I have, very unusually, seen two performances of this, only a few days apart as I wanted to take the rare) chance to see it. My remarks are in bold italics. Additionally, it is on such a vast scale that I felt that one viewing would not be enough to be able to make meaningful comments – not to mention the nature of the production gave much food for thought for which a second viewing was, I felt, necessary to begin to get a better understanding. This is a co-production between the Hungarian State Opera and the Grand Théâtre de Genève (where it was first seen in 2021) and controversial Catalan director Calixto Bieito had formulated his dismal Schopenhauerian/Buñuelian concept well before the Russian invasion
of Ukraine. I disagree with the word ‘glib’ – I found it thought provoking and using this word is a rather naive instant judgement that does not do justice to the performance. The bleak view of humanity is a fair comment and I suspect that the Bunuelian aspects referenced here (and in remarks that the director has made), would be worth developing – but not here by me as I do not know the film at all.
In fact the programme emphatically notes that “the production avoids concrete references to recent and current political events.” At least we were spared the provocation of seeing Napoleon costumed in army fatigues à la Zelenskyy. A huge red tarpaulin sufficed instead. It’s a fair point about it avoiding reference to current events, certainly in the naïve way suggested by the reviewer, but the director is, anyway, much better and more thoughtful than that. And having Napoleon as the red-cloaked figure was effective – particularly as he remained completely static much if not most of the time he was on stage which I found an effective way of suggesting his influence and looming presence over the events that were unfolding. While mercifully minus the obsessive sadomasochism of Bieito’s Entführung aus dem Serail for the Komische Oper Berlin or the gratuitous fellatio in his now cult-status ENO Carmen, this was a study of unrelenting, manic, maudlin surrealism. A lot to disagree and comment upon here. The Seraglio comment misses the point completely and focuses on only one, admittedly horribly realistic, aspect pf the production. But it was a very coherently thought-out view of the opera, giving us a very dark but real view of women, male power and sexuality and the often toxic results of the combination of such aspects of these characteristics. The ‘gratuitious fellatio’ remark – well, maybe, but if it is part of the view of the characters and their relationships, well, why not. More gratuitous (and pointless, albeit lovely to look at!), was the naked toreador dancing in one of the interludes! And as for ‘a study of manic, maudlin, surrealism’ – well, maybe so but such a remarks deserves a much fuller explanation rather than just using these ideas on their own as a bat to beat the director with, as if these aspects and ideas are, in themselves of no value and interest. Allegedly inspired by Luis Buñuel’s Avenging Angel film, Bieito sees Scene 11 of the libretto, when lunatics and actors escape from burning Moscow buildings, as the raison d’être of the production. I am not quite sure why the word ‘allegedly’ is placed here. Either it was inspired by the Bunuel film (as suggested by interviews and notes by the director or it was not. In either case there should surely be evidence that it either was or was not, in the views of the reviewer. And Scene 11 WAS a central event in the story.
Both Tolstoy, Prokofiev and even Zhdanov considered the characters of War and Peace to be literal as well as historic, and despite the endless revisions of the opera, the consequence of fatalistic self-destruction is far from what the composer and novelist had in mind. I am unsure about this final statement; do we really know what composer and author had in mind – and what they say might not be matched by the work itself. The point about the characters being literal as well as historic is sound I think but what the director did in this production was to focus on the emblematic role of the characters in terms of the social and historical context in which it took place. He did not just treat it largely as a story of various aspects of love and relationships, as exemplified in the actions and relationships of the central characters. After all the novel, and opera is named War and Peace - that is, massive and significant social aspects of the whole world and is not named after the central characters. Updated to the present, all 13 scenes took place in an imposing single room set with plush imperial furnishings. The mis-en-scène became a bordello for bored bacchanalian aristocrats who emerge from plastic coverings as if in a robotic experiment by Christo and Jeanne-Claude. Yes, and effective setting it was too. But the point Christo and Jeanne-Claude reference is completely wrong. It has nothing to do with them and what they were trying to do as artists but I saw it more as a ‘birth’ of the characters which also fitted in with their often childlike actions and behaviour, particularly in the first section of Part 1. If anything the plastic wraps were representative of the amniotic sac prior to birth.. The elegant St. Petersburg town house of Prince Nikolai Bolkonsky was turned into a sleazy Swingers Club complete with take-away pizza. Indeed, and quite appropriate, given the modern setting and the sort of characters that were being depicted.
Natasha and friends incessantly made abrupt spasmic gestures for no reason as if cartoon characters responding to an electric shock. I saw this more as a reflection of their childish self-absorption and complete disregard for others and what they thought of them. The actual dance moves were very redolent of the Goth dancing of Wednesday Addams as seen in the recent Netflix series. Only Andrei remained languid. The Tsar appeared on a video screen in the form of a large brown bear loping along a stream. It seems Bieito takes the term ‘Russian Bear’ literally. This is a very fair comment. I did wonder if it was meant to represent the Emperor/Russia but then thought would not be a clunkingly obvious as it was. I was wrong!
The war scenes of Part Two were achieved by turning the furniture upside down and piling sofas and chairs on top of each other. The stoned or comatose characters played war games with pretend rifles and sabres. A model of the Bolshoi was cleverly constructed from wooden blocs then smashed to pieces with only the statue of the four horsemen left in the paws of a peeved lion. This description of the nature of the production in the second half is fine but it has an undercurrent of disapproval which I felt was not needed. The representation of chaos due to war was not simply shown by the upturning of the furniture but also the very impressive deo0cnstruction of the entire set with the ceiling and side flats hanging, at perilously tilted angles which provided a very effective visual metaphor. And the use of childlike toys for the fighting was in keeping with the immaturity and childlike qualities of the characters as they had been depicted in the earlier part of the opera. The destruction of the Bolshoi (and by implication, Russia) represented by building blocks was very effective, although this device is now almost a cliché in modern productions. The opera ended with now white-clad asylum-like characters holding fluorescent strips as Kutuzuv strokes Natasha’s head with hopefully only avuncular intentions. And a striking and efecti8ve conclusion it was too and with no undercurrent, as far as I could see of anything wrong. It also effectively combined the two central characters of each part, War and Peace.
While the direction of the iconoclast Catalan was utterly lacking in charm, nuance or textual verisimilitude, the musical side was not without merit. I am really not sure to what extent charm is a necessary ingredient, there was nuance in the acting by all and as for verisimilitude – very vague and in relation to what?
Kazak conductor Alan Buribayev managed to keep the large orchestral forces from overwhelming the singers. Whilst his reading could have had a bit more Prokofiev rhythmic punch, the more lyrical sections of the score drew some dulcet playing from the Hungarian State Opera strings.
Vocally it was more a mixed bag as one would expect from a cast of over 70 named characters. All singers were Hungarian. At times the Natasha of Andrea Brassói-Jőrös sounded more like Elektra but she produced some agreeable mezza voce singing in the reunion with Andrei in Scene 12.
The leading male baritone roles of Andrei Bolkonsky (Csaba Szegedi), Field Marshall Kutuzov (Péter Fried) and Napoleon (Zsolt Haja) were adequate without being particularly memorable.
The tenor distribution was generally more successful. Zoltán Nyári was a powerful, vocally secure and suitably loathsome Anatole and Szabolcs Brickner an excellent Pierre Bezukhov with clear, impressive projection and convincingly sympathetic characterisation – despite having to sit mute in a chair for most of the war scenes
holding a bunch of flowers. I am not sure what point the original reviewer is trying to make here.
In the smaller parts of Dolokhov and Jacquot, young baritone Krisztián Cser displayed considerable vocal promise and excellent acting skills.
All very sound comments on the singers, particularly the younger ones mentioned at the end - and the orchestra was if anything underpraised; they were as excellent as ever.
The next new production of this fascinating and unjustly neglected opera will be at the Bayerische Staatsoper in March in an all-Russian undertaking conducted by Vladimir Jurowski and directed by Dmitri Tcherniakov.