as Paul in Die Tote Stadt, Opéra National de Lorraine à Nancy

Two vocal performances, if not feats of strength, are what is required by Korngold’s interpreters in Die tote Stadt, and the first challenge that of the Opéra National de Lorraine, beyond expectations. Without a Heldentenor there is no salvation for Paul, unless we sacrifice an artist too docile in his unconsciousness. Unquestioningly, Michael Hendrick has the middle and high, as well as the tone, with a dark brilliance.

From the first monologue, he gives everything, that is to say too much too soon, to take the tessitura the distance, especially over the magmatic orchestra. The acuteness tightens then, and wavers, but the American recovers, finds the right balance between commitment and prudence, and sings, yes sings, and with nuance, to the end. With this massive presence indeed, but touching, and naive, almost adolescent.

For eighty years, France ignored Die tote Stadt. If Strasbourg repaired the oversight in 2001, Korngold’s dream opera left the stage again, until its entry into the Bastille repertoire in Willy Decker’s globe-trotting production. With her customary audacity, Nancy dares to create a truly new production, which has nothing to fear from comparison.

Two vocal performances, not to say tours de force, are what Korngold demands of the performers of Die tote Stadt, and the first challenge that the Opéra national de Lorraine takes on, beyond expectations. Outside of a Heldentenor, there is no salvation for Paul, unless he sacrifices an artist who is too docile in his unconsciousness. Unquestionably, Michael Hendrick has the cubic build, as well as the tone, with a dark brilliance.

From the first monologue, he gives everything, that is to say too much, too soon, to hold the range over the distance, and especially above the magmatic orchestra. The treble then tightens, and wavers, but the American pulls himself together, finds the right balance between commitment and prudence, and sings, yes sings, and nuance, until the end. With this certainly massive presence, but touching, and naive, almost adolescent.

Marietta calls for less monstrous means, no doubt, but a singer equal to the actress, instrumental as well as theatrical, a Salomé who would also be a Lulu. Helena Juntunen, a Pamina, a Marguerite who also dared to be Wozzeck’s Marie, has been neither one nor the other yet, but already merges them. Supple, luscious, seductive, venomous, she is a creeper, a cat, in voice and body, whose triumphant femininity is pushed to the point of expressionism.

Six cells where the “temple of the past” is repeated form the obsessive mental space of which Paul is prisoner, like the frame of the portrait of his deceased, presence-absence whose shadowed contours are projected onto a tulle, become clearer and then become clearer. lively, chilling and sensual. Philipp Himmelmann immediately blurs the border between dream and reality, of which Brigitta – Nadine Weissmann, deep, heady – and Frank – Thomas Oliemans, masculine, raw – seem no more than escaped fragments.

The space barely transforms to accompany the wandering through the city, represented by a single reflection, and yet immediately much more sulphurous, much less salubrious than in the somewhat smooth spectacle, and undoubtedly lost in Bastille, by Willy Decker. Because burlesque, precisely grotesque is the troupe of dancers, very Rocky Horror Picture Show, lying in the mirror of the canals. And above all palpable, imposing on the mind the tortuous mists of Bruges-la-Morte.

Bodies seek each other out, find each other, and yet never meet. It is the barrier of delirium, macabre, which isolates and superimposes them in the split place where the portrait devours them. As a theater virtuoso, Himmelmann shows the two sides of the mirror: Paul embracing the air of his vision – until the murderous impulse which frees him from the grip of the dead woman, perhaps, in any case brings him back to his reality own –, and his vision itself, Marietta above him, objectified as often the dream is so deep that consciousness believes itself to be awake.

It is in the revelation of this mechanism that this staging, which is in fact indescribable – all of the above is only an eminently subjective attempt to account for it, like a dream story – , draws its captivating force, which is that of the work itself, in that it overwhelms us.

Especially since Korngold never calms his orchestral ocean, luxuriant, sickening even if its uninterrupted swell is not controlled. Not only does Daniel Klajner find the right balance with the stage so that the voices do not drown there, but he manages the Nancy Symphony and Lyric Orchestra quite admirably, from start to finish and without intermission, so that the flow never stops. is breaking.

Now that the Opéra national de Lorraine has shown the way, and with a theatrical and musical demand that pays off, will we see Die tote Stadt more often on French stages?

Opéra de Lorraine, Nancy
Le 09/05/2010
Mehdi MAHDAVI

Nouvelle production de la Ville morte de Korngold dans une mise en scène de Philipp Himmelmann et sous la direction de Daniel Klajner à l’Opéra national de Lorraine.
Erich Wolfgang Korngold (1897-1957)
Die tote Stadt, opéra en trois actes (1920)
Livret de Paul Schott d’après la pièce le Mirage de Georges Rodenbach, adaptée du roman Bruges-la-Morte du même auteur.

Chœur d’enfants les Mirabelles
Chœur de l’Opéra national de Lorraine
Orchestre symphonique et lyrique de Nancy
direction : Daniel Klajner
mise en scène : Philipp Himmelmann
décors : Raimund Bauer
costumes : Bettina Walter
éclairages : Gérard Cleven
Avec :
Michael Hendrick (Paul), Helena Juntunen (Marietta), Thomas Oliemans (Frank), Nadine Weissmann (Brigitta), André Morsch (Fritz), Yuree Jang (Juliette), Aurore Ugolin (Lucienne), André Post (Victorin / Gaston), Alexander Swan (Graf Albert).

http://www.altamusica.com/concerts/document.php?action=MoreDocument&DocRef=4363&DossierRef=3953

by Mehdi Mahdavi

Altamusica