Mussorgsky - Khovanshchina

ONP Bastille, Wednesday February 22 2022

Conductor: Hartmut Haenchen. Production: Andrei Șerban. Sets, costumes: Richard Hudson. Lighting: Yves Bernard. Choreography: Laurence Fanon. Prince Ivan Khovansky: Dimitry Ivashchenko. Prince Andrey Khovansky: Sergei Skorokhodov. Prince Vasily Golitsin: John Daszak. Shaklovity: Evgeny Nikitin. Dosifey: Dmitry Belosseslkiy. Marfa: Anita Rachvelishvili. Susanna: Carole Wilson. Scrivener: Gerhard Siegel. Emma: Anush Hovhannisyan. Varsonofyev: Wojtek Smilek. Kuzka: Vasily Efimov. Streshnev: Tomasz Kumiega. First Strelets: Volodymyr Tyshkov. Second Strelets: Alexander Milev. Orchestra and Chorus of the Opéra National de Paris. Maîtrise des Hauts-de-Seine/ONP Children's Chorus.

All photos Guergana Damianova / ONP

Andrei Șerban's production of Khovanshchina is over twenty years old, and the present run is its third. Given Paris's habit of changing productions like the rest of us change underpants, it must be one of the longest-lived in the local repertoire. I've no idea how I managed not to have seen it before. Perhaps I had tickets in 2001 or 2013, but was abroad for work and missed it. Anyway, when it reappeared on this season's schedule, the consensus online seemed to be that the cast was promising, so I bought tickets and am glad I did. The night I saw it was not, however, the one I originally chose: Covid has hit the production and two performances have been cancelled so far. To what extent any minor shortcomings were due to the pandemic or other factors was impossible to tell; they were in any case slight. It was an unusually good evening all round. Having emphasised that, I'm now going to pick little holes in it...

The production is what might be called 'modern traditional', at once handsome and monumental but simple, and easy to follow. In front of sweeping grey skies we see, as required, a sharp bastion of the Kremlin thrusting forward with onion domes behind, a grey landscape with a wooden cross, and in the final scene, a forest of straight, bare tree trunks, eventually in clouds of smoke and with black cinders showering down; dancers perform an anxious, expressionistic ballet. Ramps and stairways provide entrances and exits at dramatically sharp angles. Gigantic carts carry Khovansky in or Golitsin out, and figures parade across the rear with banners and axes. The wall in Golitsin's sparsely-furnished study (a plain kneehole desk, three chairs, albeit ornate, a side table draped in red and a carpet) is symbolically torn in two, top to bottom, dark to the left, light to the right, with a single portrait hanging in a bulky gold frame. Khovansky's palace is, in contrast, richly draped with red velvet and Central Asian 'suzani' embroideries, watched over by a giant icon.

Colours are carefully balanced throughout, centred on black, white, shades of grey, beige and deep reds, and the lighting is mostly dim, subtle and golden. The costumes are nearly all magnificent (the main exception being Marfa's plain habits and wimples), Khovansky's sable-lined brocade robes especially, and play their part in clarifying the plot by being identifiably either western or 'oriental' - modern or traditional. I particularly liked the imperial guards' niftily-tailored, waisted black-and-silver coats, breeches and buttoned-up gaiters, with dinky three-cornered hats, silver-trimmed.

The directing is conventional to the point, at times, of being stylised. I mean, for example, that the wives set about the Streltsy with mallets and axes, but there's no attempt to make the assault seem real: the blows are purely symbolic. But the production is highly professional: the chorus and soloists all clearly know where to go and what to do and the blocking is harmoniously composed. The only serious failure, to me, was the silly 'Persian' ballet, with the slave girls dressed up like tourist-trap belly-dancers, eventually baring their breasts.

The blogosphère was right and I was very glad I went: the cast was, in the main, remarkably strong. Not unexpectedly, Anita Rachvelishvili towered above the other women with her massive column of bronze sound, but I must say she continues to worry me. She took a while to warm up, and at times it seemed as if a frog in her throat was about to leave her toneless. It never actually happened, but some bars sounded odd. With everyone and his aunt now catching Omicron and sniffling and coughing for weeks, it wouldn't be surprising if singers were affected and I hope this was nothing more. Also, as I already noted after Don Carlo in 2019 'she seemed to have two distinct voices: an amazing, virile chest voice like a big brass section' and a totally different, plummy medium, with an abrupt, jarring break between the two - sometimes, depending on the score, in mid-phrase. It's quite startling. I heard she likes the idea of being a jazz singer, but I hope that tackling roles ranging from the 'falcon' Eboli to 'contralto' Marfa isn't going to end up forcing her out of opera houses and into jazz clubs too soon.

 

Carole Wilson and Anush Hovhannisyan made disappointingly 'pâles figures' beside Rachvelishvili, a scratchy-sounding Susanna, and an Emma defeated, like many others, by the Bastille's vastness: barely audible from row 9, apart from a few high notes. But their interventions are brief.

The men were more evenly matched - though each with a distinct sound, which was another good point - and two in particular stood out. Dimitry Ivashchenko was extremely impressive as Khovansky, with a healthy, ringing, resounding, bass voice, a pillar of polished ebony, and magnificent, princely presence. He can come back any time. And Dmitry Belosseslkiy, with a grainier, appropriately older-sounding timbre, was tireless as Dosifey. Nikitin, as we know, has his ups and downs and can be disconcerting. Here, he was a little down at the start, sounding frayed and tired and taking time, like Anita R., to warm up, but for his wonderful act 3 aria he was definitely up: it was one of the evening's highlights, as it should be. John Daszak kind-of hacked his way through the role of Golitsin, and I might have appreciated a bit more legato suppleness, but to be honest I don't mind that kind of approach to these mad Russian tenor arias, and his quarrel with Khovansky in act 2 was another highlight. Even the scrivener was a perfect Russian-style character tenor. Only Prince Andrey lacked personality, but perhaps it isn't a part to make much impact in.

 

 

As I mentioned above, this run has been disturbed by Covid, and I guess that goes for rehearsals as well as performances. The chorus seemed hesitant and underprepared, and tended to run ahead of the pit as they milled around the stage, though of course it must be extremely tricky to meet some of Mussorgsky's demands while on the move. Also, they were masked, which may have explained some lack of impact; though when standing still, they could be excellent, as in their marvellous, moving appeal to Khovansky at the end of act 3.

 

Perhaps I was unduly swayed by his origins, but I found Hartmut Haenchen's style more German than Russian (more Golitsin than Khovansky? The relevance of this work to 20th and 21st century geopoltics is striking as you sit through it, but discussing that would take up a whole article, more learned than I'm able to write). Ideally, I'd have appreciated more drive and drama, more colour and contrast, a bit more wild, Russian abandon, with the singers egged on to follow suit. But to return to what I said at the start, this was an unusually good evening and I'm just picking holes: the four hours were over too soon.