<Translated from Russian automatically>
Opening its season at the Palais Garnier, the Opéra is presenting a production of Tchaikovsky's "Eugene Onegin" brought by the Bolshoi, and along with it, the whole troupe—presumably, if you count all the soloists, choristers, orchestral musicians, and other "participants," about two hundred people.
At the Moscow premiere in 2006, Gérard Mortier, the director of the Opéra, was simply captivated by this production of the famous romantic work, which went against established traditions. In Moscow, it caused a scandal. And what did it turn into in Paris? A mixture of applause and booing.
Two years ago in Moscow, Galina Vishnevskaya, a former opera diva (Rostropovich's widow), who was in the audience for the first performance, wrapped up in memories of her own Tatiana, which she used to sing on the Bolshoi stage, was so indignant that she swore never to set foot in the theatre again as long as such acts of apostasy were taking place within it. The conservative press echoed her sentiment.
The author of the new interpretation is the Russian director Dmitri Tcherniakov, who at 38 years old has already been awarded three "Golden Masks" – the local equivalent of the "Molière" (France's main theatrical award – ed.). Gifted with rich talent and generous with invention, he stages the performance in a stunning combination of classicism and anti-traditionalism. The single set, completely classical except for the changing minute details, remains constant throughout the performance, but, illuminated by shifting flashes of light, brings the long-gone times back to life. This set is a large dining room, almost entirely occupied by a huge oval table. The main characters are seated around it. They represent a normal, easily manageable society, from which the heroine, the dreamy Tatiana, has voluntarily excluded herself; she never sits side-by-side with them. In contrast, the egoist and idler Onegin, in whom Tatiana hopes to find the hero of her dreams, naturally practically never gets up from this table.
The orchestra plays slightly apathetically; the soloists' voices are good—none of them are stars, but, generally, there is nothing to object to here. This is a strong and captivating production, strange in places—such as the idea, for example, of giving the couplets of the French chatterbox Triquet to Lensky, the beloved of Olga, Tatiana's sister. The duel turns out to be controversial. How, one asks, could a duel between Onegin, who mockingly began to pester Olga with his attentions, and his friend Lensky take place in this dining room? Well, the director simply omitted this duel. Instead of it, he staged a scuffle between the two ex-friends, during which Onegin tries to snatch a rifle from Lensky, but a shot rings out and he accidentally kills him. This looks logical and consistent. But it is a departure from Pushkin's novel, which forms the basis of Tchaikovsky's opera.
An explosion of indignation from one part of the audience—and furious enthusiasm from the other. What can be credited to the direction is that it removed the patina of excessive, somewhat cloying romanticism from this work and made one forget about a good half of the false pathos that often rings out in this music. The musical director Alexander Vedernikov (he conducted "Boris Godunov" in Paris in 2005) also "unloads" the score. The emotionality of the music, the quality of the voices—the excellent tenor of Andrei Dunayev (Lensky), the stunning bass of Anatoly Kocherga (Prince Gremin) overcome everything. A magnificent opening of the season, controversial and tradition-breaking. In the spirit of the Opéra.
Source.
Opening its season at the Palais Garnier, the Opéra is presenting a production of Tchaikovsky's "Eugene Onegin" brought by the Bolshoi, and along with it, the whole troupe—presumably, if you count all the soloists, choristers, orchestral musicians, and other "participants," about two hundred people.
At the Moscow premiere in 2006, Gérard Mortier, the director of the Opéra, was simply captivated by this production of the famous romantic work, which went against established traditions. In Moscow, it caused a scandal. And what did it turn into in Paris? A mixture of applause and booing.
Two years ago in Moscow, Galina Vishnevskaya, a former opera diva (Rostropovich's widow), who was in the audience for the first performance, wrapped up in memories of her own Tatiana, which she used to sing on the Bolshoi stage, was so indignant that she swore never to set foot in the theatre again as long as such acts of apostasy were taking place within it. The conservative press echoed her sentiment.
The author of the new interpretation is the Russian director Dmitri Tcherniakov, who at 38 years old has already been awarded three "Golden Masks" – the local equivalent of the "Molière" (France's main theatrical award – ed.). Gifted with rich talent and generous with invention, he stages the performance in a stunning combination of classicism and anti-traditionalism. The single set, completely classical except for the changing minute details, remains constant throughout the performance, but, illuminated by shifting flashes of light, brings the long-gone times back to life. This set is a large dining room, almost entirely occupied by a huge oval table. The main characters are seated around it. They represent a normal, easily manageable society, from which the heroine, the dreamy Tatiana, has voluntarily excluded herself; she never sits side-by-side with them. In contrast, the egoist and idler Onegin, in whom Tatiana hopes to find the hero of her dreams, naturally practically never gets up from this table.
The orchestra plays slightly apathetically; the soloists' voices are good—none of them are stars, but, generally, there is nothing to object to here. This is a strong and captivating production, strange in places—such as the idea, for example, of giving the couplets of the French chatterbox Triquet to Lensky, the beloved of Olga, Tatiana's sister. The duel turns out to be controversial. How, one asks, could a duel between Onegin, who mockingly began to pester Olga with his attentions, and his friend Lensky take place in this dining room? Well, the director simply omitted this duel. Instead of it, he staged a scuffle between the two ex-friends, during which Onegin tries to snatch a rifle from Lensky, but a shot rings out and he accidentally kills him. This looks logical and consistent. But it is a departure from Pushkin's novel, which forms the basis of Tchaikovsky's opera.
An explosion of indignation from one part of the audience—and furious enthusiasm from the other. What can be credited to the direction is that it removed the patina of excessive, somewhat cloying romanticism from this work and made one forget about a good half of the false pathos that often rings out in this music. The musical director Alexander Vedernikov (he conducted "Boris Godunov" in Paris in 2005) also "unloads" the score. The emotionality of the music, the quality of the voices—the excellent tenor of Andrei Dunayev (Lensky), the stunning bass of Anatoly Kocherga (Prince Gremin) overcome everything. A magnificent opening of the season, controversial and tradition-breaking. In the spirit of the Opéra.
Source.
Onegin at the table, Pushkin is killed
Nicole DUAULT, Journal du Dimanche, September 8, 2008
