Befitting its status as one of the crown jewels in the Czech operatic repertoire, Jenůfa was given the star treatment in two September performances at the National Theatre in Prague, with house mainstay Kateřina Kněžiková in the title role and visiting Finnish diva Karita Mattila reprising Kostelnička, which has become one of her signature roles. Conductor Robert Jindra, director Jiří Nekvasil and designer Daniel Dvořák, all top-of-the-line talent in the Czech Republic, put together a production that ultimately promised more than it delivered.
Eschewing the usual realistic treatment of Janáček’s searing drama, Nekvasil and Dvořák take a metaphorical approach, invoking the atmosphere of the rural setting without going into any detail, and focusing on the fatal hubris of Kostelnička rather than the stifling confines of village life. Instead of opening up new avenues of interpretation, this constricts the story to a psychodrama played out between two women. Dvořák’s deliberately drab palette offers no relief or escape, shrouding the narrative in a perpetual state of gloom and doom.
The first act accentuates these shortcomings, with a set that looks more like a factory interior than a village square, and direction that is almost abstract. Even the jealous Laca disfiguring Jenůfa with his knife is more robotic than impassioned. With a change of scene to Kostelnička’s claustrophobic cabin in the second act, the production finds its footing, thanks largely to stellar performances by Kněžiková and Mattila.
Kněžiková has built her career mostly on light, lyrical roles, recently expanding into heavier fare like the title roles in Káťa Kabanová and Libuše. In Jenůfa she dug deep, bringing the natural emotional quality in her voice to heartbreaking proportions. The pain and anguish her character felt upon learning of her baby’s death was palpable in the second act, and her pleading throughout – for Števa not to abandon her, then for a better life to close out the finale – was tender and touching without becoming cloying.
Mattila has sung Kostelnička so many times that it’s like an alter ego for her, and her voice and poise tend to dominate any stage she inhabits. There were some of her usual histrionics in the second act, most of which she spent on her knees or dashing around like a madwoman. Otherwise it was a measured, even restrained performance, and stronger because of it, giving her character a steely quality and her voice an icy edge. And Mattila remains unmatched in intensity, with no more chilling scene in all of opera than the pivotal point in the second act when she talks herself into committing infanticide.
Aleš Briscein struggled a bit to find the proper voice and character of Laca, finally hitting his stride in the third act. Peter Berger was a serviceable Števa, in good voice but without much acting range. Secondary character standouts among house regulars included Yvona Škvárová as the Grandmother Buryjovka, Zdeněk Plech as the mayor and Ekatěrina Krovatěva as his hyperactive daughter. Behind and around them, the National Theatre Chorus added depth and texture to the narrative with rousing vocals, particularly the “Everyone’s getting married” number that sounds a rare note of happiness in the first act.
With Jindra at the podium, it was another brilliant night in the pit. No composer fit text and music together as tightly as Janáček, and this was an exceptional example of how to execute it properly. Jindra did not miss a note or nuance, building the tension in the score with fine precision, and deftly balancing the chaotic emotional outbursts with soft romantic interludes. Sharp, smart brass seemed to have a mind of its own, occasionally stepping on the singers. But mostly his conducting was a study in synthesis, fusing the music and vocals to create an impact that neither the orchestra nor the singers could have achieved on their own.
The performance ends with the set literally falling apart as Jenůfa and Laca walk off toward a brighter future, which even in a metaphorical framework comes off as a ham-fisted finale, especially in light of the realistic touches that work better. Jenufa’s red-and-white outfit in the first act suggesting a scarlet letter, her frantic attack on the block of ice containing her dead baby – sporadic elements like that whet the appetite for more. Clever staging has its place, but in the end it is passion that electrifies this opera.
