Date: July 8, 2012
Conductor: Antonio Pappano
Director: David McVicar
Location: Covent Garden, London.
Les Troyens is a brilliant symphonic piece that, in the hands of a fine orchestra who could express Berlioz’s majestic musical integrity in full, can bring absolute thrill to the audience. In this case, Antonio Pappano delivered an enriching program filled with Berlioz’s famously lush sounds. Pappano’s tendency to emphasize dramatic bits, occasionally allowing the orchestra to roam free, further allowed the piece to come to life in an otherwise mundane, rain-soaked Sunday afternoon in London.
In David McVicar’s production, Troy’s wall curved outwards to form what essentially became a metallic Coliseum. The Trojans were dressed and armored in such a way that seemed to place them in a Crimean War setting. The majestic choral celebration of the Trojans’ liberation, followed by Aeneas’s forceful entrance and his forward-looking interpretation of what was to be, reminded the audience visually, if not also dramatically and historically, of Jean Valjean’s pre-exile scene at the end of Act I of Les Mis the musical. If that association was an unnecessary distraction, McVicar’s vision of Carthage was not: it was a beautiful miniature Indiana Jones set, wrapped around by a wall of Carthaginian passageways and illuminated with a beautiful, rustic yellow tinge. McVicar’s production worked not only because it didn’t obstruct the storytelling but, perhaps more importantly, by utilizing a walled design to place the choral members, whether in the metallic Coliseum in Acts 1 and 2 or the wall of passageways in Act 3, the chorus could spread across the vertical and horizontal spans of the proscenium opening, resulting in a wider, more direct projection of the choral sound.
The showpiece of the production was the Trojan horse, which was made with scrap artillery and metallic tools. To stunning and unforgettable stage effect, it self-immolated in a ball of pyrotechnics at the end of Act 2, and smartly morphed into a humanoid caricature of Hannibal at the end of Act 5, thereby allowing McVicar to link the two stories in Les Troyens together through a connection of their respective symbols of transformation. If there was any serious flaw in McVicar’s concoction, it was his lack of reserved space for the dancers and acrobats in the offer scene at the beginning of Act 3. The Royal Opera dancers and acrobats, as good as they were, simply weren’t given enough room to display their craft.
Anna Caterina Antonacci, as Cassandra, was dramatically involved by virtue of her intense on-stage demeanor and vivid vocal colors. Her dark but controlled timbre allowed her to project a Cassandra that was respectively grievous but authentic. Eva-Maria Westbroek’s Dido effused maternal strength as well as a conscientious leader’s frailty. Vocally, Westbroek’s well-supported voice and meticulous phrasing was a reminder that, if she nurses her voice wisely, she could very well become the next great Wagnerian heroine.
Bryan Hymel’s French diction was horrendous. He often chewed away the Romantic syllables in seeming unease and agony. That said, everything else about Jonas Kaufmann’s replacement was superlative. As Aeneas, he stamped his mark as a dramatic high tenor with crisp and secure top notes, delivering a gorgeous and ringing B-natural in Nuit. Even towards the end, he had so much power in reserve that he practically slashed through the orchestra with his final “Italie”. This valiant ending provided the fuel to Pappano’s orchestral fire.
Elsewhere, Brindley Sherratt had a fine outing as Narbal, fully projecting a fatherly and stentorian sensibility and providing much vocal warmth to the lower registers. Ji-min Park phrased Iopas’ legato lines with a flowing grace. In the song of the fields, his high C first appeared with a slight wobble but ended with the kind of ring and comfortable support that left the audience close to the edge of their seats.
Each of the vocal, orchestral and visual bits had their individual moments of glory, but a full realization of Berlioz’s vision of a cohesive grand opera came up just short. The determination to introduce the two-storey Trojan horse, no matter how visually stunning, unfortunately gave rise to the chronological misplacement of the Troy scenes and the corresponding confusion (e.g. not-so-subtle references to the mid-19th century Crimean War preceded subtle references to 1832 Paris uprising). The Carthaginian scenes were generally glorious, but whether it was due to Dido’s questionable appearance (an entire curtain from Marie Antoinette’s Versailles seemed to have fallen all over her) or the lack of breathing space for the offerors, the concept of the whole just fell short of unreserved triumph.