A word of advice to anyone considering an update of Mozart’s Idomeneo: don’t. A production directed by Calixto Bieito that opened the new season at Prague’s State Opera offers a case study of the pitfalls of unwarranted temporal dislocation and the vacuous results.
The opera offers a happier version of a story from Greek mythology set in Crete after the Trojan war, where the captured Trojan Princess Ilia and Greek Princess Elettra vie for the affections of Prince Idamante, son of the victorious King Idomeneo. Complicating the love triangle is a vow that Idomeneo made to Neptune: in return for saving him from a sea storm, Idomeneo must sacrifice the first person he sees upon reaching dry land, which turns out to be his son. In the Aeneid, Idomeneo murders his son and is exiled by his angry subjects; in the opera, Idamante is saved by the intercession of the gods and triumphantly ascends to the throne with his true love Princess Ilia.
Does any of this hold up in a modern setting? Hardly at all, from the drab contemporary clothing (Idomeneo in a trenchcoat and business suit, Ilia in a yellow prison jumpsuit) to the rain of plastic water jugs representing an attack by a sea monster. It comes off as absurd, especially in an abstract set of rotating translucent walls that suggest nothing more than a sterile wasteland. Characters shout “the insatiable monster is destroying everything” in what looks like a dentist’s waiting room. Drained of any trace of verisimilitude, nobility or historical import, it all feels hollow, offering little dramatic appeal.
This exacerbates a built-in handicap: there is not much for the characters to do. Almost all the real action takes place offstage while the singers wring their hands and bemoan their fate. This leaves a lot of space for the director to fill, which Bieito does by having his players obsess over common objects like a pair of shoes or a loaf of bread, throw heavy chains around and claw and scratch at the shifting walls like rats in a maze. Unrelated add-ons, like video clips from war movies like Battleship Potemkin and All Quiet on the Western Front, further reinforce the impression of a director throwing every random thing he can think of into a muddled stew.
All of which puts an extraordinary burden on the singers, who labor mightily with mixed results. Standout vocals on the second night belonged to American tenor Evan LeRoy Johnson, who commanded the stage as the suffering Idomeneo, and Swedish mezzo Rebecka Wallroth, who showed a brilliant voice and persuasive acting chops in the trouser role of Idamante. Their confrontation when Idamante initially recognizes his father but is then rejected by him provided one of the few dramatic highlights of the evening. House regulars Ekatěrina Krovatěva and Petra Alvarez Šimková were serviceable as Ilia and Elettra, respectively, with Krovatěva drawing applause for anguished arias and Šimková showing facile flashes of coloratura.
The most impressive musical performance was in the pit. German conductor Konrad Junghänel is a veteran of Baroque opera and Early Music ensembles, and his expertise showed in his skillful handling of Mozart’s score – richly melodic, finely detailed and just a bit understated, perfect for a period piece. His support for the singers heightened and sometimes anticipated their reactions, though what stood out most was the expression in the music, so eloquent that at times it was like another voice in the cast. Even the recitatives had atmosphere. The State Opera Chorus also provided vivid support, though not with its usual precision, perhaps still adjusting to a new chorus master. And why were they dressed like miners?
Offstage, a tip of the top hat to the State Opera’s painstaking scholarship in stitching together a smart version of the score from the many cuts and revisions Mozart made after premiering the opera in Munich in 1781.
And finally, a positive note. Critics may complain, but some members of the audience clearly bought into Bieito’s conceit when Idomeneo walked onstage with a plaster statue of Neptune. He put it on a pedestal, circled it warily for a while, then smashed it to bits, drawing an approving round of applause. Evidently resisting The Man – or a fickle god – has timeless allure.
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