(Photo Credit: Bettina Stöß / Photo courtesy of Deutsche Oper Berlin)

Voices that move your heart and acting that moves your heart – this is Opera. With a tux in Vienna or a smart-casual look in Covent Garden. Champagne or water. Sustained attention or simply laying back and enjoying the night. Pleasing surprises and unbelievable disappointments. From the Met to the enchanting Hungarian State Opera in Budapest, I’ve been traveling around the world hunting for the best performances. This time, it was Berlin. That eclectic, unpredictable city that has always been one thing for sure: fun.

The Deutsche Oper is a laidback auditorium that, by relaxing the audience, gives protagonism to the show. There is no incessant posing or posting. It is no tourist attraction. It feels hard-working, consistent, truthful, modern. It feels alive. I sat beside a sensible, opera-educated lady accompanied by her daughter, a 12-year-old musical prodigy who followed the orchestra’s tempo as a maestro. Three sits, three generations—something that, to me, says enough about the crowd. The little one cried throughout the performance. I was mesmerised. I wanted to cry, too. Maybe even her mom or the whole audience wanted to cry! That’s how good the performance was. That’s how happy we all felt. What follows is my review of that night.

A Closer Look at Carmen

Carmen is an eruption of passion, desire, and enjoyment. She is remarkably clever in her sanity and irresistibly seductive in her madness. A gypsy with an indomitable spirit who, for her beauty and charm, has become the envy of all women and the temptation of all men. Oh! But in life, we all yearn for warmth. For love. Her heart belongs to a silent and tender soldier, Don José. It is for him that Carmen’s vulnerability is revealed—a woman looking for redemption, a player tired of playing. With fierce determination, she sets out to conquer him. And how easily he falls!—though not to blame, “Habanera” can bewitch us all. In a moment of fervor, Carmen invites José to run away up into the mountains, where they shall be free. To do so, José must renounce the military and, with it, his honor. He says no. Carmen’s heart is broken. She has placed love before duty while he has not. From that moment on, it is over. She loves him no more.

In losing Carmen, José becomes utterly desperate. He is going crazy. Though, when the situation reaches its climax, there’s a ray of light: Micaëla. A good-natured village maiden sent by José’s mother with a kiss, a letter, and a promise of marriage. She is a chance for a long-lasting, kindhearted love. Micaëla would’ve kept José close to family, attentive to his obligations, and proud of his righteous doings — pleasure in life’s simple, reliable things. Unexpectedly, she falls for José, and he falls for her. Sadly, it doesn’t last long. In the competition for love, Carmen knows no rival. José is obsessed, and he wants Carmen back. But wait! It’s bullfight season in Seville, and the acclaimed torero, Escamillo, is in town. He is all in for Carmen. Will José let him take her? What follows is an outbreak of violence, jealousy, love, and, ultimately, death.

Stellar Cast

Maria Kataeva performed the ideal Carmen. Despite some stilted movements upon entering the stage, the role rapidly took over when she began to sing. We lost Maria, and we got Carmen—a prediction of success. She was on tone, without fault. Her diction was spotless. Indisputable self-confidence. Fierce determination. Wickedly seductive. Knowing her limits as a singer, she doesn’t try to overimpress or oversing. In turn, she gains a free-of-worry presence on stage, allowing her acting to flourish. While an outstanding singer makes you want to close your eyes and be carried away by the sound, a reliable singer and outstanding actress makes you sit on the edge of the chair, not wanting to lose a single move she makes—that was her.

Matthew Newlin as Don José will grow to be the tenor every diva desires. He remained grounded and calm throughout the whole opera. His warm voice was consistent. Great volume and clean articulation. Particularly good in the duets, his masculine energy was powerful enough to sustain balance yet appropriately soft, allowing emotions like love and pain to resonate deeply. “Parle-moi de ma mère!” with Micaëla and “La fleur que tu m’avais jetée” with Carmen, were genuinely moving moments. He had vocal bursts of excitement that felt natural and almost necessary amid such an intense performance. Ah! But in that final crucial scene, when he kills Carmen, the acting felt flat. It was a hurried gesture without passion or drama from both of them. It was empty.

Sua Jo’s (Micaëla) acute and poignant voice cut the space with no mercy. Without being intimidated by the already gigantic Carmen and Don José, her aria “Je dis que rien ne m’épouvante” was excellent. However, she sometimes dragged the words, affecting her diction, and she struggled with the rapid
change of notes. Still, her decent acting and sincere expression helped lighten the errors.

She had a counterpart: Byung Gil Kim (Escamillo), the Torero. He came as a spectacular balance to the repertoire of voices. With the reliable mezzo, tenor, and the high-pitched soprano, his fat, ochre, bass-baritone voice perfectly fitted in the performance. It provided depth. Power. Nonetheless, playing the Torero is challenging since he comes late into the show while his counterparts are almost halfway through. He needs rhythm quickly. Thrown in with the iconic “Toreador” song, he is granted immediate attention. And yet, he struggled. As a natural sound, his voice was enchanting, but his inhales were too loud, suggesting a limited use of the core. One could tell he was nervous. His acting was basic and stiff. Anyhow, he grew better. By Act four, you could see him handling Carmen with trust.

One last and noteworthy mention is the soprano Alexandra Oomens, who played Frasquita. What a voice! Versatile, fun, educated, powerful, charming. She was spotless.

The scenario was a turning stadium that granted even more protagonism to the singers. Also, it gave the audience a linear encounter with the voices in the otherwise round acoustics of the place. The customs, in what seemed to be a mixture of cultures, were surprisingly off; the gypsy kids were dressed as Mexican Catrinas, and in the bullfights, the men as Texan Cowboys, while the play takes place in Seville, Spain. Apart from that, everything else was impressive

Perfection in “Carmen” demands not one, two, or three, but six leading roles to be at their best. Therefore, group energy becomes vital. If achieved, it has the power to dissimulate any mistakes and enhance a general feeling of success. That’s the importance of teamwork in opera—something not always seen. This cast had it. They were one. Intuitively, this points to the stage director, and if he was responsible for this humble, committed, and hard-working group, then bravo!

In every performance, the singers must conquer the audience. Tonight, they did, absolutely.