If you squint really hard and use your imagination, there’s a story somewhere in the Prague National Theatre’s new production of Rusalka about a water nymph whose desire to become human ends in tragedy. Try not to be distracted by the floating houses, walking furniture, big overcoats, mysterious glowing globe... there’s a long list of gimmicks. And some confusion about the nature of the beast. In pursuit of a fresh take on a familiar favorite, this treatment pulls out all the stops – and then some.
This conception is the product of directors Martin Kukučka and Lukáš Trpišovský, who work together as SKUTR. Currently the artistic directors of the National Theatre’s drama department, the duo also puts their creative stamp on the occasional opera. For this one they relocate Dvořák’s fairy tale to a spare modernistic setting replete with symbols and visual metaphors that are more puzzling than enlightening. Those start during the overture, with the Prince fishing from a stylized cabin hanging above the stage, using a glowing globe for bait that attracts Rusalka, who hangs her heavy overcoat on it. The odd props multiply throughout the opera, so much so that when one is set on fire in the final scene, it comes as a relief.
But is this actually an opera? Dancers are onstage much of the time, with choreography so dominant that the singers are sometimes lost in the whirling melee. The first act in particular could easily be mistaken for a modern dance piece set to Dvořák’s music that just happens to include a few singers. And the exchange between the Turnspit and Hunter that opens the second act is transformed into a flat-out song-and-dance routine that could fit neatly into a vintage Hollywood musical. With a constant sexual undertone in the choreography that reaches fruition in the dancers openly groping one another behind the Foreign Princess’ seduction of the Prince, lost innocence never has a chance.
Except when Kateřina Kněžíková sang. Lustrous in the title role, she captured the desperate longing of the naïve nymph, the heartbreak of being rejected and the anguish of her fate as a wraith trapped between two worlds, pathetically pleading “Why don’t I perish?” It was a moving performance that lent gravity and credibility to a role freighted with a lot of unnecessary byplay.
Once the dancers cleared out of the way in the second act, other singers had room to offer support. Ester Pavlů brought some badly needed fire and color to the stage with her portrayal of the Foreign Princess, teasing the Prince and tormenting Rusalka. Mykhailo Malafii had his moments as the Prince, mostly in his confrontations with Rusalka, though otherwise lacked gravitas. Pavel Švingr was a commanding Vodník throughout, his deep bass a harbinger of doom, and Lucie Hilscherová had just the right swagger and bite for Ježibaba. Plaudits of a different kind go to Arneiđur Eiriksdóttir (Turnspit) and Csaba Kotlár (Hunter) for their whip-smart invocation of Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire.
What ultimately held the production together was a sensational performance in the pit. Conductor Tomáš Netopil brought a native feel for the music along with a technical brilliance that gave the score vitality and powerful expression. Some of his characterizations, in particular of Ježibaba and Vodník, were as vivid and revealing as anything happening onstage. Netopil’s glowing support for Kněžíková added warmth and intimacy to her arias, with grand dimensions in the musical interludes providing a strong contrast and propulsive momentum for the dancers.
As for reconfiguring a cornerstone of Czech opera, why not? After all, this is the Year of Czech Music, and Kukučka and Trpišovský are considered leading lights among the new generation of Czech theater directors. So what better time to let them run wild with one of the classics? The problem with this production isn’t a lack of ideas, but a surfeit of them, rolled out in such profusion that they literally trip over each other. In that sense it’s a piece about clever staging rather than one that uses clever staging to tell a story. And in the end, a reminder that great art can work on many levels.
