, as OA’s previous production (by Ann-Margret Petterson) featured Zurga as a French colonial administrator, who survived into a mellow old age (unlike in this production) to look back on his youthful colonial capers as a distant exotic reverie. Bizet’s idea of exotic music, however, provides a lot of nice colours and textures, even if the show can be characterised as a one-hit wonder; the theme of the famous duet recurs throughout the work, even if some of the other arias are less engaging.
The set revealed at curtain-up of this Perth performance excited applause from some quarters with a vista of crumbling walls in front of a glittering sea and blue sky, with a multi-headed deity in a niche (at least this production doesn’t mix up Hindu and Buddhist traditions). The opening of Act III featured Zurga’s colonial dwelling – louvred doors and a wall hung with a multitude of stag and boar heads.
The stage was pretty full with a remarkably pale-skinned chorus of villagers in pleasant red-to-orange-to-yellow saris and sarongs. Zurga, tall and imposing with a full beard, contrasted with Nadir’s youthful clean-shaven look, both being clad in 19th-century colonial shirts, long jackets and breeches. Nourabad was envisaged as a somewhat Simon Legree-creation, with villainous moustaches and a low-rent bowler hat. As if to compensate for the loss of spiritual authority in this figure, a sadhu-type in a dhoti with henna-dyed hair and bifurcated whiskers wandered around in his wake. Leïla was accoutred in blingy sari and veil. A squad of rather grubby Pathan-like militia filled out the cast. There was a certain lack of fluidity in getting everyone around. The person sitting next to me laughed uproariously in a genteel sort of way almost all the way through, particularly as the final curtain fell on the figure of one of the pathans, at Nourabad’s behest, creeping up behind Zurga with an upraised dagger.