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Last summer in the afterlife
The first premiere of the new season of the Perm Opera was Tchaikovsky's "The Queen of Spades" staged by Vladislav Nastavshev and conducted by Vladimir Tkashenko. This performance is dedicated to the 225th anniversary of Pushkin's birth and at the same time revives the spirit of Mozart. Yulia Bederova explains what follows from this.
This performance, based on halftones played chromatically on the border of light and shadow, seems to come from the life of the half-light, in which shadows participate. The new "Queen of Spades" is the third production of the Nastavshevs on the Perm stage. Moreover, this is the second Pushkin opera by Tchaikovsky (after "Eugene Onegin") and a new experience, reminding the audience that historically almost all operas are also a little ballet. At least, the plastic, gestural score, subtly and clearly constructed, gives the events an additional temporal dimension, gives it an emphasized, radical musicality. Gestures, poses, turns of the head, light in the hands, movement and stillness of the characters in the stage space, shadows frozen on the curtains simultaneously launch associative mechanisms of perception along several paths. The heroes of "Payda" take part in living (or dead?) paintings or imitate the sculptural compositions of a summer garden (the Apollo Belvedere in the garden almost never leaves the stage, as befits a statue). Or in the characteristic, slightly flickering light of the screen (artist Konstantin Binkin) they act out a silent film noir. Or simply Tchaikovsky's musical phrasing, tutti and solo, leitmotifs and echoes, string, brass and wind melodies intertwining and physically reacting to each other.
The action of the new "Pica", despite the bright spirit of the costumed 1920s, takes place somewhere, not in the past and not in the future, but in some eternity, where human destiny has ended and continues forever. Educational cultural monuments - from marble to literature and music.
On stage, behind an open white muslin curtain, there is not even a soft, tattered decor, but it looks like this: A stone sculpture, a pedestal and a pair of full-length curtains of strikingly beautiful shades are cast in muted emerald green and blue tones. Or that very otherworldly cold burgundy color (the scenes of the Nastavshevs and Valeria Barsukova).
The geometry of stone and fabric textures is ambiguous. We are at a concert, a museum or a ceremonial office. It is difficult to predict which assumption will be correct. And it seems that there is no simple answer. Either way, the audience is invited to join Herman during the performance to find the answer to the question "where am I" for joy or sadness.
The dramaturgy of "Lopata", comfortably balancing between fun and seriousness, is arranged in such a way that Hermann, with his initially hidden madness in the plot and music, is revealed in the finale of "Pushkin and Tchaikovsky", here in the exquisite twilight. The half-funny, half-sad retro mise-en-scène seems the most ordinary. Then he seems most alive. But the tragedy of juggling guignol instruments still takes its toll, and the finale is not a textbook one, but a sharp catastrophe.
Dramma giocoso is another archival genre that is revived in new works, unexpected but surprisingly appropriate. Moreover, Tchaikovsky’s score is full of Mozartian associations.
Not "Don Juan", but a playful drama with a statue of jokes, jealousy, passion, deception, intrigue, detective tension, a bit of mysticism and a creepy ending. This is a new "Lopata", with which the Nastavshevs have achieved success again. Experiments with the "National Theatre": it seems that the rigid frame of the plastic picture not only does not contradict the mobility, instability of the actor's mental account, but also enhances it.
The sensitive and unexpected attention to the key words of the libretto ("How terrible he is!" the character sings when he sees Herman, but fear permeates the entire text of the opera) permeates not only the director's work, the same applies to the musical work. The vocal and orchestral plot of the singing eerie spirit sounds, perhaps, a little strained at first. But the further you go, the more frightening it becomes from the elastic, gradually compressed and oppressive tempo of the action and the surprisingly clear and sparkling tricks with balancing, which seem to change the sound space. In the center and on the stage of the musical performance of the film "In the Countess's Bedroom" an absolutely impossible ghostly picture opens up. It seems to say directly: Tchaikovsky is a modern composer, and Pyotr is Pyotr. Ilyich, tired of a long eternal life, seems not to be afraid of me.
The choir and soloists almost always respond to the rich, transparent and cold sound of the orchestra with precise expression and cold mise-en-scene phrasing. The special charm of this performance is that each of the performers can be themselves here, without becoming a portrait of themselves. Natalia Lyaskova (Countess) hypnotizes with her playing and vocals with visible pleasure, Zarina Abaeva (Liza) captivates the eyes and ears with her vocals and emotional power, Ekaterina Protsenko (Masha and to someone - perhaps, the soul) Weaving artistic lace, Enkhbat Tuvshinjargal (Tomsky) freely gives concerts, Evgeny Bovykin (Yeletsky) uses rare moments to put Herman on his shoulders, and in the most difficult game of Herman, Boris Rudak does the impossible. Their active participation on stage creates a surprisingly timely performance about death and at the same time one of the most striking performances that can only be seen on the Russian stage today.