Adding staging to J.S. Bach’s highly fraught St. Matthew Passion could tip it into melodrama. But for Peter Sellars his production is ‘not a show, not theatre, it’s a prayer’. Here was a concert that never became a vehicle for display. Its focus was on the suffering of Christ, not the individual performer.
That is not to say that this concert was lacking in dazzling performances. Sellars’ staging allowed every performer – including instrumentalists, choir and conductor Simon Rattle – to move with agility. This was especially important for the soloists, who were given the freedom to use the stage’s space. Mezzo-soprano Magdalena Kožená took advantage of this. In her aria ‘Buss und Reu’ (‘Repentance and remorse’) her movements were a natural extension of her words, and her quirky gestures in ‘Sehet! Sehet, Jesu hat die Hand’ (Behold! See, Jesus has his hand’) were utterly engaging. Her singing meanwhile was characterful, capturing both misery and sweetness.
Yet it was Mark Padmore in the role of the Evangelist who held the drama together. Not only did he have the crucial narrative role, his constant presence meant other soloists could bounce off him. They sung to Padmore and interacted with him. In some ways, Padmore represented a God-like figure: he was at the centre with the powers of the omniscient narrator. But the performance never became about him. His dramatic recitatives revealed a performer who was highly involved in the Passion’s events. Padmore was unafraid of holding long pauses between lines of the narration, as if needing as much time to reflect on the events as the audience. Padmore was both the all-knowing narrator and a member of the audience witnessing the events of the Passion unfolding.
Taking attention away from the singers and turning them into only a vehicle of expression was an achievement. None of the soloists revealed any struggle in their voices, pushing attention onto the words and not onto any vocal difficulties. Dressed in black, the soloists sung from memory, seeming not like a rehearsed vocal display but a spontaneous outpouring of emotion. Sellars’ staging added to this. He would bring instrumental soloists forward, putting them on equal terms with the singer. In tenor Topi Lehtipuu’s aria ‘Geduld, Geduld’ (‘Patience, patience’), Ulrich Wolff on the Viola da gamba was brought forward: Lehtipuu sang to the instrumentalist so that Wolff became part of the onstage action. The audience saw something incredibly intimate, witnessing a personal interaction – perhaps a prayer – between singer and player.