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The Guardian
04-08-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Káťa Kabanová review – furtive groping and a wing-bloodied angel stalk flawed staging of Janáček's opera
The final production of the current Glyndebourne season is a revival of Damiano Michieletto's staging of Janáček's Káťa Kabanová, first seen in 2021, as the UK emerged from lockdown, with the cast socially distanced on stage and a reduced orchestration used in the pit. Now, of course, conductor Robin Ticciati reverts to Janáček's original score. I didn't see Michieletto's original, however, and so cannot tell how much may have changed dramatically. An inconsistent staging, it transforms an essentially naturalistic work into a symbolist exploration of its heroine's mind, and an opera essentially about the darkness of the human soul, is now reimagined in antiseptic, clinical white. There's little suggestion of the natural world that mirrors the central crisis, only a phosphorescent glare seen between the cracks of the white walls that hem Kateřina Kněžíková's Káťa in. Michieletto is unsparing in his depiction of Kabanicha's (Susan Bickley) abuse, yet at the same time, the social background is curiously vague here, and we lose sight of Káťa's tragedy as emblematic of conflicts between reactionary authoritarianism and emerging liberalism. Instead, Michieletto realises her dreams and fantasies. She imagines flying free like a bird, though bird cages, proliferating on stage, only serve to enhance her growing sense of entrapment. The angel she dreamt of in church as a child, now stalks her adult imagination, wounded, its wings bloodied. This ambivalent figure, male and stripped to the waist in 2021, has now become female androgynous and Byzantine, though the image is overused. Its feathers flutter down as Kněžíková yields to Nicky Spence's Boris, though Michieletto ruins the subsequent love scene by bringing Bickley on stage to pluck the angel's wings and immure it in a cage, a horrendous distraction. Michieletto doesn't always trust the score: in Act I, the exquisite passage intended to mark Káťa's first appearance now accompanies furtive groping between Sam Furness's Kudrjáš and Rachael Wilson's Varvara, leaving Kněžíková to slope on a few minutes later, though we have already seen her during the prelude. Much of it sounds extremely fine, however, though Ticciati, conducting the London Philharmonic, is perhaps stronger on the score's lyricism than its incipient violence: the close of Act I, and indeed the climactic storm that unhinges Káťa's mind, could have been more tense than they were on opening night. Kněžíková is really lovely in the title role, her tone silvery yet warm, her dynamic control immaculate, vivid in her delineation of Káťa's inner conflict. Spence sounds wonderfully ardent, but by the end we are also painfully aware of Boris's essential cowardice and weakness of will. Bickley, tremendous here, gives us her most terrifying Kabanicha yet. Furness and Wilson, meanwhile, are just delightful as the couple who manage to escape the nightmare that surrounds them. A flawed production, but finely sung. In repertory until 23 August
Telegraph
18-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Telegraph
Glyndebourne's overdue Parsifal is full of unusual decisions
Nothing about Wagner's Parsifal is normal. It certainly isn't a normal opera, though countless directors have tried to make it one. Richard Wagner created his final major work, first performed in 1882, as a 'stage consecration play', casting its narrative of redemption in the form of a long, unfolding ritual. 'Here, time becomes space', as one line in the libretto has it. The usual play of narrative is reworked as Parsifal, an innocent fool, arrives as an outsider in a damaged chivalric community which guards the Holy Grail; this circle is ruled by a king, Amfortas, who has not only lost their Holy Spear to the malevolent sorcerer Klingsor, but been grievously wounded in the process. It has taken Glyndebourne a long time to mount its first Parsifal, which apparently had been the ambition of its founder John Christie back when the festival started in 1934. In its old house, the piece was impossible; even in the fine new theatre, opened in 1994, it's still a tight fit. The ensemble at Wagner's premiere numbered an orchestra of 107, a chorus of 135, and 23 soloists; here, they're reduced to manageable proportions. The grandest effects, such as recorded off-stage bells, are underwhelming, but conductor Robin Ticciati achieves miracles of ever-moving textures from the London Philharmonic in the orchestra pit, never wallowing in the sound but driving it forward and giving it an edge in the act preludes. The sense of momentum and wonder he creates gives the drama its essential underpinning. Director Jetske Mijnssen, highly praised and making her UK debut, mounts a production that's not only suited to the size of the theatre but also offers some startling new takes on the narrative. The innocent Parsifal of Daniel Johansson, light-voiced and not yet fully characterised, arrives in the traditional manner with dead swan in hand, but encounters a defensive crowd of knights who interrupt their Act One finale procession to beat him savagely. They're equally intolerant of Kristina Stanek's 'wild woman' Kundry, whose initial incarnation as a maid bringing in a tea-tray is quite a novelty. But to hear her voice blossom while keeping its incisiveness is one of the great thrills of the evening. The drab marble-pillared hall of Ben Baur's design is essentially a domestic setting. It imposes a dreary uniformity on proceedings, echoed in Gideon Davey's grey costumes, which are Nordic-noir with a visual dash of Munch or Hammershoi, red hair for the maids and the flower maidens. Silent added characters – Parsifal's mother, a younger and older Kundry – stimulate some new perspectives on Wagner's story. It's a nice touch in this male-dominated drama that after Kundry has washed Parsifal's feet, he, Christ-like, washes hers. But Parsifal himself is strangely recessed in the final drama, not helped by a sacred spear no bigger than a penknife. In this reductive setting, amid all the processing, John Tomlinson's veteran ex-king Titurel (still interfering) and John Relyea's implacable elder knight Gurnemanz have to sit round a tiny altar to celebrate the Office as if they were starting a hand of bridge. Relyea doesn't grow older across the acts as he should, but he remains the heroic controlling force and vocal star of the show, a truly remarkable feat. Meanwhile, Audun Iversen's fine wounded and despairing Amfortas seeks, through compassion, a reconciliation with Klingsor, magnificently declaimed by Ryan Speedo Green; and the production ends with an unexpected twist. On this first night, there were cheers for the music, but scattered grumbles at the drama. Either way, Glyndebourne's Parsifal is a gripping evening that will stimulate continuing debate about the real meaning of Wagner's final challenge to the world.
