Borodin, Prince Igor
Back at the Volksoper this evening for something a little heavier: Aleksandr Borodin‘s Prince Igor. This wonderful epic opera, not performed often enough outside Russia, may unfortunately have been a little too heavy for the Volksoper to lift.
There is no definitive version of this opera, as Borodin left the whole thing – sketches of music and plot – in a mess when he died, that his friends Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov and Aleksandr Glazunov had to sort out (Glazunov likely ghost-wrote much of the music himself, but insisted he did it from memory after having heard Borodin play as-yet-unwritten music on the piano). As a result, theaters have great flexibility at determining which music they wish to perform, and in what order (not only order of the scenes, but even where within scenes music will fall).
The Volksoper took advantage of this to construct an intelligent performing version with a reasonably logical plot sequence. The problem came with every other aspect of the production, resulting in a performance that dragged and somehow missed the drama. The staging was confused, to say the least, and it is unclear to me if the director (Thomas Schulte-Michels, a German – need I have guessed?) even had any particular concept in mind (seriously, what is up with that country that it produces so many horrible opera directors). It seems that he used oversized sunflowers to represent the Polovtsians – their camp was a big field of the flowers, and after they destroyed the city of Putivl, it had also succombed to the infestation of oversized sunflowers. Constumes were from no particular period or style. Putivl itself seemed to have been constructed of mirrors that reflected the audience. Minimal props also had no particular logic. In all, the staging added nothing to understanding the opera, and indeed detracted because it also did not allow the singers to interact sensibly.
The singers themselves also lacked a sense of drama that did not just derive from the unclear staging. They sang their lines with various degrees of proficiency, but no more. In order of strength, starting with the strongest, Andreas Mitschky as Khan Kontchak, Alik Abdukayumov as Prince Igor, Morten Frank Larsen as Prince Galitzky, Mehrzad Montazeri as Igor’s son Vladimir, and Jeffrey Treganza as the baptized Polvtsian Owlur all accomplished their lines to the right music. The two main female characters, Melba Ramos as Igor’s wife Yaroslavna and Annely Peebo as Kontschak’s daughter Kontchakovna, did not – often off-pitch and sometimes shreiking. Yasushi Hirano as the drunkard Skula may have stolen the show in his scenes, but got dragged down by his partner David Sitka as fellow-drunk Yeroshka, who simply could neither hit the notes nor sing in time with the music.
In the pit, conductor Lorenz Aichner did not make an impression. The performance lacked drive. The German singing-translation sounded clunky – however, I do not dismiss hearing this opera in German, as one of my recordings of this opera is in German (using a similar scene order and maybe even the same translation) from a 1969 Staatsoper production, with an outstanding cast that does not sound clunky in German. So it works if it has the right design. Tonight’s performance seemed ill-conceived and the cast over-matched.