Now, why would I assert that, out of all the thousands of operas composed, it is Der Rosenkavalier by Richard Strauss which is "Vienna's opera?" True, it was set by composer and librettist in Vienna, in the 1700s, and has been very frequently performed in Vienna, but that's not the reason.
No, the reason arises from the central scene which gives the opera its title: the presentation of a silver rose by a young nobleman to a young woman as a tribute from the older nobleman who wishes to marry her. The centrality of this opera to Vienna's concept of itself is attested by the simple fact that many older Viennese, years after the time of its premiere at the Court Opera (1912), would recall memories of the era when such a ritual was a recognized social custom of the nobility. The only problem is that those memories are all hogwash; the presentation of the silver rose was a total fabrication of the librettist! This amusing side-story shows how thoroughly Strauss and librettist Hugo von Hofmannsthal created a magical, idealized, "city of dreams" which ended up becoming many Viennese people's vision of their own city.
But Der Rosenkavalier has remained popular in Vienna and elsewhere for many other excellent reasons. It's a well-constructed comic opera, with amusing moments but also deeper nostalgic undertones that evoke emotional responses in many people, especially those who are moving towards the far side of middle age (like me, for instance). The lush, late-romantic score entices the ear, and the main parts provide especially fine opportunities for three contrasted female singers. The frequent and anachronistic recourse to waltz rhythms is sure to appeal. And it would be a hard heart indeed that wouldn't be touched by the gorgeous trio and following duet which end the work.
This brand-new production, directed by Robert Carsen, with sets by Paul Steinberg and costumes by Brigitte Reifenstuel, moves the opera forward from the 1740s to the year in which it was premiered in Dresden -- 1911. Overall this does no great violence to the social structure which underpins so much of the work.
I can imagine some traditionalists reacting vehemently to the depiction of Faninal as an arms dealer with a house full of handguns and artillery cannons (no shots are fired on stage, by the way), but Act I certainly presents a traditional staging and a very handsome one. The depth of the Met's stage is revealed in Act 1 when the doors of the bedroom are opened to reveal an antechamber and another door opening into a further room beyond that. The walls are decorated with the sort of giant-size family portraits and the like that would be hung in such an aristocratic palace, all set against a backdrop of deep red damask.
Traditionalists might well be scandalized again by the third act, which broadens the comedy considerably by taking the action from a country inn of doubtful propriety to an out-and-out brothel -- but a very high-toned one such as a Baron might well frequent. Thus, quite sensibly, the main room is a gorgeously tacky parody of the Marschallin's bedroom in Act One, with the family portraits supplanted by lush paintings of erotic import.
Although Der Rosenkavalier is, like many comic works, an ensemble piece, the heart and soul of this performance for most of the audience was the performance of the role of the Marschallin by Renee Fleming. Last week's run was her final appearance in this role -- and something of a minor panic ensued when one media writer made it sound like her final appearance on stage in any role. You need not look any further than that one article for the reason why all the performances this month were completely sold out!
Fleming certainly didn't disappoint her fans. Her portrayal of this complex and deeply human character had it all: the stately aristocrat, the thoughtful philosophic woman, the lover, the disciplined and disciplining princess, all beautifully balanced and touched in with nuances of acting and singing alike. The voice, still sounding wonderfully youthful, soared in the high passages and caressed in the quieter moments. Most moving of all, for me, was the way that she nearly did make time stand still with her inward, reflective description of stopping the clocks in the middle of the night. Not for nothing has Fleming been considered one of the greatest, perhaps the greatest exponent of the Marschallin in the last two decades.
In the breeches role of her much younger lover, Octavian, Count Rofrano, we had mezzo-soprano Elīna Garanča. Her firm voice was a great asset as she set out to portray that staple of comic stereotypes, the woman pretending to be a man who then pretends to be a woman. Garanča's voice and stage acting alike portrayed the journey of the love-struck boy who becomes a man when he begins to love a woman of his own age rather than one old enough to be his mother. The contrast was enormous when Garanča then appeared as a prostitute dressed in frilly unmentionables in the final act. Her assumption of the country-bumpkin accent of the supposed maid, "Mariandl," was convincingly rustic and still completely clear. She then provided a firm, characterful foundation in the soaring ecstasy of the great trio.
I can imagine some traditionalists reacting vehemently to the depiction of Faninal as an arms dealer with a house full of handguns and artillery cannons (no shots are fired on stage, by the way), but Act I certainly presents a traditional staging and a very handsome one. The depth of the Met's stage is revealed in Act 1 when the doors of the bedroom are opened to reveal an antechamber and another door opening into a further room beyond that. The walls are decorated with the sort of giant-size family portraits and the like that would be hung in such an aristocratic palace, all set against a backdrop of deep red damask.
Traditionalists might well be scandalized again by the third act, which broadens the comedy considerably by taking the action from a country inn of doubtful propriety to an out-and-out brothel -- but a very high-toned one such as a Baron might well frequent. Thus, quite sensibly, the main room is a gorgeously tacky parody of the Marschallin's bedroom in Act One, with the family portraits supplanted by lush paintings of erotic import.
Although Der Rosenkavalier is, like many comic works, an ensemble piece, the heart and soul of this performance for most of the audience was the performance of the role of the Marschallin by Renee Fleming. Last week's run was her final appearance in this role -- and something of a minor panic ensued when one media writer made it sound like her final appearance on stage in any role. You need not look any further than that one article for the reason why all the performances this month were completely sold out!
Fleming certainly didn't disappoint her fans. Her portrayal of this complex and deeply human character had it all: the stately aristocrat, the thoughtful philosophic woman, the lover, the disciplined and disciplining princess, all beautifully balanced and touched in with nuances of acting and singing alike. The voice, still sounding wonderfully youthful, soared in the high passages and caressed in the quieter moments. Most moving of all, for me, was the way that she nearly did make time stand still with her inward, reflective description of stopping the clocks in the middle of the night. Not for nothing has Fleming been considered one of the greatest, perhaps the greatest exponent of the Marschallin in the last two decades.
In the breeches role of her much younger lover, Octavian, Count Rofrano, we had mezzo-soprano Elīna Garanča. Her firm voice was a great asset as she set out to portray that staple of comic stereotypes, the woman pretending to be a man who then pretends to be a woman. Garanča's voice and stage acting alike portrayed the journey of the love-struck boy who becomes a man when he begins to love a woman of his own age rather than one old enough to be his mother. The contrast was enormous when Garanča then appeared as a prostitute dressed in frilly unmentionables in the final act. Her assumption of the country-bumpkin accent of the supposed maid, "Mariandl," was convincingly rustic and still completely clear. She then provided a firm, characterful foundation in the soaring ecstasy of the great trio.
Another young singer to watch is soprano Erin Morley, as Faninal's daughter Sophie. While her lighter soprano blended beautifully with Fleming and Garanča in that marvellous trio, it was her convincing stage presence, her acting, that truly stuck in my mind. Like many of the younger generations of opera singers, Morley has left the old stand-and-deliver school of opera performance outside the door in the dumpster. More intriguing, to my mind, was the toughness and incisiveness of her portrayal of the character. This Sophie is no shrinking violet, either dramatically or vocally. She knows exactly what she wants and what she has to do to get it, and heaven help the person who stands in her way.
Baritone Günther Groissböck proved a splendid choice for this production's new-look version of the boorish Baron Ochs von Lerchenau. As the commanding office of a troop of soldiers, Ochs presented himself with military bearing. His social bumptiousness transformed into ninth-degree machismo, and the physical clumsiness sometimes shown in this character was nowhere to be seen. The visual look of the character, from floppy forelock to mustache, strongly suggested a certain Austrian corporal of the World War One period, one Adolf Hitler. In this scheme, Groissböck's lighter-toned baritone proved to be ideal, banishing all thoughts of a heavy-weight, overbearing lout. Unlike many an Ochs (the name, by the way, means "ox"), he was quite capable of waltzing gracefully, and his singing matched that, both nimble and strong at all times.
Markus Brück as Faninal gave a vocal performance in which justifiable anger often seemed to be turning into childish petulance. In itself this is a good thing for the character, but his physical performance remained very much more mature and the vocal temperament didn't always match the appearance.
Among the lesser parts, one of the most memorable was the Italian Singer, a role delivered with great matinee-idol fervour by Matthew Polenzani. In a classic example of "only the greatest dare to take liberties," Polenzani skewed the Singer's fervent love song by singing with the kind of overblown style that passes for "cultured" on late night TV, the internet, and in Las Vegas. Delightful as his "American Idol" performance was, it gained half of its comic value from the swooning attention of all the women present each time he fired up the song.
In the small but important roles of the two Italian "Intriguers," Alan Oke as Valzacchi and Helene Schneiderman as Annina made a splendid comic team. Their voices were well-matched for size and tone colour, definitely helpful in roles which so often travel as a pair. By contrast with the Singer, these two relatively underplayed their hands, letting subtle touches take the place of bold, brassy gestures. The one exception was Annina's presentation of the letter from "Mariandl" to Ochs -- a scene which definitely benefits from a more over-the-top comic presentation. Schneiderman then did a fine job of varying her vocal tone in her Act 3 appearance as the supposed wife of Ochs.
Conductor Sebastian Weigle did a first-class job of holding together and shaping a score which, simple as it sometimes sounds, is one of the more fiendish jobs regularly presented to opera-house orchestras. I particularly enjoyed the relaxed, echt-Viennese lilt which he brought to the waltz fragments that pepper the work.
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