Met in HD: New Boris Godunov still inspiring as mostly all of one piece - after change of horses midstream. Rene Pape, Valery Gergiev. 23.10.10

Definitely a stand-out on the list of upcoming new productions for the 2010-11 season at the Met, even before it opened, was the new Peter Stein production of Boris Godunov, the first new production of this for the company in quite some time – after long lasting satisfaction with August Everding’s production.

News then arrived of Peter Stein having had to step aside for what at first were called personal reasons – then for it to get disclosed that all due to much red tape he was having to pull with the U.S. Consular Office in Berlin to get his visa status renewed. The sets for the new production were already in place at the Met, and rehearsal was on verge of pretty much getting underway. Stein appealed to Peter Gelb for support toward making things work out, make the transaction a little smoother for him, but Gelb made excuses not to intervene; it also seems that Gelb wasted no time finding Stephen Wadsworth to take on unenviable task of replacing Stein. No acknowledgement was made of Stein whatsoever during interviews or announcement during the Live in HD presentation. Stein also got heard referring to the Met as ‘a factory’, perhaps out of frustration of having had to deal with Gelb, plus whatever else.

Stein got his start in theater as proponent of regietheater, before as he saw it the re-creative process started going over the top, becoming abusive. His theater for some time now has become of a painstakingly literal-minded variety, usually against fairly minimalist backdrop, with emphasis on close, psychologically worked out, intense interaction between actors on stage. I speculate here, but one must indeed doubt that directing ‘by committee’ was ever going to be Stein’s cup of tea or immediately willing adjustment with Peter Gelb or with the Met. One should remark however at how, if in a way only scratching so far beneath the surface, Wadsworth may have emulated what Stein had in mind, given how involved some of the interaction on stage is in this new production. The ‘Polish Act’ here, for instance, made for absolutely riveting theater.

Over at City Opera one can still hear the words Stephen Wadsworth wrote for Bernstein’s (semi-)autobiographical ‘A Quiet Place’ - again long-windedly inculcating ‘Trouble in Tahiti’ as part of the package – similar to as happened at 1983 Houston world premiere – Wadsworth also then directing it. According to press, Wadsworth’s libretto apparently has not worn the ravages of time well. Martin Bernheimer refers to the lyrics as corny – not to mention his evaluation of the musical setting.

Wadsworth went about ‘Boris Godunov’, conscientiously, so much on quite short notice, this being a tough piece to stage – on unit set Stein and Ferdinand Woegerhauer had already constructed. The Met is mostly right – based on hypothesis of compromise being impossible to reach with Peter Stein – in trusting Wadsworth’s ability to put this together. He deserves credit as well, as interviewed by board room driven Patricia Racette during intermission for looking, sounding mildly ill at ease with temptation to claim work on this as all his own. Several finicky touches let the cat slightly out of the bag that same man who crafted the lyrics for ‘A Quiet Place’ could have staged this. Fortunately, only several things conspicuously misfired.

The handling of the part of the Simpleton was one to find worrisome; fortunately he ceased to be a factor past the Coronation Scene, but especially up to moment that scene arrived, all the roaming and silent gesticulating about was distracting. Halfway denied was ability of the Simpleton to at first inconspicuously emerge from the crowd in front of St Basil’s Cathedral. In the standard (and lengthy) David Lloyd-Jones conflation of the opera Valery Gergiev follows, the Simpleton gets to sing twice the same solo – moreover taking into consideration, unless there were motorized ox-carts at the time (1605) that there is only several days lapse between action in front of St Basil’s and off the Dniepr river (Kromy Forest) - 600 miles apart. Costuming here reasonably well, across the minimalist set, reflected the period and varying classes of people.

As manipulative, conniving, pampered as Marina Mnishek is, it takes some suspension of disbelief to find her - turned into a hussy as well - out on war-path with Grigori across the Ukraine –- whereas she could instead rest comfortably at Sandomir Castle until Grigori’s ascension to the throne is nearly a done deal. Huddling close to stage floor of Boris together with his children in his final scene looked derived from Andrei Tarkovsky’s production Gergiev conducted years ago - long available on videotape and dvd (starring Robert Lloyd as Boris). Except for the Simpleton at the end of the St Basil’s scene wrapping himself in the map of Russia – bringing Tarkovsky motif even a step further - an overall map fetish – maps often being opened, spread out across the stage floor – distracted little from focus on the overall dramatic narrative.

The persistence of a unit set for the Kromy Forest scene had curious effect, both that contributed in an odd way almost as much as it took away one’s usual traditional sense of perspective. One knew the strategy here to be at least partly effective, for the irony with which the music for the Pretender’s entrance got felt, as sounding bright on the surface – but with so much dark underneath. It was to play the auteur just within reason to watch the Kromy Forest scene take place in such closed-in space, with what blood-letting, pummeling about going on – except for those who are able in a dark theater or literally by memory to follow the libretto very closely – with who might have been doing what to whom. It became arbitrary in effect the takeover of so much carnage and disorder as rightly characterizes this scene – even if taking it on in this unusual way from more of a global perspective than usual. That this was effective was testament to Stephan Wadsworth’s very close and intense work with all involved.

One thing very fine about this ‘Boris Godunov’ was the strength of its casting – some real depth here. This was apparent immediately in the first scene of the opera - the brutality, arbitrary control of the people by the police, firmly commanded by Valerian Ruminski. Clear line, forthrightly resounded, made strong profile of Shchelkalov, in the hands of Alexei Markov (Tomsky at Met later this season) – if less beseechingly than from others. Mikhail Petrenko, in flowing white hair, with both a slightly fanatical and imploring look as Pimen, found likewise the right introspection for the part, subtly varied interest in the text. In the shallow acoustic at the Met, he sounded shallower in vocal depth than I recall hearing him before. There was still here a Pimen fully engaged.

The Pretender’s sidekicks toward making it across into Lithuania fell into the hands of two veterans at them – their droll humor at full throttle, but perhaps with sense of menace associated with their reappearance in the Kromy Forest understated. While Nikolai Gassiev still proved good at acting Missail, vocally he resorted to mugging it – as though now over-parted for it – in exchange much experience at it still showing nevertheless. Vladimir Ognovenko, as Varlaam, reminded well how extremely well he sang this for the Met thirteen years ago, during Gergiev’s first Boris run at the Met – paired then with Gassiev again – with how very deep a lament he made then of Varlaam falling asleep drunk right after ‘Siege of Kazan.’ Luxury casting was made of police officer at the Inn, with befuddled acting, interestingly light voiced Gennady Bezzubenkov, not to overshadow lean voiced, still fully capable casting elsewhere.

Andrei Popov proved ideal vocally for the Simpleton, but slithering around between several pitches began to cloy – that after thanklessly having been seen too much during earlier scenes of the opera with as directed, acting to possibly remind one of the silent movie era. Underneath it all, he still looked, sounded fine. Jennifer Zetlan as the sweetly very plaintive Xenia and alto voiced Jonathan Makepeace(Fyodor), both exemplary in their acting, made ideal casting; childrens’ chorus, mocking the Simpleton, was ideally together, sharply characterful, and in tune (as prepared by Anthony Piccolo). Choral work, though tremulous for several passages of exposed writing during first half of the opera, was very well disciplined, the Met chorus altogether sounding as though possessed for entirety of the opera’s final act.

Aleksandr Antonenko was the ringing, exciting Pretender, with accent, turn of phrase all making one at last anticipate him to be a reigning Otello for our day – whereas he sounded still a little green for it at Salzburg two years back (preserved on dvd). Antonenko here proved the equal to the often thankless high tessitura of Grigori – and with alternatively the right look of fire in his eye and hint of naïve confusion with how he may be being manipulated at Sandomir castle. He is less verbally intense with words to this part than Galuzin at both the Mariinsky and the Met - Galuzin still in his prime – in the late 1990’s. With closer attention to this, Antonenko should be able to deliver all the goods this way – and more specific acting as well.

Ekaterina Semenchuk, with firm if not most richly colored mezzo, made somewhat a capricious ingénue out of Marinaa. For dynamic of how things transpired on stage here, she rose to the occasion to sound and appear lightly, shrewdly conniving at it all the while, then gave in easily to the passionate outburst of joining Antonenko for closing duet during the Fountain scene. Unifying the whole effort dramatically was the absolutely excellent Rangoni of Evgeny Nikitin, singer deserving of more exposure in the West than he receives. If voice is slightly less rich than it was on disc with Gergiev thirteen years ago, here was singing to remind one of Sergei Leiferkus on one of his best nights at the same part – Nikitin at least just as vocally splendid as Leiferkus and more subtly riveting, conniving than before. With together the intense, subtle acting of Nikitin guiding it all, very ringing tone of Antonenko and sufficient allure of Semenchuk, the Polish act was hardly intermezzo anymore, but truly riveting theater instead.

Rene Pape, relatively new to singing Boris, made increasingly affecting case for doing so, as afternoon wore on. His is a very warm voice for this, with free close to baritonal extension on top; he provided to boot if not sufficiently specific acting, especially at first, as Boris, increasingly intelligent acting all the same. One might conventionally expect a more gravelly timbre for Boris– with voice warm to almost extent of sounding plummy. The transition between being doting father to Xenia and Fyodor, and his gradual dissembling passively to the very matter-of-fact Shiusky of Oleg Balashov gradually became convincing. In a way, the Shuisky being so deadpan is a more interesting option than the oily, slithery type (intelligently represented by Konstantin Pluzhnikov on the Mariinsky recording) - in a way, all the more dangerous a Shiusky for being that much more easier to believe, thus for Boris to be so gulled.

The deep anxiety already that Pape expressed for ‘I have attained the highest power’ he made subtly contrast well with the lyricism with which he mused over the welfare of the children, his benevolent care and hope for them. He filled out best of all the scene of Boris’s farewell and death, to show what further promise in still better filling out the sides of this part he may fulfill before long in singing this. Balance between maintaining nobility of profile and of vocal line and nearly completely essaying the psychosis Boris suffers was insightful here. One may even look forward, to his repeat of the part this coming March - with much of this same cast – as to what further progress, even if incremental, may occur between now and months ahead.

Working with a production that intermittently resembled the apple-not-to-fall-too-far-from-the-tree variety – in context of utterly bland, widely panned opener to notoriously expensive Ring two weeks previous – might have led one to reckon one was going to get a musically streamlined account of things to complement such. One picked up instead the best rehearsed playing of the Met orchestra I have heard in over a year. Peter Gelb and the company both took the hit they deserved for cutting corners too often on such considerations last season. Boris Godunov, so different in idiom from other repertoire, is especially notable in being so distinctive.

Without being the Mariinsky, fear of comparison here was hardly necessary. The originality of Mussorgsky’s scoring was – in part for better sound than on Gergiev’s Philips recording – fully on display. The quietly brooding command Gergiev revealed while conducting this was very affecting, offering much subtlety, nuance, excellent pacing, and attentiveness to practically every turn in the dramatic action onstage. No less important than the rest was the variety of color achieved, as marked by anywhere from subtly pointed to, for instance for Kromy Forest scene, rhythmically bracing. Bright color for the Polish Act was clear, as was contrasting with it, impoverished, despairing throng in front of St Basil’s. All here worked toward as much a dramatic success with this Boris as a musical one. One can only speculate at what results could have been – certainly with more extensive rehearsal time demanded – had Peter Stein been able to remain on board.

BBC - BBC NOW, T Fischer. G Capucon. Probing Shostakovich Sixth central to program of crisply evoked Russian moods. Cardiff, Wales. 17.9.2010

Motivation not to miss this - season opener at St David's in Cardiff - was clear - the Shostakovich Seventh that became major highlight of the BBC Proms. This all-Russian program featured instead the Shostakovich Sixth Symphony – one of his best.

Mussorgsky's Night on Bare Mountain was first of two pieces on this program to conjure up the supernatural; with utmost simplicity Thierry Fischer and BBC National Orchestra of Wales caught it. Like Vladimir Jurowski at the Proms, Fischer opted for the Rimsky-Korsakov orchestration of this piece. Fischer's means, with the more smoothly executable orchestration of Rimsky-Korsakov to bring out much still remaining savagery was the simpler, less contrived - better, more clearly thought out than with Jurowski. Insistence on drier sonority than is perhaps norm with the more Romantic orchestration of this piece was just partly key, alongside bracing capture of the music's insistent rhythms. Under-girding of most animated, agitated passage-work was solid, supplying means by which orchestral voices above could find easy lift and bounce. Without needing extra boost or being worked in the least, the ferocity of this music spoke forth in fine relief. Strings opened lines in the tranquil epilogue to this piece with retiring stance, opening space for most expressive playing, handled limpidly by both flute and clarinet, answered by light harp arpeggios and bell tolling in the distance.

The diabolical frolic to open this program got immediately followed aristocratically by the Tchaikovsky’s Rococo Variations, played by Gautier Capucon. Most evident at first was the ease with which Thierry Fischer and his Welshmen picked up on the simplicity of the Romanticized classicism behind this piece. Some lingering over sub-phrase endings in the violins happened normally as expected. Gautier Capucon matched well at first, and with minimal bow pressure, with what was accompanying him – all with polished affectation of rustic air to the phrasing. With upbeat accent on octave jumping bassoon, concertato of winds starting interlude and also postlude to first variation had almost equally good say as did soloist, with fine lift over variation formed over long sequence of triplets, and forthright tone and direction for the second variation – well accompanied until hard push on concertato of concluding flutes. Expressive, supple shape was made of following C Major romanza with fine decoration to line from light winds, with soloist also deftly making long descent in triplets with fine staccati light, as verging on spiccato, anticipating full spiccato in brilliantly running up and down fingerboard for quasi-cadenza material in gently gavotte-step variation to follow.

Principal flute, making simple reprise of main theme, was excellent, over felicitous caprice from Capucon - some of it then beginning to sound worked and extending caprice a short ways into largamente transition to the slower melancholy D Minor variation. Capucon started this exaggeratedly soft, but with clarinet principal to match his tone in responding so very well. Final variation started dryly with good propulsion, but then with intruding rough negotiation of double-stops, octaves off ascending trills - making less confident conclusion to the Tchaikovsky than how things began. Faure's Elegie in C Minor, with dark tone, strong profile of its melancholy, nobly served as encore, with fine introspection from clarinet and oboe principals to supplement Capucon. Broad feel for transition to conclusion of this piece kept all mostly intact, overlooking some roughness for cadenza like passage therein.

Shostakovich’s Sixth comprised most of the second half. Fischer got some criticism for his Shostakovich Seventh at the Proms being a little too dry, perhaps even unfeeling – a little dry, yes, but the rest I did not sense. Here he has followed up with the Sixth. For someone not akin to the idiom, Fischer certainly chose a broad enough tempo for the opening Largo – similar very slow pace as Metzmacher took with San Francisco two seasons ago. Less controversially, Metzmacher caught the music’s Romantic overtones more fully than did Fischer - so for the opening Largo, it was Fischer who took the greater risk. Lean quality to the music-making, ascetic, even acerbic at certain junctures was striking - such that Fischer was able to sustain through quiet, almost entirely still spaces during especially the latter half of this opening Largo. Toward eventually making lean, arched shape of lengthy reach for first loud ending of a phrase, Fischer brought out of his violins fine glimmer of light, to avoid anything becoming too detached; violins became then both supple, distraught, plus lean, to sufficiently cap off the grand line.. Harmonic spelling of undulating horns under ascending winds toward second crest within such line was clear and firm, then naturally making space for violins to ruminatively break in with strands of the first theme, mostly the cadential ending to it, spinning out from there and so darkly echoed by lower winds with same manner of entering, over more filled out undulation in triplets.

Fischer marked very well episodic piccolo first theme reprise, making how well it delays more conclusive, incisive climax felt very well - with its descending trills from upon high over devastating interjection from brass and timpani. Remindful warning from full orchestra Fischer had frame, away from doleful English horn solo and duet between flute and bassoon to further comment, from expansive space made for lengthy flute cadenza over sustained quiet trill and tremolo. This was framed on other end by warm horns slowly and warmly marking single pitch dotted rhythm that marks opening of the first theme over octave trill to - avoiding banal overstatement - naturally gild them in celesta.

After long retransition violins then calmly, resolutely recapitulated the first theme - with as though all fire taken out of them. In answering comment by mourning low bassoon, strings made all spectral and anguished, febrile of their broad final line – all hovering beyond moment last chord has sounded with something definitely foreboding.

At decent Allegretto pace, solo high clarinet and flute circumspectly tossed off opening lines– supplemented by fine sense of naiveté. For elaborate development to ensue, Fischer made acute our catching his still ever fluid ear for the special language in which this music is written - a Shostakovich debt to Carl Nielsen. Wiry run in strings, making all sound precarious, spun off xylophone toward preparing curiously weightless brass in making half-trivial, ironic refrain to follow, that followed soon by very animatedly on purpose matter-of-fact dissembling flute and piccolo first theme and runs. Full climax to this maelstrom of a scherzo was just sufficiently regularly paced toward austerely provoked climax - while recalling, uncharacteristic for him, Metzmacher’s larger than life approach to same passage – opposite approach - with purposefully banal fugato to have preceded all this (under insistent repeat note tremolo in strings from both). All coming off then had a light, dissembling air to it - Fischer profiling quasi-glissando runs incisively in several winds, especially high clarinet and flute over great void. Capturing high endings to these helped make them resemble meteor showers or shooting stars on a cold, clear night, as though all untethered, ready to collapse over the void. Steady pulsation through the end, contextually helped make sense of pointed piccolo solo refrain framing conclusion to mad scherzo - with then all dissembling into thin air over insistent timpani.

Insistent trot to step, pulsation marked good light bounce and lift to opening lines of the final Presto. Very incisive winds paprika’d their off-beats marking second half of first subject to the fore, with their succeeding runs capping all off as off-kilter as Shostakovich wrote them. Fischer made stretto endings to it all very incisive and lean. Heavier dance in three Fischer also kept light, while avoiding turning it into resembling cheaper brand of Prokofieff. Danse macabre spinning out was instead striking, with raft of pitches in winds and brass unusually heard over firmly insistent and ominous intimations of D-S-C-H in brass and percussion. Reprise of opening to the finale surreptitiously made its way back in - deftly by concertmaster Lesley Hatfield in reply to doleful bassoon. The carnival-like coda to this had a very Circus Polka feel to it – with snarling brass in mid-ground underneath – with the dry sound, texture Fischer can favor, that final strands of this turned excessively brash on him. Fischer still had fine success with this Sixth - supplementing well the Seventh that so notably this year preceded it.

Revelation of an uncannily innate sense of how Rimsky-Korsakov’s music works made May Night Overture to open the second half an unqualified success here, to supplement altogether wholesome interpretations for so much of this program. Intimation of Weber’s Oberon on opening horn calls, answered so ardently amorously by languishing strings and winds, was rapt, even exotically so. Thierry Fischer revealed a special knack one associates with Russian conductors of more than fifty years ago, albeit they offered richer color, nuance than one can expect from Fischer. In development, mostly if not entirely reprise of especially lyrical subjects, extracted from two major duets of romantic interest during opera to follow, Fischer lent a transformative sense to how they recur, plus a piquant sense to woodwind then stern brass interjections.

Fischer’s way of making transition from often expansively lyrical ideas to vigorous dance-like conclusions and episodes just so independent thereof was very supple, as combining ardent line in cellos with divisi violins on dance rhythms right above not long before concluding the overture. All came to a conclusion that was very winningly both vigorous and fresh, rapt with color and febrile line, infused by (Ukranian) folk-like spirit - with dance rhythms especially. The vernal spirit, freshness of music to introduce the first and tbetter of Rimsky-Korsakov’s two far too neglected village operas Fischer met with ideal simplicity. This could have made a wonderful closing piece, parting shot - suffice it to say it opened an altogether fine second half.