Lulu goes to Copenhagen - a first night report

Lulu - Royal Danish Theatre, 15 October 2010

Heaving crowds descended on Copenhagen from all corners of the operatic empire on Friday night to witness the unveiling of the Royal Opera's new Lulu. It seemed every opera house in Germany had dispatched an ambassador - and was that our own Elaine Padmore I spotted too? The attractions - a production by newly-anointed Opernwelt Regisseur des Jahres Stefan Herheim, and the premiere of Eberhard Kloke’s reconstruction of the unfinished third act.

Herheim has toned down a bit since he introduced Mozart to bumsecks at the 2006 Salzburg Festival. Bewb count was a fleeting and modest two, both Lulu's, both Artistically Essential as Lulu peeled off her bodystocking to reveal her true self only to Dr. Schön. A bit of crotch-rubbing from her gruesome suitors would shock no-one who’s seen a Michael Jackson video. Traditionalists could thrill to the period costumes and recognisable sets. You could take your granny.

The story-telling was commendably clear. None of the blink-and-you'll-miss-it busyness of recent Herheim productions which, however brilliant, leave you feeling you need to see the whole thing again to follow it properly (notwithstanding the odd technical hitch with collapsing props and misbehaving costumes).

Sine Bundgaard’s Lulu, bobbed and lipsticked, was a throwback to those spunky Rossini heroines. Mockups of Copenhagen’s two opera houses were her stage. The twinkly, gilded old opera house was reproduced in miniature as a stage within the stage – handy of course for the second act ‘backstage’ scene. But there too Lulu was 'born' as the Painter’s body-stockinged and fig-leafed ‘Eve’, and there she died. The new house was less identifiably represented by clear screens wrapped around like a wobbly greenhouse. Suited city gents, nothing to do with the rest of the show, prowled behind these as the opera began. It was a mystery until they reappeared - symmetrically! - at the end of the final act to stab Lulu to death with their English umbrellas. That’s London for you.

Blending the grotesque, the comical and the surreal, a chorus of dead clowns bore silent but active witness. Revealed by their scars and bloodstains as Lulu's former suitors, they were joined after a swift lick of greasepaint by each addition to the bodycount.

Kloke’s new third act was more of a departure than I expected. Friedrich Cerha's familiar completion mirrors Berg's colour palette, creating an organic unity with the preceding acts. But Kloke's version switches gear, employing spare, modernist textures and even a new instrument - the accordion, part of an onstage trio including violin and piano. Like uninvited party guests, they didn't quite fit in. Herheim's production too lost some focus at this point. The musicians wove in and out of the action disguised as Lulu clones, to what point I couldn’t work out, commanding attention that should have been directed elsewhere. This is the danger of overloading a work as tightly structured and rigorously balanced as Lulu, and wisely avoided elsewhere.

In the shallow pit, Michael Boder steered a clear and confident path between angular modernism and romantic flourish. The theatre’s stunning acoustics mean that singers could always be heard easily, even over the large orchestra. The mostly Danish cast included few names a British audience would recognise apart from Johan Reuter as Dr. Schön and Randi Stene as Countess Geschwitz. But all were excellent, the sort of selfless team players this company excels in producing.

The controversial on-stage musicians in Lulu disguises:

Sine Bundgaard as Lulu:

Centre is the Theatrical Dresser (Elisabeth Jansson) whose evocative costume appears as the collapse of the Jungfrau shares is announced. (Think about it):