Combining fashionable cliches, this new production turns Gluck’s tragedy into absurdity, at least served, masterfully, by Jean-Sébastien Bou’s Orestes.
Guess who’s coming to untie tonight? When Diane (the excellent Louise Foor) appears ex machinaor rather in chic drapery, to break the circle of weapons, blood and madness, we had ended up forgetting thatIphigenia in Tauride is a tragedy of sacrifice overlooked by the gods, and where Gluck does not dissociate the violence and the influence of the rite, of its forms.
Ukraine against tragedy
The staging of Rafael R. Villalobos struggles to combine different fashionable veneers: reference to immediate news (the bombed theater of Mariupol in Ukraine, which became a morgue in Act II, inspires the scenography), brutal hyperrealism, noisy animation or slow-motion gestures in the sequences collective, sprinkling of laughter and rumbling (King Thoas becomes a sexual predator, prone to masturbation), all framed by the usual reminiscences of childhood, with two snippets of Euripides and Sophocles entrusted to Agamemnon and Clytemnestra (passable actors ). In the nightmare of the Furies, multiplying Orestes’ mother into a caressing figure operates at least a suggestive invention.
But the rest of the time the gesticulation reigns, with parasitic noises (when one climbs the steps) of the tiles which kill the surprise of the entrances to the scene (Thoas, the messenger). Above all, the sacred character of the action, the catharsis of its ceremonies, dissolves. Instead of conducting the funeral honors at the end of II, Iphigenia collapses before the convulsive pantomime of a father clinging to a child killed in the war: the protagonist is no longer a high priestess, but a traumatized in jeans, obsessed spectator of the family past. How can we believe in the words of Guillard’s admirable libretto (“immolate”, “altar”, “victim”) when Iphigenia handles a revolver which she points at the Greek women (!) or behind Orestes’ back (!!) ? The last act falls flat, closed by a thunderous chorus.
Hazards in Scythia
The musical interpretation, in fact, does not go without sawtooth. Highly solicited by the management, the choir does its best, but the sometimes rebellious vibrato of the ladies hardly befits the ancient thrène. Conducting a National Orchestra of Montpellier in poor form (fragile cohesion, thankless strings with relative nerve, sickly oboe), Pierre Dumoussaud affirms personal choices, but whose congruence is difficult to feel. On the one hand, the sound material is lightened and Gluck’s subtleties can be heard (the bassoon in the tune of Thoas, the beat in “Ah, mon ami, j’implore ta pitié”); on the other hand, the preludes to the act (flabby in the II, bowled in the III) do not take shape, and upsetting the tempo, which is unstable even within the same number, causes the rhythm to lose its expressiveness. The recitatives of Iphigenia also seem vulnerable to the drop in tension.
The concentration of language proper to Gluck, the organic relationship between declamation and lyricism, are formidable for singers, and not all get away with it. Among the companions, Armando Noguera is too rough (including in words) to make a plausible Thoas, when a few verses in the Scythian of Jean-Philippe Elleouet-Molina to impose a truly eloquent tone. From the young Valentin returned in Pylades (still left scenically, with useless gestures), we must praise the sensitivity, the language, the appropriate timbre in the wake of the unforgettable Yann Beuron. Time and experience should settle its line, harmonize the breaths and ensure a sometimes wavering treble (effect of stage fright?).
Sibling
In any case, this Pylades forms a moving duet with the Orestes of Jean-Sebastien Bou. Once again at his peak, the French baritone confirms his exceptional intelligence of Gluck, music and theater together, and would alone justify the trip. The rich timbre, the perfect projection, the evidence of the declamation, the nobility of the pathos, the superbly nuanced colors (from basaltic to pale) in constant harmony with the lyrics, the deep incarnation of the tormented hero, with moreover a sense risk, audacity in the very rigor: everything captivates – let’s count for nothing an unfortunate delay in Orestes falling asleep. And with what discipline he assumes what the management imposes, from the ventolin to the crazy leg! Reverence.
The gap then widens, alas, with the taking on of the role of Vannina Santoni, of which one says to oneself when leaving the theater that this repertoire is not for her. Seductive and even admirable in a later Italian repertoire, but already unconvincing in Fiordiligi, the soprano seems constantly hampered by the central range of Iphigenia. Radiant in the treble, the voice struggles to pass the ramp in the medium, even more in the bass, stingy with colors, even substance, with above all a lack of sharpness and relief, the same for the verb. The pitfall of softness is there from the start, which is confirmed throughout, despite an act III of better coming. The care of the line, of the cantabile, neglects the tension too much: from which is born a sort of perpetual elegy which erases the chiaroscuros arranged by Gluck, that is to say also the adventure which constitutes the role , with its grandeur, its night, its brilliance.
Iphigenia in Tauride by Gluck. Montpellier, Opera-Comedy, April 19. Performances until April 23.
