Photo credit: Jennifer Taylor, The New York Times
It’s nice to see that Alban Berg’s infamous 1922 opera, Wozzeck, hasn’t lost much of its shock
value over the past 90 years, as evidenced by the handful of people that rose
from their seats and fled Avery Fisher Hall during many of the orchestral
interludes and inter-act pauses over the course of Monday’s performance. In fact, it was
quite indicative of the searing intensity displayed by the artistic crew
assembled that those who stayed and those who left were writhing in their
seats. The subject matter—a young soldier driven mad by the anxiety of the
time, a cheating wife, desperate poverty, and subject to abject humiliation by
anyone in a position of power—is not meant to align with your typical night at
the opera; the carnage of the evening is far more gruesome than any consumptive
Verdi heroine or poor artist given life by Puccini.
Leading the Philharmonia Orchestra, Westminster Symphonic
Choir, American Boychoir, and a roster of impeccably cast singers, Esa-Pekka
Salonen brought out the modernistic traits of Berg’s score—eschewing the lush
romanticism so often the focus of many productions in order to amplify the
intense dissonances that are the heart of the work. The London players have
certainly built a loyal relationship with Salonen since his appointment as
Music Director in 2008, and they played with precision, color, and acute
clarity throughout the thorny score.
In the title role, baritone Simon Keenlyside was a Wozzeck
full of rage, despair, and nervous tics. Far from the confident and gallant
Prospero that has won him critical acclaim in the Metropolitan Opera’s recent
production of Thomas Adès’ The Tempest,
Keenlyside imbued his character with a childlike naiveté that never had control
of his surroundings: a cuckold to his unfaithful wife, Marie; a lab rat to the
maniacal doctor; and slave to his army captain. From his tremulous and clenched
hands, to his ill-fitting suit and frumpy hair, Keenlyside convincingly
inhabited the role from beginning to end.
Equally pronounced in her performance, Angela Denoke was a
flirtatious and self-involved Marie, one that only fleetingly felt pangs of
guilt when taking money from her husband, knowing full well that he was
undergoing tortuous medical testing in order to provide for her and their young
child. Hubert Francis’ Drum Major was bold and arrogant while seducing Marie
and delivering the vilest act of the opera in his brutal attack on Wozzeck during
the third act.
What made such a scene even more upsetting (and
successful) was, in fact, the concert staging of the performance—without the
artifice of set design, costuming, and theatrical lighting to provide a wall of
make-believe for the stage’s proceedings, the raw emotion of the opera took
center stage. Much like Lars von Trier’s Dogville,
the lack of a “fourth” wall made the violence all too relatable and brought
everything to a human level: This wasn’t merely a set of antiquated characters
subjected to fictional misery, but a depiction of the human struggle with
survival—getting through life’s daily burden at whatever costs.
As much as I
would love to see this ensemble in a lush, fully staged production, I couldn’t
help but think that the audience at Avery Fisher Hall got a far more visceral and
satisfying experience than they could have ever expected next door.