Jacques Offenbach’s Tales of Hoffmann is a fine example of how the ridiculous can indeed be sublime. Three E.T.A. Hoffmann stories about otherworldly love affairs with defective femmes fatales, one of whom turns out to be a mechanical doll, connected only by the author’s gullible alter-ego as protagonist, scale the heights of the phantasmagorical.
Hoffmann recounting these stories in a tavern with the help of confidante Nicklausse is hardly a plot. A good portion of it is not even the creation of Offenbach himself, as he died before completing it, but rather the concoction of manuscripts discovered posthumously over the years. In the absence of a definitive final script, the opera presents interesting artistic choices: the order of the scenes, whether to use one voice for the three women with whom Hoffmann is infatuated, and what music to include.
Jean-Louis Grinda’s production on Saturday was not intended to be an artistic breakthrough, but the superb balance of all the elements working together resulted in a satisfying evening. The staging was elaborate and faithful to the historical context; the lighting was dark and brooding, reflecting Hoffmann’s remorseful mood; the costumes were very smart and well-tailored.
The set was imaginative and functional – nothing was out of place or incongruous. The centrepiece was a triptych of translucent panels. Hung mid-air in the Prologue depicting Luther’s tavern, it created the effect of a skylight in an atrium. It was then lowered to form a screen on the stage backlit to project Olympia’s silhouette in Act 1. One of the panels lay flat on stage as the tomb of Antonia’s mother in Act 2. A thin veil upstage opened at times to reveal a palatial background.
With the large number of characters involved, it’s easy for some singers to stand out and upstage others. Someone must have put a lot of thought into casting to achieve the superb balance among various members of the cast. Isabelle Philippe put on an enthralling coloratura performance, nimbly navigating the vastly undulating contours of the robot doll Olympia’s signature tune “Les Oiseaux Dans la Charmille” in Act 1.
Irish soprano Sinéad Mulhern took on the dual roles of consumptive singer Antonia in Act 2 and Venetian courtesan Giuletta in Act 3, which her slightly heavier voice suited well. Her duet with Hoffmann, “C’est Une Chanson D'amour”, was not the best I had heard, but captivating nevertheless. She could have been more coquettish as the scheming Giuletta, though.