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Broadway World, March 10, 2014 |
by Richard Sasanow |
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Massenet: Werther, Metropolitan Opera, Vorstellung 7. März 2014 |
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At the Met, Kaufmann in WERTHER Is to Die For
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Maybe Richard Eyre's new production of WERTHER for the Metropolitan Opera,
with strong performances by German tenor Jonas Kaufmann and French mezzo
Sophie Koch, should have been called WERTHER: THE BACKSTORY or WERTHER: A
FOOL'S GUIDE. Eyre took what was otherwise a beautiful and interesting
interpretation of the opera and added a prologue and other details
(including action leading up to a self-inflicted shot in the chest)--just in
case the audience needed some hand-holding to better understand what was
going on.
The impetuous poet
Never mind.
Let's get back to the good things: the singing.
Kaufmann was in fine
form on Friday March 6 as the title character, after being indisposed
earlier in the week and cancelling a performance. He obviously understands
very well the impetuous nature of the character: the poet who finds himself
head over heels for a woman who is otherwise involved. (It will be seen in
the Met's Live in HD series on March 15.) The character, created by Goethe
in "The Sorrows of Young Werther," is a landmark of German literature and
sent generations swooning--many to the verge of suicide, enraptured by the
romantic hero's plight. Kaufmann is nothing if not committed to his German
heritage, as he has expressed in interviews and in his lieder concerts.
But this opera is a German classic filtered through the eyes of a
Frenchman, Jules Massenet. It is strictly, and most definitely, French. The
tenor understands that, too. Combining fragility and passion, the eponymous
hero can be a challenge for tenors breaking out into heavier roles, but
Kaufmann was in his glory. Is there another tenor today with his range and
excitement? Whether in the understated Act I aria, "O nature pleine de
grace," or in his gorgeously sung "Pourquoi me reveiller"--the work's most
famous piece--in Act III, Kaufmann's voice was beautifully modulated and
never broke the mood, even when the audience started cheering.
Vast vocal resources
Making a long-overdue Met
debut, French mezzo Koch showed vast vocal resources, but I thought the
production's concept for Charlotte was a little off. She looked so glamorous
and gorgeous from the moment she came on stage that any red-blooded
heterosexual would swoon for her, making Werther's response seem less
impetuous. But Koch sounded great--her ''Va! Laisse couler mes larmes'' in
Act III was stunning-- and I hope she finds room in her schedule to come
back soon.
American soprano Lisette Oropesa was a lovely, knowing
Sophie, Charlotte's younger sister (who can tell that there's something up
with her sister's marriage). Her sunny "Du gai soleil" was a pleasure. As
Charlotte's beau-cum-husband--a marriage made as a promise to her
mother--Serbian baritone David Bizic made a successful debut, making more of
his role through his hardy and sure demeanor. Baritone Jonathan Summers, as
the Bailiff (Sophie's and Charlotte's father), brought a commanding presence
and burly voice to his younger children, while showing his less-parental
side when he is cajoled to join some friends at the tavern.
Authentic Gallic style
The French conductor Alain Altinoglu
used his knowledge of authentic Gallic style to lead the Met orchestra in a
textured and rich performance, as well as to help the singers to find the
centers of their characters through music.
The sets by Rob Howell,
who also did the costumes, cleverly used a series of arches--off kilter at
the start, to show something was awry with the supposedly happy picture--as
a unifying force element of the production. Wendall K. Harrington's videos
were wonderful in portraying the passage of time and shifting scenes, while
Peter Mumford's lighting help heighten the drama throughout.
The
final scene, set in Werther's tiny room, shifted forward toward the
audience, to draw us into the claustrophobic life from which the poet
escaped through suicide. Massenet tried his best to make it silly, giving
the tenor one last aria after he is already dying and director Eyre didn't
help matters by adding action that is only hinted at in the libretto by
Édouard Blau, Paul Milliet and Georges Hartmann. No matter, in the hands of
an artist like Kaufmann, the scene works in spite of itself.
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