Why stage an opera? That Don Giovanni is guaranteed to be sold out when put on by a world-class orchestra and headlined by a charismatic young star is the practical answer, but it’s no artistic raison d'être. Although musically compelling, Iván Fischer’s new production, unlike its 2017 predecessor, offers no incisive insights or inventive stagecraft to make a strong argument for its existence.
A core issue with this Don Giovanni, similarly to the BFO’s recent operatic outings, is Fischer’s increasing draw towards a kitschy sense of realism. At the 2017 performance, I was struck by Fischer’s intelligent use of the concert hall’s limited space and pared-down aesthetic. That magic has now gone. The striking core component of that dark, minimalist staging – the use of dancers’ bodies as a live set – remained (impressively choreographed by Georg Asagaroff and Fanni Czvikli), but melded into a largely traditional production (a storybook look by Andrea Tocchio and Anna Biagiotti), it felt incongruous and convinced little.
The concert stage's utilisation proved another issue. For years now, Fischer’s stagings have been co-produced by the Vicenza Opera Festival: they have to function both in a late Renaissance theatre and in a modern concert hall. Here, the former’s spirit dominated: paper columns hung from the rafters imitated the Teatro Olimpico’s famed quasi-Roman scaenae frons and mimicking its decorations, singers and dancers acted with an awkward mix of realism and stylisation. Striking statuesque poses and staying rooted to a spot may read better in Vicenza, drawing a veneer of authenticity from the setting, but here, it felt stilted and kitsch, often offering only park and bark.
Individual performances and interactions still convinced. Andrè Schuen’s Don and Luca Pisaroni’s Leporello offered sizzling chemistry and a symbiotic sleaziness, resulting in explosive, heartrending confrontations with Miah Persson’s spirited Donna Elvira. But the drama’s more complex elements remained frustratingly opaque. The Don himself was a faceless entity, neither the violent sex addict, nor, per Fischer’s preferred reading, the young, charismatic libertine. It was difficult to see what would have drawn two thousand women to him. Don Ottavio was skewered by the staging as self-righteous and useless and Donna Anna’s character fell by the wayside along with him, with strangely little dramatic weight given to her tragedy. The production’s leaning into the work's giocoso aspect ultimately also clashed with the use of the Vienna finale – Don Giovanni’s supernatural punishment felt a jarring end to a largely comic evening.
Musically, matters were more solid. Fischer had assembled a fine Mozartian ensemble, offering uniformly idiomatic singing, vividly delivered recitatives, and harmonious vocal blending, together proving much greater than the sum of its parts. If the staging left Schuen little to do with Giovanni acting-wise, he made up for it aplenty vocally. His velvety bass-baritone, if less powerful than one might like, was perfectly seductive in a hushed “Deh, vieni alla finestra”, dripping with bravado and disdain elsewhere, drawing a largely convincing vocal portrait of a carefree, cruel young man. As his partner-in-crime, Pisaroni was having a ball as Leporello, a role that fits him like a glove: cynical and mischievous, he offered a humorous, finely coloured portrayal. The pair were responsible for some of the evening's best moments: Schuen’s Don puppeteering Leporello through “Ah, taci, ingiusto core” was hilarious.
Maria Bengtsson’s golden timbre and elegant, sensitive phrasing lent suitable nobleness to Donna Anna, and her “Non mi dir” was highly moving. Alas, “Or sai chi l’onore” was considerably less assured, its timid delivery not helped by Fischer’s tepid conducting. As Donna Elvira, Persson brought her pearly, shining soprano and fiery edge to the role, though her instrument is unfortunately diminished – the poignancy of her “Mi tradì” was marred by an intermittently inaudible lower register and choppy coloratura. Bernard Richter’s bright, stentorian tenor gave his Ottavio an authoritative edge, but his delivery of “Dalla sua pace” and “Il mio tesoro” was more valiant than triumphant. Giulia Semenzato’s Zerlina perfectly charmed with her warm, vivacious soprano, utterly enchanting in her arias. Daniel Noyola was a capable Masetto, while Krisztián Cser’s Commendatore thundered with freezing menace.
Fischer led the Budapest Festival Orchestra in a light-footed, buoyant reading of the score, its vibrant, graceful spirit clearly bending more towards historically-informed style than Romantic heaviness. The trombones in the overture and final scene brought the seria grandeur of Idomeneo to mind, while the supple, mellifluous playing of the woodwinds delighted throughout. If this was a concert performance, it would have been an altogether satisfying one.
