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Debussy, Pelléas et Mélisande : Independent Opera at Sadler’s Wells, London, 18.11.2008 (AO)
            
            
            Cast:
            
            Pelléas – 
            Thorbjørn 
            Gulbransøy
            
            
            Mélisande – Ingrid Perruche
            Golaud – Andrew Foster-Williams
            Arkel – Frédéric Bourreau
            Geneviève – Julie Pasturaud
            Yniold – Caryl Hughes
            Médécin – Vojtěch Šafaříl
            
            
            
            Production:
            
            Alessandro Talevi  (director)
            Madeleine Boyd (sets and costumes)
            Dominic Wheeler (conductor)
            Matthew 
            Haskins (lighting)
            
            
            Everything Independent Opera 
            does is distinctive. It’s tiny, but visionary.  Pelléas et 
            Mélisande is a challenge even for big houses, but this isn’t the 
            kind of company that’s daunted. It’s their biggest challenge ever, 
            and it’s worked very well indeed. This Pelléas et Mélisande 
            would do credit to much bigger houses.  What Independent Opera lacks 
            in money it makes up for in imagination and creativity. Talent like 
            this is far rarer than we appreciate. If the big companies take note 
            of Independent Opera, all of us could be in for some of the most 
            vibrant opera in Europe.  
            
            There’s hardly any stage space in the Lilian Baylis Theatre at 
            Sadler’s Wells, and the audience seats are so steeply raked that 
            it’s claustrophobic. But claustrophobia is central to the plot. This 
            set, by Madeleine Boyd, uses horizontal plinths which bear down 
            oppressively. Wings, rafters and mechanics are fully visible, a 
            striking illustration of life in this castle, which is repressively 
            formal, organised like an industrial machine. Allemonde is not a 
            happy kingdom. This set reminds us that dungeons and subterranean 
            passages lurk below, Maeterlinck’s metaphor for the subconscious. We 
            catch brief glimpses of the servants who make the edifice function. 
            This too, is an integral part of the plot even though the roles are 
            silent, for Allemonde is kept alive by scores of scores of 
            underlings who serve in suppressed anonymity.  Remember this, for 
            it’s important and pertains to the “surprise” ending this production 
            reveals !  Arkel and Geneviève can’t even walk freely at first but 
            are propelled by machines.  When Mélisande enters his life, Arkel 
            can suddenly walk again, albeit with sticks.  Geneviève’s costume 
            (also by Boyd) is a statement in itself, a bizarre contraption that 
            makes her look like a piece of ornate Victorian furniture. Her skirt 
            is like a cabinet, brightly polished but strictly 
            compartmentalized.  It’s a symbol of the alienated rigidity which 
            Mélisande’s presence shakes to the core.
            
            Independent Opera productions sell out fast, but the company can’t 
            afford really big name singers. Instead, it seeks out the best new 
            talent. Several careers have flourished as a result. The singers 
            here certainly aren’t unknowns, but chosen with care.  Andrew 
            Foster-Williams has appeared internationally, at ROH, ENO, WNO and 
            Opera North. He’s vocally very assured but even more interestingly, 
            he gets unexpected depths from Golaud.
            
            This production is unusual because it explores the relationships 
            between the men. Golaud’s emotionally retarded, with a history of 
            clumsy relationships. Foster-Williams makes Golaud’s sexual interest 
            in Mélisande very clear. This is a very “physical” production, with 
            much touching on his part which adds an element of tension in view 
            of Mélisande’s “Ne me touchez pas!“  outburst when they met.  This 
            Golaud is a man who expresses himself physically because he can’t 
            deal with feelings. He resorts to violence because he cannot fathom 
            any other way of reacting. Therefore, one of the most striking 
            images occurs when Golaud strokes Pelléas tenderly and combs his 
            hair. It’s a charged moment. It’s not erotic so much as a desperate 
            attempt by Golaud to access “normal” feelings, that come so 
            naturally to Pelléas. This is a fascinating characterization, 
            supported by the tenderness that wells up in the music, speaking for 
            Golaud what he can’t express in words.
            
            This Mélisande too, isn’t a pallid victim but, portrayed by Ingrid 
            Perruche, a sexually vibrant woman. Maggie Teyte, one of the great 
            Mélisandes, said that in her time “the characters were so STRONG 
            (her emphasis)……modern (1958) performers have taken out all the 
            blood”. She may be mysterious, but she’s a creature of instinct and 
            feeling, who dares push the boundaries. That’s why she leans, 
            dangerously, over the well (significantly called the Fountain of the 
            Blind) and loses her ring. No wonder Pelléas is both terrified and 
            attracted.  Vocally, she has enough richness to bring out the 
            sensuality in the part, and visually, she’s voluptuous.  Mélisande’s 
            hair, symbol of erotic power, is almost impossible to stage 
            literally, so it’s hinted at in this production obliquely. 
            Perruche’s hair is long enough, but wildly curly and free. In the 
            tower scene, Pelléas follows a golden thread. It’s simple but 
            conveys the musical imagery well. It’s strong, yet fragile, and 
            could snap at any time.  Later, on her death bed, Mélisande is 
            covered by a silken blanket in exactly the same shade as her hair. 
            It’s a beautiful detail, implying much about the mystery that 
            surrounds her persona.
            
            Thorbjørn Gulbransøy as Pelléas is convincing as a lover because he 
            can convey Pelléas as a full personality, who can stand up to a 
            strong Golaud.  His is a beautiful voice. He’s young, he has good 
            experience and potential. Frédérick Bourreau’s Arkel was extremely 
            well developed too. Although he’s old, he’s mentally sharp, and 
            understands subtleties Golaud can never grasp. He’s seated in a 
            wheelchair, but the voice that arises is steady, firm and clear, 
            drawing attention even when he’s silent – a counterpart of sorts to 
            Mélisande herself. Indeed, Arkel comes into his own in the deathbed 
            scene, where Golaud crumbles. Bourreau gives us a glimpse of what 
            Arkel might have been in his prime, expanding the character by the 
            depth of his portrayal.
            
            And the “surprise” final scene ? As Mélisande breathes her last, 
            four of the women who have been working in the shadows all along 
            appear. “Who has summoned them?” cries Golaud fearfully, but no-one 
            knows. No longer are they mere servants, barely seen. Now they stand 
            around Mélisande like dignified Angels of Death, profoundly powerful 
            and moving.  Golaud is an emotional illiterate because he’s like 
            Allemonde as it was, a clockwork mechanism operating on auto pilot. 
            These women represent another way of being, more attuned to 
            Mélisande, and they defy the King. Does it mean change ? We know 
            there’s revolution afoot, outside the castle, and the populace are 
            starving.
            
            Even the sickly baby materialises as a little girl. Mélisande says 
            “elle va pleurer aussi”, but that could mean many different things. 
            Perhaps the girl will grow up and repeat the mysterious cycle ?  
            Small as this detail may be, it’s an important because it reminds us 
            that we still have no idea where Mélisande came from or who she 
            really was.
            
            Further evidence of Independent Opera’s flair for innovation is the 
            orchestration.  This was a specially commissioned instrument version 
            of Debussy’s score, made by the composer Stephen McNeff.  Since 
            Debussy’s music is exquisitely detailed, it was a daunting 
            proposition. McNeff was struck by the way Debussy ”creates a 
            constantly moving soundworld by layering and doubling, adding and 
            taking away”, not so different in spirit from chamber music.  McNeff 
            reduced the numbers to 35 from 50, keeping the central solo parts 
            intact, so what we hear captures the essential quality of the 
            original. It also means that this opera can, in future, be performed 
            in smaller theatres.  Yet again, Independent Opera thinks outside 
            the box. That’s why it’s worth paying so much attention to. 
            
            Anne Ozorio
            
            Web Site : 
            
            http://www.independentopera.com/index.html
            
	
	
			
	
	
              
	
	
              
              
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