DVD review
Natalya Tymchenko (Emma), Elena Zaremba (Marfa), Vladimir Galouzine (Prince Andrei Khovansky), Robert Brubaker (Prince Vasily Golitsyn), Graham Clark (Scribe), Nikolai Putilin (Shaklovity), Francisco Vas (Kuzka), Vladimir Ognovienko (Prince Ivan Khovansky), Vladimir Vaneev (Dosifei)
Symphony Orchestra and Chorus of the Gran Teatre del Liceu c. Michael Boder p. Stein Winge d. Chloe Obolensky & Claudie Gastine video director Angel Luis Ramirez
OPUS ARTE OA 0989 D (2 Discs – 192 minutes)
To attempt to make sense of the epic, but incoherent torso that is Khovanshchina must be some sort of ultimate challenge for any director, and Stein Winge, in a very candid and insightful booklet essay justifies his interventionist approach in realizing this piece for the stage. Any production of this opera tends to be an event, by virtue of its scale and the epic grandeur of its concept and music: this production from the Liceu, Barcelona, taken from two live performances in April 2007 is, like the opera, compelling and unsatisfying in equal measure. Winge updates the action to the 1950’s – as he puts it: ‘the middle of a century full of extreme turmoil in Russia’ - finding parallels with the age of Peter the Great’s reforms, in which the Khovansky affair is set. Visually this is not distracting; rifles and bicycles being the main accretions. Winge states that he finds the political dimension to the opera the most important, and for him, the boyar Shaklovity ‘becomes the glue that holds the whole piece together’ – he ‘gains this central position because it is otherwise really difficult to create a logical process in the story’. Thus, this protean character, in addition is to being denunciator, assassin, messenger and chronicler of the fate of Russia, is also given the last appearance, silently surveying the scene after the cathartic mass suicide of the Old Believer’s sect after the music has died away.
It is arguable that an approach yields more inconsistencies than it solves. The astounding – and probably inadvertent – modernity of this opera is that its narrative is not causal. The Russian censor put paid to that with its stage ban on royal personages, so that Mussorgsky’s initial protagonists, Peter the Great and the Empress Sophia have to remain as symbols, in the wings. We meet several high profile and powerfully drawn characters, but as the opera proceeds they do not behave, as one might expect, as dynamic figures out of a Shakespearian chronicle (or from Boris Godunov); they rarely interact or develop as a flesh and blood character might. Instead they seem to exist in separate strata, occasionally colliding, but more often commenting passively and moving on. This is reinforced by Mussorgsky’s musical style in this opera, which departs from the dramatic realism of Boris and relies on a more universal bel canto style which, though steeped in Russian folk-idioms is, crucially, not character-specific. It is problematic that Shaklovity, Winge’s focal point, is musically and dramatically the least consistent of all the characters. This ruthless manipulator, initially so strongly drawn in his denunciation scene with the scribe, becomes, at the centre of the opera, a mouthpiece for one of Mussorgsky’s most conventionally beautiful arias: an aria so impersonal that it could conceivably be sung by any of the characters in the drama, or by none of them. Winge’s attempts to create progress between the acts results in one sequence of musical vandalism – the first half of Act 3 is gutted: about 20 minutes of music disappears. Susanna, the fanatical Old-Believer loses her scene, a rare moment of character conflict and up-tempo music. Granted, there are textual difficulties here, but even Rimsky-Korsakov, in his pared-back version now superseded by Shostakovich, included her. Worse, the following discourse between Dosifey and Marfa, including one of her most plangent solos, is filleted, so the exposition of the martyrdom idea that leads to the mass suicide in the final scene is glossed over. It also means we hear music for the first time in the closing scene that gains immeasurably in emotional depth as a reprise. Thus Winge’s attempts to patch Mussorgsky’s fabric just result in other seams coming apart.
This said, the production is clear, the chorus is well directed and the single setting, adapted in cunning ways is evocative, and in the final scene, with a vista of birch forest, beautiful. The camera work is unfailingly apt and undistracting, with intelligent use of close-up. Some production ideas distract. The serenity of the famous prelude (Dawn over the Moscow River) is upstaged by a tableau depicting the aftermath of a night of murder by the Streltsy, Peter the Great’s bodyguards. Ivan Khovansky gains a pet dwarf, whom he carries around like a ventriloquist’s dummy, and who becomes the agent of his assassination – not Shaklovity as in Mussorgsky’s scenario, though Shaklovity then inherits him. The updating to the communist era, does make the princes’ continual deferrals to a religious leader, Dosifey, implausible.
There is promise of a strong cast here, with familiar names from the Kirov’s roster of singers, but in fact, several are not aging so gracefully. Most disappointing is Vladimir Vaneev’s Dosifey: lacking in fanaticism and presence, with too light in timbre for such an imposing and crucial role. Elena Zaremba’s voice now spreads in the middle register, though her many forays below the stave remain sumptuous; still she produces some incandescent quiet phrasing in the last scene. She is certainly a beautiful woman and a versatile actress, for once making sense of Marfa’s erotic entanglement with the wastrel Prince Andrey, here vividly portrayed by Vladimir Galouzine, whose dramatic tenor now sounds almost implausibly baritonal. Nikolay Putilin’s arresting presence as Shaklovity aids the director’s concept of this character being the prime mover and shaker, and he rises well to the declamatory scenes, but he is stretched beyond comfort by the high-lying legato lines of the central lament. Vladimir Ognovienko gives a chilling portrayal of a power mad boor on the edge of madness; the scene where he humiliates his son in public is painful. Robert Brubaker’s Golitsin is suave, sly, pettish and alarming in his sudden losses of control, and well sung to boot. Graham Clark’s Scribe is rather too rough, vocally, and teeters on the edge of caricature. It is the chorus that decisively steals the show, rising to their considerable demands with aplomb, mustering a rich blended mass of tone that sounds authentically Slavonic and acting with thrilling fervour. Scarcely less impressive is the orchestral playing: the conductor Michael Boder paces the treacherous score to perfection and relishes the extraordinary, almost physical bass and brass sonorities conjured up by Shostakovich.
A new finale is credited to Guerassim Voronkov, an assistant conductor at the Liceu, which is a mite misleading as the vocal portion is identical to Rimsky’s completion, even using his interjections for the three soloists, Marfa, Andrey and Dosifey (also used in Shostakovich’s version). We get a new orchestral postlude omitting the Rimsky/Shostakovich triumphal march representing Peter the Great; instead we hear distant Petrine fanfares and a loud statement of Shaklovity’s Act 3 aria lamenting the fate of Russia. Was this composed expressly to tie up neatly the director’s emphasis on this character, I wonder? It sounds portentous, with a touch of Hollywood about it; a jarring contrast to the simple directorial solution to the fiery pyre, here tastefully rendered by a white-cloaked cast extinguishing candles and lying down. This tableau would have been better served by Stravinsky’s version, which brought Abbado’s 1989 Vienna production to such a numinous conclusion. The conclusion is unfortunately further marred by Shaklovity’s appearance, after the music has finished, carrying that annoying dwarf – thus undermining what should be one of the most cathartic curtains in the repertoire.
Despite such reservations, this is a thought provoking experience, well worth hearing for the excellence of orchestra, chorus and conductor and for trying to discern what it was Mussorgsky was trying to convey before the alcohol took over and deprived him, and us, of his vision.
[first published in OPERA magazine]
JULIAN GRANT 2008