Almost 40 years after its première, Pina Bausch's daring reinterpretation of the myth of Orpheus still captivates audiences worldwide. Reinvigorated by Thomas Hengelbrock's fascinating musical approach (it was Gérard Mortier who brought the two artists together in 2005 for the remake of this production in Paris), Bausch's tanzoper is one of the most accomplished attempts to create a contemporary tragedy, an enthralling reflection on human boundaries.
Orpheus was the first operatic character. The story of a lyre player who opened the gates of Tartarus with the power of his music, defying the natural order to bring Eurydice back from the realm of the dead was no doubt the perfect embodiment for Monteverdi's revolution. It is not by chance that 150 years later Gluck also chose it to consolidate his own dramatic and musical reform: Orpheus' resistance to accept Eurydice's fate represents the utmost human challenge and his eventual victory is a moving token of the confidence on the transcendental power of music.
Pina Bausch's adaptation of Gluck's opera is one of the most radical subversions of the original material that can be seen on stage nowadays (why it is considered an uncontroversial classic while other less radical proposals usually meet audiences' stark opposition remains a mystery). In Gluck's original story the ill-fated couple is finally reunited and love triumphs over death in a buoyant happy ending that distorts the natural path to catharsis. Bausch decided to cut the final scene and, after Orpheus' lament, the orchestra returns to the mournful first scene of the opera, which now preludes his own death. Amore's tempting intervention in Act I had interrupted Orpheus' healing mourning with a chimerical promise of reversibility. But this is also the force that starts the whole process from static sorrow to dynamic and violent acceptance.
The journey that takes Orpheus to the abyss proves the only way to find peace and, finally, to learn to die without Eurydice. “Che farò senza Euridice”, one of the most beautifully contradictory arias ever composed, thus becomes a sad explosion of infinite comfort, a peaceful end-of-journey that oddly parallels Isolde's Liebestod. The two lovers are truly reunited, not by magical resurrection, but through the individual, serene understanding of death. Bausch's Orpheus, contrary to what might seem at first blush, is not then about the triumph of death over love but about the painful but calm understanding of loss and life.
All this reinterpretation is presented on stage through a perfect, smooth integration of voice and gesture. Contrary to Bausch's Iphigénie, which premièred one year before this Orpheus, singers and dancers share the stage with complementary dramatic codes, in a mesmerising theatrical dialogue. As in so many other of her choreographies, pain and fear are explicitly portrayed in Bausch's choreography. She does not shy away from exploring the expression of suffering and bluntly recognises it as the only axis to build a true human exploration. The heartbreaking duo between Orpheus and Eurydice on their painful way out of Elysium looked like a blind dance of spectres. The effect of Bausch's choreography is enhanced by the intense simplicity of Rolf Borzik's set design. It is striking how the frightful peace of Elysium in Act II and its uncanny, ghastly atmosphere was achieved with so few stage elements.