VERDI Aida: Guest appearance from the Latvian National Opera, Riga at Dalhalla, Sweden 18.08. 2006 (GF)

Stage Director: Mara Kimele

Set and Costume Designer: Ilmars Blumbergs

Movement Director: Elita Bukovska

Choreography: Aivars Leimanis

Conductor: Andris Nelsons

Director’s assistants: Elita Bukovska, Agris Danilevics

Light designer: Kevin Win-Jones

 

Cast:

Aida – Kristina Opolais (soprano)

Amneris – Olga Savova (mezzo-soprano)

Radames – Efe Kiskali (tenor)

Amonasro – Samsons Izjumovs (baritone)

Ramfis – Krisjanis Norvelis (bass)

Pharao – Rihards Macanovskis (bass)

Sacerdotessa – Liene Kinca (soprano)

A messenger – Miervaldis Jencs (tenor)

 

 

 

The outdoor arena Dalhalla, north of Lake Siljan in central Sweden, every year launches an opera festival. Last year I reported from Turandot and Tosca and interested readers are referred to the Turandot review for an in-depth presentation of this remarkable creation, surrounded by deep forests in the middle of nowhere.

 

This year’s festival offered Il trovatore and a concert performance of Samson et Dalila with Anna Larsson, the celebrated Swedish contralto, who actually was born little more than a stone’s throw from Dalhalla (in Sweden we throw our stones long distances – in this case about 30 kilometres). I saw neither of these two performances but caught the guest appearance of the Latvian National Opera’s Aida. The performance was given as a tribute to Birgit Nilsson, who passed away half a year ago. Birgit was for several years honorary chairman of the non-profit organisation “Dalhallas vänner” (The Friends of Dalhalla) and she was also the person who authorised the idea that Dalhalla had the potential to become an opera arena. Thus said Margareta Dellefors, the very person who 15 years ago took the initiative to the project and without whom Dalhalla would probably not have come into being. She and former Minister of Culture and Minister of Education, Bengt Göransson, opened the evening with a retrospective on Birgit Nilsson’s importance as an advocate of the project and Ms Dellefors had also dug out a couple of interviews with Birgit from the radio archives and rounded off the tribute with the last 2½ minutes of Turandot, with Birgit on top form in one of her studio recordings.

 

But of course she was also one of the great Aidas of her day so the evening’s performance was a fitting musical tribute to the singer who by general consent was the greatest dramatic soprano of the second half of the 20^th century.

 

Even someone who didn’t have a clue to the origins of the Aida story could not be unaware of the Egyptian setting when arriving at the arena, since the vast stage and even parts of the surrounding lake were littered with props decorated with ornaments, exactly like those on the bottom of an alabaster vessel that was found in Tutankhamen’s burial chamber. Costumes and hats were also designed in accordance with what one can see on various vases and other remnants from the era, so there was definitely a certain amount of authenticity in this performance. The sets were on the other hand rather abstract with movable constructions, looking like gigantic toy building blocks being pushed about between the scenes by a group of miming artists, all dressed in the same way and wearing masks to make them part of a collective instead of being individuals.

All through the performance this polarisation was obvious: the main characters with individual features, the people an anonymous mass. I couldn’t help feeling that all this rendered an effect of sterility to the whole opera, underlined by the undoubtedly authentic ornaments all over the building blocks (even though I doubt that everything in Memphis was decorated the same way). The effect of the imitation of dried clay, pale yellow, also contributed to a feeling of dullness. As is the stage directors’ new deal (not that new, actually, it has been going on far too long) a lot of background action was taking place, most prominently by those “stage workers” (there were slaves in abundance in old Egypt) who also carried through collective movements, choreography if you like, but in my book it looked more like some slow motion aerobics group from a gym in Memphis, Tennessee. Instead of adding life to the performance this rather gave an impression of somnambulism. Decorative it may have been but I don’t care much about such things: probably it is part of today’s popular culture where no singer in whatever genre can afford to be without some extras humming and dancing in the background.

 

Rather disconcerting was the trial scene (Act IV scene 1) where the priests determine Radames’ fate. It takes place off stage as usual with only Amneris visible but in this production she is surrounded by a herd of workers moving things back and forth to no apparent avail. The scene ends by a big black container-like block being pushed forward and placed centre stage. Aha, one thinks, this is the burial chamber where Radames  and Aida  are to finish their days! It is, but the two protagonists are not in the chamber but on top of it! If there was a point in this I totally missed it and  the effect only contributed further to the sense of abstraction.

 

It has to be admitted that there is some inventive and successful lighting. The triumphal scene bathes in red and Act III, the dramatic centre of the opera, playing on the banks of the Nile, is in blue with likewise blue mists filling the stage. Come to think of it, the Nile, rising in Ethiopia and falling into the Mediterranean  in Egypt, is the bond that unites the two lovers, Aida and Radames, belonging to different cultures, different religions but sharing the same river (the connotation of 'Nile' in the original language is “The river” and this river in these arid parts of the world means the difference between life and death).

 

Aida is an opera that balances the private and the official, the latter of course at its most spectacular in the triumphal scene and there is indeed power and glory here, amplified by the six trumpeters placed on a high wall at the back of the stage with their instruments reflecting the spotlights – a certain tingle factor here. This is also the part of the opera that most occasional visitors know, besides of course Radames’ and Aida’s arias. Talking to some friends during the interval it was obvious that this scene had made a great impression but I couldn’t help feeling that the abstraction of the whole concept robbed even this scene of some of its grandeur, so gloriously caught in Verona’s original 1913 setting. The chorus was a fine body, though the male voices showed some strain and this didn’t really affect the total experience. The ballet sequences were quite entertaining, lively and springy.

 

Andris Nelsons, chief conductor of the Latvian National Opera since 2003, led a concentrated performance, filled with contrasts. Not one to linger unduly, he whipped up the tension of the big concerted scenes and he could be on the fast side, but one never had the feeling that he pressed too hard. On the other hand he could be very lenient to the soloists in the more intimate scenes, most of all Aida’s two arias which were the vocal high-spots in this performance. Young Kristine Opolais had a beautiful lyrical voice that at first seemed on the light side, but such was her conviction and intensity that one didn’t miss the heroic tones of some spinto sopranos. And one also has to remember that Aida is a young girl, which she never left us in any doubt about, whereas more dramatic voices can feel too mature. Ms Opolais made the most of her first aria, Ritorna vincitor and the pianissimo ending was really magical. She was even better in the Nile aria with exquisite shadings. Moreover she was also the most natural actor among the main soloists. In general the acting was fairly primitive with big sweeping gestures but with little dramatic content. Miervaldis Jencs in the tiny role of the Messenger had real stage presence and was the one who created a human character in his few phrases. The Radames, Efe Kiskali, impressed more with his lyrical schmalz than with heroic brilliance – he sometimes pushed too much in the fortes – but Celeste Aida was finely nuanced, although he ended the aria fortissimo. He actually grew in stature during the performance and what sounded like a too weak voice in the first Act (he had made his debut as Nemorino) turned out to be a quite baritonal lirico-spinto and the Act III scene with Aida and later Amonasro was thrilling. Even better was the soft lyrical opening of the final duet and it was a pity that he was so disturbingly out of tune a couple of times.

 

Olga Savova sported a magnificent mezzo-soprano of Wagnerian dimensions and it came as no surprise to find that she has indeed been a successful Brünnhilde. So formidable a character as Amneris needs a larger than life approach (I still remember Fiorenza Cossotto in Verona) and while there is also a more loving side in the princess it is still the regal qualities that need to be projected. As Amonasro we heard veteran Samsons Izjumovs, who has been singing at the National Opera since 1978. It was a big voice, a bit unevenly produced but he undoubtedly possessed the histrionic qualities that a good Amonasro needs. What he lacked was the Italianate roundness of tone and the lyrical warmth to make the heartbreaking Ma tu, Re, tu signore possente in the second Act such a memorable moment. Still, he made the most of the third Act scene with Aida and the renunciation of his daughter was a chilling experience. The two basses were competent singers and especially Krisjanis Norvelis as Ramfis had a big steady voice, sonorous but also a bit hollow. The Sacerdotessa, who normally is sung by a light lyrical voice, often a singer in the beginning of her career, is here allotted to a singer with a large almost mezzo-ish voice – certainly an Aida-to-be.

 

The finale was quite spectacular – and thought provoking. At the end of the final duet – and we all knew that they suffocated to death in the vault – there were projections in black and white on the stage floor and on the rough granite walls of the arena, of hundreds of scarabs, amulets in the shape of the holy beetle Scarabaeus sacer. The heart scarab, a larger variant, was  placed on the throat of the embalmed corpse in old Egypt to silence the heart’s gossip before Osiris about the wrongs one had committed in life. Thus Radames’ treason would be hidden from the gods – or do I misinterpret the director again?

 

As readers may have deduced from this review, I wasn’t wholly enthusiastic about the performance at large – redeemed by some more-than-average singing – but at least it made you raise an eyebrow or two while it is often quite possible that you leave a run-of-the-mill production with a yawn. When I left the old lime-stone quarry in the August darkness just before midnight and could look down on the scarabs still climbing the rock walls, I felt a bit uplifted for the sake of Radames. In have always thought that he was forever condemned but judging by this production Osiris never learnt of his shortcomings.

 

Göran Forsling

 

Photograph: Martin Litens