Rubinstein - Demon

Grand Théâtre, Bordeaux, Sunday February 9 2020

Conductor: Paul Daniel. Production: Dmitry Bertman. Sets: Hartmut Schörghofer. Lighting: Thomas C. Hase. Demon: Nicolas Cavallier. Tamara: Evegniya Muraveva. Prince Sinodal: Alexey Dolgov. Angel: Ray Chenez. Prince Gudal: Alexandros Stavrakakis. Nurse: Svetlana Lifar. Prince Sinodal’s Servant: Luc Bertin-Hugault. Messenger: Paul Gaugler. Orchestre National Bordeaux Aquitaine. Choruses of the Opéra National de Bordeaux and Opéra de Limoges.

The recent strikes over pension reform meant I missed three operas I was supposed to see over the Christmas and New Year period: two because the Paris Opera was shut (with losses of over 16 million euros, leading to cuts in the 2020-2021 season) and a third - Warlikowski's production of Les Contes d'Hoffmann in Brussels - because no trains were running. I didn't expect to see anything else until Agrippina in Seville - where I'm now sitting writing this post - but a sick friend kindly gave me her seat at Demon, and so I found myself in Bordeaux, at the wonderful Grand Théâtre for the first time ever (other than a guided tour some years ago), discovering a rarity.

'Au total, c’est un vrai plaidoyer pour l’œuvre que Bordeaux proposait, et il n’est pas certain qu’on puisse faire mieux actuellement pour lui redonner sa place au répertoire international, qui si elle n’est pas première, n’a rien à envier à nombre d’œuvres du XIXe siècle moins fortes mais plus souvent représentées aujourd’hui.'

So ended the review on the Avant Scène Opéra website, i.e.:

'All in all, the Bordeaux performance was a real endorsement of the work, and it is by no means certain anyone could do a better job these days to restore it to its rightful place in the international repertoire. While not of the first order, it can easily compete with many less powerful 19th century works more often performed today.'

I quote this because it sums up my feelings about the show. Demon may not be an opera you want to see every season, but what is? La Bohème? It's a solid, 1870s romantic score, dramatic and colourful to say the least and with a touch of simpering religious Kitsch. Paul Daniel threw himself into it with visible enthusiasm and the Bordeaux orchestra responded with a fair degree of symphonic gusto (and some surprisingly dodgy tuning in the wind section, usually the best in a French orchestra. I saw the principal cellist craning his neck to see what was going on).

The men's chorus was especially strong, as were nearly all the soloists. I don't care much for the term 'idiomatic' and some people, for whatever reason, go bananas if you talk about 'Russian' or 'Slav' voices, but I like to think there is still a Russian school of singing or playing, in Russia and beyond, in the former Soviet republics, with a character distinct from the sometimes bland if slick uniformity of western practice. Alexey Dolgov was ardent and youthful and beaming, so it was a real shame he got killed off so quickly to make way for the Demon in Tamara's affections. Tamara herself, Evegniya Muraveva, had an instantly recognisable Russian sound (OK, go bananas if you will): a rich, darkly-timbred soprano - though it seemed as if the director had spent more time working on his concepts than on helping her act: dramatically she was timid and distant. Svetlana Lifar was the archetypal Russian-nurse-type contralto - you kept imagining you were hearing Mussorgsky.

Rubinstein

Alexandros Stavrakakis is, however Greek, and a very promising, musical young bass. And Nicolas Cavallier is, as far as I know, French, and a bass baritone, so nothing like Chaliapin, for those who may have him in mind for this role. He's a forceful, committed, dramatic singer and made the Demon more sympathetic a character than the Angel, sung, in this production, by a countertenor whose voice, not unexpectedly, was often lost in the rolling waves of Rubinstein's score. Tall, gaunt and ambiguous, he seemed more sinister, evil even, than the lovesick Demon himself. But perhaps that was meant to be: the latter was in white tie and waistcoat and black tails, intricately woven at the rear, with long white hair. The Angel was the opposite: black tie, black shirt, black waistcoat, long black hair, and a suit of white tails, intricately woven at the back. At times they mirrored each other's gestures and, at the end, with the Demon dead, the Angel changed into his coat, pointing to a never-ending cycle.

The opera is shortish when done, as in Bordeaux, without the ballet, which is just as well as the plot doesn't really have oodles of action: the tale of good and evil, with its dose of piety, is soon told. The staging was efficient, in a single set: we looked into a giant, oval cylinder of wooden slats with circular skylights at the top, strongly reminiscent of Terminal 2E at Charles de Gaulle airport, though I suppose the likeness was accidental (and at Roissy the skylights are square, not round). This vast tube filled the stage. At the far end was sometimes a starry sky but more often a balloon or ball, as big as the oval opening, on which were projected the rotating Earth, a watchful eye, a war memorial (lists of names in Cyrillic script), a Gothic rose window (that rotated, of course). Lighting was used dramatically, at one point turning the whole set red.

The curved walls and floor made blocking somewhat cramped and awkward, and singers had to position their feet on discreet ledges to be able to stand or lie at the sides. The acting was old-fashioned - the chorus their usual cheerful lady-in-waiting selves or hearty, rough-and-tumble soldiers. There were some dancers, not always adding anything useful but sometimes intervening in symbolic action, such as the Tatar attack or delivering Prince Sinodal's body (in this case a long swathe or shroud of red cloth) to the castle. Still, overall it was reasonably good, coherent melodrama, and as I said, Nicolas Cavallier put in a strong case, with his commitment, for the Demon.

One thing. We're used to complaining that the Bastille or the Met is too big for this or that opera. Perched on my Louis XV chair in Bordeaux's lovely 18th-century theatre, I found myself, for once, thinking the work was too big for the house. Perhaps performers are so used, these days, to working in barns that they have trouble adjusting. On the front row, I was deafened almost throughout. Surely they could have take this rare opportunity to tone it down a bit and play with a greater dynamic range and more subtle phrasing?