Die schweigsame Frau - Prinzregententheater Munich, 23 July 2010
Die schweigsame Frau's relative lack of success is sometimes excused as bad timing. An adaptation of Ben Jonson's play The Silent Woman, it's inoffensive comic fluff. But the fact that its librettist Stefan Zweig was Jewish ensured the opera was banned by the Nazis after just three performances in 1935.
Now it languishes in a corner of the repertoire, picked up and dusted off only occasionally. But much else that was prohibited in Germany during Hitler's reign - Mahler especially springs to mind - has recovered its position, and more. Do the reasons lie more in the work itself than the unfortunate circumstances of its debut? This new production for the Munich Opera Festival gives it a fair chance, but I can't say that I was blown away. By riddling it with ironic pastiches of his own older works, Strauss was perhaps acknowledging that he had little new to say.
After his recent trials at the inept hands of Bavaria's politicians, Kent Nagano was thunderously applauded before, during and after. He even received a genuine standing ovation at the end. But while he provided excellent support for the singers, his approach lacked a degree of structure and foresight, Though this is a through-sung opera, it has scenes and numbers. Nagano didn't frame these clearly or build and release tension. A part of the problem no doubt lies in the work itself, but I can't help thinking a more natural Strauss conductor might have shown it in a better light.
The production didn't help to shape the action much either, as everything took place in one space. Barrie Kosky opened out the whole backstage area (not at all helpful acoustically), placing the singers upstage on a low podium (styled like a giant gold bar) for most of the evening. Fabulous fancy-dress provided a riot of colour and a certain candybox charm, but Kosky falls back on glittering kitsch and caricatured mugging in place of any serious ideas or human scale interaction. As we see all too often, and not just from Kosky, the chorus were directed with impeccable individual detail and the principals often cast adrift. The stunning costumes by Esther Bialas are the real star turn. Diana Damrau and Toby Spence as the young lovers Aminta and Henry Morosus provided the only warmth of the evening.
Damrau was pregnant fit to burst, but the only sign was shortness of breath and a few thinned-out notes at the top. Toby Spence revealed a bright, focussed tenor from beneath the proscenium, and a rather woolly sound when he was obliged to sing from upstage. I found Franz Hawlata as the grouchy Sir Morosus and Catherine Wyn-Rogers as his put-upon housekeeper less hilarious than the rest of the audience did, but they weren't given the greatest of jokes to work with.
Is is significant that the production's coup de théâtre, unequivocally the most entertaining part of the whole evening, was staged altogether outside the music? To introduce the third act, before even a note was played, Kosky raised the huge podium like the lid of a treasure chest while golden gambling chips rained down on wealthy Sir Morosus and his new bride. Shame he couldn't find this level of wit and invention for the rest of the evening.
Here's the story in production photos:
Sir Morosus, overly sensitive to the least noise or disturbance following some mysterious accident at sea, is fumigated by his devoted housekeeper while he lies asleep:
The Barber (here a sort of manservant cum guru) calms him down with acupuncture:
Sir Morosus' nephew and heir Henry arrives with his operatic troupe:
Sir Morosus welcomes them in thinking they are a 'troop' of soldiers but he soon realises his mistake:
Sir Morosus throws them out and disinherits Henry. A plan is hatched with the Barber's aid: Sir Morosus will be married off to one of the opera troupe, who will then grab his fortune. A pair of noisy suitors are rejected:
Sir Morosus agrees to marry the mousy 'Timidia' (who is actually Henry's wife Aminta) - she is the 'silent woman' he is looking for. One of the operatic troupe disguised as a priest performs the ceremony:
The opera troupe, disguised as Sir Morosus' old naval buddies, invade the celebrations:
Timidia/Aminta discourages his marital advances with a bit of pie-throwing:
The last act begins - the podium is raised:
Golden chips rain down on Sir Morosus and his bride; the treasure chest has been cracked:
Sir Morosus suffers his now-noisy new wife and her even noisier friends:
Sir Morosus wants a divorce. All is revealed, Sir Morosus forgives Henry and the others for their trickery, and finally he gets some sleep:
The curtain call:
This promotional video includes lots of excerpts from the show:
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