Pelleas et Melisande with Dessay and Keenlyside

Pelléas et Mélisande - Barbican, 19 April 2011

Pelléas et Mélisande is undoubtedly a tough opera to pull off, but a French orchestra and mostly French cast at least brought a bit of Gallic authenticity to the Barbican's concert version (as concocted for the Théatre des Champs-Elysées in Paris). With singers all parked behind music stands, Natalie Dessay's beaded gown provided the only visual reference to Debussy's opera. Crystals sparkled like stars on black chiffon above a hem embroidered with foaming waves - the dark night and the restless sea in a size 36.

It's popular to see Mélisande as a pre-Freudian study in female neurosis, tempting many singers into flapping histrionics. But Natalie, with her still-girlish timbre, could instead conjure a sweet and guileless innocent. The part is no technical stretch for her, and it was in the ease and weightless clarity of her singing that an other-worldly dimension emerged, a hint of the damage buried deep inside.

Simon Keenlyside has played Pelléas many times - but not usually with his arm strapped up in a sling. It didn't seem to cause him any problems though, and his boyish diffidence complemented Dessay perfectly.

As in Laurent Pelly's recent production (available on DVD), Natalie's real-life spouse Laurent Naouri played her husband, Golaud. With the tender and wholly appropriate simplicity of his first act, he brought real subtlety to a character too often seen as merely a blustering bully. His dryish timbre is no real disadvantage in this role.

Marie-Nicole Lemieux as Geneviève was a luxury, and the all-round excellent cast was completed by Alain Vernhes (Arkel), Khatouna Gadelia (Yniold) and Nahuel Di Pierro (Doctor).

The only real disappointment - and it was a big one - was the stolid, unimaginative conducting of Louis Langrée. The Orchestre de Paris played competently enough, but Pelléas demands clarity and a delicate touch to bring out the nuances of the orchestration.

Langrée instead drowned everything in a lush Massenet-flavoured syrup. This worked, after a fashion, in the sweeping drama of the action-packed third act finale and fourth act. But the meditative beginning and end are written on a smaller scale, one that demands crystalline textures and the sort of attention to detail that Natalie Dessay brought to her subtly inflected singing. Otherwise it's dull as mud. It was only the quality of the singing that brought me back for the second half (not everyone was so patient - I noticed a few empty seats.)

I thought at first that the solitary (and shocking) boo heard just a microsecond after the last note must be directed at Langrée, but no. Apparently it was an American visitor's way of complaining that his view of Dessay was blocked by a music stand. Unbelievable. At least a swift round of Happy Birthday to mark Natalie Dessay's 46th ended the evening on a more cheerful note. 

Rehearsal video:

 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 

Comments

[sub-opera]

Naouri as Golaud was indeed sensational.

The ridiculous single boo at the end was one of the stupidest things ever - after such a glorious finale...

If IM has traced the culprit (and how did you? I wanted to strangle him on the night but not find him), could you perhaps publish his name and address so that I can stage a boo protest outside his home?

Unless, of course, he's mentally ill - in which case I'll lobby for him to be committed to a mental institution (or at least banned forever from the Barbie).

[J W Palik]

I am alarmed and annoyed to hear of the mad boo-cow being identified as "an American visitor" - which of course mortifies me all the way over in the American midwest, as Yank-bashing is such a prevalent pastime in some circles that I am sure we will all be tarred with the same brush. And I am not sure how the boo-bird was identified as such anyway - did he blurt out "Ah's frum TEX-as and we don't cotton much to thish-year Dubessy manure - and 'sides, Ah cain't see the purty li'l lady singer b'hine that dang music rack..." How stupid, coming at the end of the opera, which is my favorite part of the entire piece. Well, bad luck to him, whatever his nationality. At any rate, if the singers were momentarily stricken (and my sources who sat further back in the hall say they did not hear the gaffe), the photos show a picture of happy camaraderie and basking in well-deserved approbation. I am looking forward to hearing the radio broadcast next month of the first Paris performance.

[The Unrepentant Pelleastrian]

Sub-opera wrote:

"The ridiculous single boo at the end was one of the stupidest things ever - after such a glorious finale... I wanted to strangle him on the night but not find him), could you perhaps publish his name and address so that I can stage a boo protest outside his home?"

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Count me in.... I would be more than willing to join you in this.