Tom Sutcliffe’s 1998 book Believing in Opera reveals that his faith does not extend to Rusalka. “An improbable and tiresome late Romantic fairy-tale,” is his denunciation. He obviously hadn’t seen Sarah Giles’ Opera Conference production in Perth (last year), currently playing in Sydney, nor taken into account the current popularity of Dvořák's opera – four productions reviewed last year, from Prague to Toronto, and a debut at La Scala in 2023.
Yes, Giles does get occasionally stuck on the inconsistencies of Jaroslav Kvapil’s libretto – particularly the Water King’s insistence that he can’t imagine why his naiad daughter would want to take human form when it’s such fun beneath the waves. Her watery sisters look more like meditating nuns than party people, and their sweet singing of regret at losing Rusalka doesn’t suggest anything livelier.
But luckily, Giles has a trio of wood sprites to cheer us up – with just a little assistance from Wagner’s Rhinemaidens, and yet more from Renée Mulder’s wacky costumes. The sprites have long, rooted arms to emphasise their aboreal nature as they tempt the Water King to “try and catch us”. Later, hints of Wagner’s leitmotifs allow us to associate with Rusalka herself, the moon, the forest and the curse that will destroy Rusalka’s dreams.
For her humanity comes with sacrifice – her voice for a start and her watery gown, which she swaps for a blonde vamp outfit. Unable to explain her silence, the Prince, who’s been magically drawn to her, soon tires of their missing communication and starts courting a Foreign Duchess who’s both more fun and smart enough to realise that he’s really hooked and will eventually return to Rusalka.
And with a voice like Nicole Car’s, why would you look elsewhere? In her role debut, the Australian soprano has returned to Opera Australia for the first time since 2018, and there was nothing watery about her tone, which was passionate, wistful and sweet as required. Her mastery of Czech (I believe for the first time) added to the thrill of Dvořák's music. What’s more, when forced into silence, she acted most effectively.
Meanwhile, her more experienced Prince, Australian-born Gerard Schneider, handled his bemusement at this strange turn of events manfully in his superstitious court, though it’s pretty odd that Rusalka’s initial physical enthusiasm dissipates. Instead she manages a witty response to the Duchess’ threat by copying her outrageous wedding dress, while Natalie Aroyan’s boisterous singing was clearly a response to Car’s silence.
Warwick Fyfe’s Water King and Ashlyn Tymms’ witch Jezibaba (with equally colourful coven) kept popping up to comment and, in her case, cause both the magical mayhem and the solution, for, having kissed the Prince to death at the end, it seems that Rusalka can finally live a normal human life. Was that Dvořák's intention? I still hankered for the image of the naiad Rusalka as a wave embracing an unknowing, swimming Prince.
This was undoubtedly enhanced by Charles Davis’ underwater, mirrored set with waterlilies across the top of the proscenium arch, and the bonus of David Bergman’s video swimmers, bubbling the surface in Act 1. The real passion has to wait for Act 3, when the Prince returns to find his bride and choose his deathly fate rather than attempt to maintain a relationship with Rusalka, now an ephemeral will-o'-the-wisp. But why did she have to explain all this standing on top of a set of stairs?
The Opera Australia Orchestra under Johannes Fritzch played splendidly, but I suspect a lot of the audience's enthusiasm was directed at Car and the design team.
