Hot Mezzo in Pants: the Leipzig “Aida”

[Photo Credit: Andreas Birkigt, Oper Leipzig. High res original image and more scene shots here]

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No, it’s not that kind of mezzo. It’s not a lyric in pants going after a soprano (or two sopranos). In this case, it’s a dramatic mezzo in a female part – and yet she’s wearing the pants, in more than one sense.

Amneris, the Pharaoh’s daughter and unlucky second contender for the affections of Radamès, is the central figure of Konwitschny’s “Aida” (orginally premiered 1994 in Graz) – or at least that was my impression when I caught this production on a weekend trip to Leipzig.

To me, it’s the most intelligent production of “Aida” I’ve ever seen, without choir singers in brown tights, Horus tiaras, pyramids and elephants (almost – the banner Amneris gives to Radamès at the end of the first act is a stuffed elephant toy, both a wink at the staging history of the opera and a comment on Radamès’ youth and innocence that he loses in the war – he comes back traumatized, with more than just the little elephant in shreds). Konwitschny bans all kitschy decor and mass scenes (reasons for which many people love “Aida”) from the stage and focuses instead on the six central characters and the way they are affected by the war and the politics they are wrapped up in.

Without the elephants and the sea of extras carrying papermaché vases and decorative chains, the story that is at the center of “Aida” – the struggle of remaining a human being and capable of love even in a world of war and cynical politics – comes, gauged by audience reactions, at times uncomfortably close to the viewer. “Aida” is not a nice, tragic love story you sigh at at a comfortable distance while you admire the lavish costumes and sets. “Aida” is, unfortunately, still a very real and very up-to-date story about how political machinations can ruin any relationship.

Instead of seeing the masses, the viewer sees the rec room where, around a central red couch,  the mighty and the powerful (and the cleaning ladies, like Aida) pass through and let their masks fall, baring their loss of humanity to everyone.

In between a weak Pharao, who has lost all sense of reality in the cushy confines of his palace, his chief ideologist Ramfis, who only cares about keeping the grays apart as black and white to keep the machinery going and the defeated enemy king Amonasro, who employs the same kind of hate-mongering language the winners use, Konwitschny’s sympathies clearly lie with the figures that still try to love – Radamès, who realizes too late that going to war against the people of his girlfriend will create a gap that cannot be bridged again. Aida, whose love cannot escape politics since she has been born on the “other” side, and who is forced by her own father to sacrifice her love. And Amneris, who is despairing at the fact that the person she loves doesn’t love her back. And no, she doesn’t want him because her father hands her over to him as a token of victory, she wants him to want her back.

Natascha Petrinsky offers the most human, most torn and most likeable portrait of Amneris I have ever seen – someone who rages against the system in Marlene pants and a silk kimono, even when all is lost already, ready to take a sword to the high priest. You don’t mess with the mezzo, indeed.

Instead of Amneris weeping above the tomb of Radamès, Konwitschny offers a different take on the final scene, where, traditionally, Radamès and Aida await their death in the tomb. The tonal utopia Verdi pits against this desolate scenario (G flat major, anyone?) is what Konwitschny singles out to release the viewer with a final vision of possibility: in an undefined open space, Aida and Radamès reconcile with Amneris, whose “Pace” is much more than lip service this way, but ultimately leave her behind to wander towards that utopia painted in G flat major, spelling out the chance at a different reality, since the current one has proven impossible.

One of the productions strongest scenes, next to Amneris’ desperate outburst against the religious ideologies of her country, is the moment during the triumph march, when Aida and Radamès first see each other again after the war and are left alone for a minute. After Aida first runs towards him to embrace him,  overjoyed with relief at seeing him alive, it soon becomes apparent that he is barely able to answer her and Aida has to realize with growing despair that even though Radamès is upright and walking, he is broken. The moment ends with the two of them back to back, searching for a closeness that can’t be restored that easily after the war that had them on two different sizes. A few minutes later, the prisoners are announced; the viewer only sees Aida’s aghast gaze, looking out of the rec room into the streets and then looking away because she cannot take the sight and the realization that her own lover, too, is responsible for it.

It is the small, sharply observed moments like these that make this “Aida” stand out.

Remaining performances are Nov. 16th and Dec. 3rd, 7th & 30th. More detailed information (unfortunately, German only) can be found here. The orchestra under Axel Kober offers a differentiated, transparent delivery of the score, most notably in the prelude and the Nile Act, with sharp verve at every other turn. The same goes for the choir who seems to be at its seasonal best.

All singers give solid to good performances with Paolo Gavinelli’s Amonasro standing out for its sheer sound. Strong acting portrayals throughout, with Natascha Petrinsky’s Amneris leading the field in front of Sylvie Valayre’s Aida and Carlo Ventre’s Radamès. Danilo Rigosa offers a Ramfis that could pass for a cold-blooded CIA agent or right-wing demagogue ant any point, while James Moellenhoff’s Pharao seems dangerous in its utter delusion. Extra points to Viktoria Kaminskaite’s High Priestess for being able to sing – and sing really well – draped upside down on a couch.

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~ by Anik LaChev on November 11, 2008.