When Joan Sutherland came back to Sydney in 1965 there was much complaint that the opening night has not been as glamorous as Melbourne’s. The problem was the venue. Her Majesty’s Theatre, in Quay Street near Central Station, had until a few years previously been the Empire Cinema, and its foyer was not big enough for women to show off their frocks and jewellery and be seen.
The Palais Garnier, the main opera theatre in Paris, has no such problem. When Charles Garnier designed it he made sure there were plenty of spaces for people to promenade during the intervals, and boxes facing the audience so that bejewelled bosoms might sparkle in the light of the huge chandelier. Most important is the great foyer, focusing on a huge marble staircase, and with balconies at all levels from which to see and be seen. It is a great example of form following function, years before the principle was encoded by whoever it was that encoded it.
And only one word can adequately describe the interior – wow. Look it up on the net. The auditorium is dominated by the chandelier and Marc Chagall’s gorgeous mural across the roof, a tribute to opera composers (the picture above represents Mussorgsky’s Boris Godunov).
Oh, and the seats in our little box were comfortable (we didn’t try the chaise longue at the back, but the mirror came in useful for checking that we looked fabulous before we walked out into the lobby).
Janacek’s Kátia Kabanová is a short but intense three acts, here played consecutively without a break so as to run within 100 minutes. Thomas Netopil conducted skilfully; the music is angular yet lyrical, rhythmic and compelling, and with the right performers you get drawn in, even thought the words and the surtitles are in languages you don’t speak.
Christoph Marthaler’s production is set not in the rural village specified by the librettist, but in a contemporary apartment block by the Volga River. Two shabby walls of windows, and the people living behind them, look down on the courtyard where the action plays out. Unlike those in Orlando, of which the best that can be said is that they didn’t fall down, the sets participate in the action.
Kátia is caught between fidelity to her husband Tichon (Donald Kaasch) and the joy of her affair with Boris (Jorma Silvasti). Kátia is weighed down by boredom and something less intense and desirable than despair, which explains why she might find either of these harried and haunted men attractive or worthy of loyalty. Angela Denoke (Kátia) has the ability to convey that kind of inner life without grandiose gestures, and her strong soprano soars over the orchestra, making the Czech words flow with the melody. Vocally the only other interesting performer was Ales Briscein (Kudriach), a light tenor with a much stronger voice than you usually hear in this part. Jane Henschel (Kabanicha, Kátia’s mother-in-law) doesn’t have much chance to show off vocally but impresses with her acting. Kabanicha, is a plump ball of self-centredness teetering between her heels and her beehive, one of those rare characters in opera who do not develop but stay as they were at the beginning, and her indifference to Kátia is as fatal to her as anything else.
When we left the Opéra to catch the metro home, the lights of the Louvre were glowing in the distance, and breakdancers were performing for a crowd on the Opéra steps.
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