When this Metropolitan Opera production of Gounod's Faust opened
near the end of 2011, it was met with almost universal scorn,
or, less critically, puzzlement. Des McAnuff was chosen by
general manager Peter Gelb to direct. If one's credentials
include The Who's Tommy, Jersey Boys and a film version of Rocky
and Bullwinkle, is Gounod the next stop? Gelb thought so and
nobody agreed with him. Revisiting this production on DVD
settles it — it is a confusing mess.
McAnuff has
concocted a plot filled with incomplete ideas that manages to
obscure the simple action of Gounod's opera. Faust is a
guilt-laden scientist who may be the mastermind behind the
Atomic Bomb. The antiseptic set, by Robert Brill, opens onto a
laboratory with metal spiral staircases leading to balconies on
both sides of the stage. During the Prelude, a middle-aged Faust
in an appealing dark topcoat strolls in, as do characters
looking like refugees in tattered clothing, who cross the stage
in gloomy silence. (They return in the Church Scene and
Walpurgisnacht.) As Faust sings, lab workers enter robotically,
Marguerite among them; she leaves slowly after Mephistopheles
enters rather undemonically — save for the occasional bit of
flame that pops out of his fingers — in white suit and top hat,
red rose in lapel and red tie, from a door at the rear of the
stage. Faust's transformation — in a cycloramic cloud, stage
rear — finds him in a matching white suit and hat, only with
white rose and tie. It's charming, but it is also the
production's second problem (the one right after the Atom Bomb
issue): McAnuff tries throughout to convince us that
Mephistopheles and Faust are two sides of a coin — the coin that
is Faust, a good man who has done wrong, and continues to do so.
He's
involved in destroying Hiroshima, so why not Marguerite?
He's almost disturbingly passive throughout, coming to life only
to woo and seduce Marguerite. And the time set-up is odd: the
Kermesse Scene features First World War soldiers returning (and
at one point operating a 20-foot soldier puppet — huh?), so is
it a flashback of Faust's? Is it supposed to represent a more
innocent time? I don't recall the First World War being a walk
in the park. The Walpurgisnacht features a long table with the
bomb on it as a centrepiece (Faust and Mephistopheles sit at the
table, drinking) and at the opera's end the bomb detonates after
Marguerite has walked up a staircase and disappeared. Does she
miss the explosion? Is that her salvation? Faust returns as an
old man, finishes drinking the poison he pours in Act I and dies
peacefully. Was it all a dream? What opera is this?
Rear-stage projections are used throughout, very effectively,
the quick flash from the bomb being only one. Earlier there are
stunning close-up photos of Marguerite, a whirling sky, and for
the Garden Scene (still the metallic lab, shorn of its tables at
least), a backdrop of exquisite red roses. Marguerite's cell,
darkly lit (the metal tiers invisible) is wonderfully sad and
oppressive. The mood occasionally is properly set; more often
the staircases look like staircases.
A pity, all of this,
since the cast is both wonderful to look at and to listen to.
Not enough, actually, can be said about Jonas Kaufmann's
undertaking of the title role. His voice is not what one
normally hears in this repertoire — it's darker than any Faust
I've ever heard — but it is brilliant at the top, his French is
quite good, his phrasing masterful and sensitive, and his
attention to dynamics near astounding. And the voice loses no
centre in this performance when he sings pianissimo — it can
often come across as crooning, but does not here. He manages a
diminuendo on the high B in the phrase 'Je t'aime' near the end
of the Kermesse Scene that is perfect. As mentioned, he seems to
be being directed to act unreceptively — maybe because of his
guilt in McAnuff's concept —but still, he's grand to listen to
and to watch.
Rene Pape's Mephistopheles is well drawn.
Easygoing and witty at first and nastier as the opera goes on,
his voice is a true luxury item — perfectly rounded tone, bright
and true at the top and rock solid everywhere else as well. He's
a somewhat calculating actor, however; a bit more spontaneity
would be welcomed. (I'm nitpicking.) Marina Poplayskaya remains
a somewhat frustrating artist: her impersonation of Marguerite
is right-on — innocent, flattered, seduced, terrified, miserable
— and her treatment of the text in the final trio, 'Anges purs,
anges radieux', has more intensity and sincerity than I've ever
experienced. The voice can be gorgeous — plush and shimmering.
But her pitch wavers at odd moments and some top notes are
shrill; one rarely knows what type of sound she will emit. These
tics never spoil what she's trying to accomplish but it's an
oddity in her technique and artistry.
Russell Braun may
not have the most luxurious baritone voice, but his Valentin is
well sung, well acted and memorable. Michele Losier's boyish
Siebel is full-voiced and Wendy White's Marthe is fine. Yannick
Nézet-Séguin's leadership is elegant and smooth; rather than
trying to find hidden meanings in Gounod's marvellously obvious
tunes and harmonies, he has the orchestra play them as if they
were new and masterpieces. If only designer and director had
trusted the opera as much.
Picture and sound, as well as
direction for small screen, are superb, and subtitles are in the
usual languages and Chinese and Korean. Joyce DiDonato acts as
host and interviews the main singers, conductor and director
between acts.
The competition on DVD is paltry. It
includes an old Japanese TV version starring Renata Scotto,
Nicolai Ghiaurov and Alfredo Kraus which is magnificently sung
and acted but not only looks shabby and dark but has indelible
Japanese subtitles over which you can put other languages,
rendering the screen messy. A 1985 Viennese performance stars
Francisco Araiza, Ruggero Raimondi and Gabriela Benacková but is
dementedly directed by Ken Russell, who makes every effort to
sabotage the opera. David McVicar's sleazy Covent Garden
production is well sung by Angela Gheorghiu, Roberto Alagna and
Bryn Terfel. It, along with this present Met show, can be
considered tied for first, but there are production caveats
galore with each.
