(Photo: Siim Vahur)

It would be unrealistic to expect a new production of Bizet’s masterpiece to reveal anything that has not already been presented many times before. The best one can reasonably hope for would be a tweak in emphasis that draws attention to elements that are sometimes underplayed. Pierre-Emmanuel Rousseau took exactly this approach for his production for Estonian National Opera, which focused on the role played by fate in Carmen’s murder by Don José.

Rousseau Provides an Effective Twist

Obviously, this is a well-trodden path; it would, in fact, be difficult to present the work without taking it into account. However, Rousseau was able to magnify its significance in Carmen’s own mind by his treatment of her relationship with the corporal. He was not the passive, gullible sap who, consumed solely by his uncontrolled passions and unable to accept rejection, plunges a knife into her. Nor was Carmen the freedom-loving spirit that moves from one lover to the next without thought of significance or consequence. Instead, this was a relationship fashioned at a deeper level; from the very beginning, she sees in Don José the man who will kill her and in doing so fulfill both their destinies. She recognizes that he is “broken, dangerous and very unstable” and deliberately leads “him into killing her.” It is a reading not without foundation; as Rousseau was keen to remind the audience in his program notes, Don José had to flee his village and join the army because he had committed a murder; he was not, therefore, simply a dutiful soldier and son. He was already psychologically damaged and prey to Carmen’s manipulation.

Rousseau ensured that Don José’s unstable nature, with his uncontrolled emotional and violent outbursts, quickly became abundantly clear. Even in Lillas Pasta’s bar, before Carmen had turned her eye towards Escamillo, he was physically abusing her, grabbing her by the hair and shoving her around.

The staging made use, sometimes a little heavy-handedly, of symbols that drew attention to fate, providence and destiny. During the overture, the curtain rose to reveal a dark setting in which a brightly lit statue of the Madonna surrounded by candles was guarded by a black-hooded religious figure that one associates with the Inquisition, immediately capturing death’s close relationship to fate. Carmen’s reactions to anything that related to witchcraft and portentous signs were clearly highlighted, such as the cards or the flower she gave to Don José; it was something she took very seriously. To a large extent, it was standard stuff.

In Act four, however, Rousseau’s reading took a twist. When Don José confronts Carmen outside the bullring, there was a distinct shift in behavior. Yes, Don José was raging, and Carmen was taunting him, but he did not appear as if murder was on his mind; there was even a suggestion that he may walk away. Carmen had to physically press him into killing her; she was instrumental in the act. It was not the usual picture of the bold, uncompromising gypsy who preferred death over a loss of freedom; rather, it was a woman determined to meet her end at the hands of Don José. She believed it had to be; it was their destiny!

It was a presentation that added enough to spark the imagination. Where it was less successful, however, was in its visual realization. Both costumes and scenery, designed by Rousseau himself, were inconsistently fashioned. While Act four successfully depicted the desolate scene outside the bullring where Don José slaughters Carmen against the background of its walls while the toreador kills the bull inside to the roaring of the crowd, the other three acts did not manage to convince. The beginning of Act one was particularly unimaginative, consisting of scattered chairs against the background of a pink curtain, creating no sense of place and without atmospheric definition. Lillas Pastia’s bar in Act two was more akin to a cheap nightclub with a stage surrounded by footlights and golden curtains for a backdrop. One expected an MC to appear and introduce a couple of acts. Its actual purpose was to allow Escamillo to present himself in all his glory and sing his famous aria, and it worked to the extent that it made him appear as a superstar, which indeed he is. Otherwise, it was a scene that felt at odds with the cultural setting of the work. Act three, which is normally set among the wilds of the mountains, moved between the inside and outside of a bar. Maybe we were still at Lillas Pastia’s, but why? There was no obvious reason for this scenic decision, and it made one think that the only explanation was that he did not know what to do with the curved piece of rotating scenery that was in place for the entire performance.

Generally, the costumes worked well in creating a Spanish ambience and defining the characters. There was nothing that offended aesthetically. Escamillo was attired in a black, tight-fitting costume that highlighted his physique and promoted his status as a heroic figure, Micaëla was costumed in a homely dress that convincingly set her apart, and so on. Unfortunately, Carmen alone was provided with an outfit that failed to promote her significance; too often she faded behind other characters with stronger costumes. It was only in Act four that she was provided with a dress that grabbed the attention.

Problems With the Two Lead Roles

To a large extent, the opera is as much about Don José as it is about Carmen. He is the real tragedy of the piece. It is he who is lured by love, or possibly lust, into tying his destiny to that of Carmen’s and, in doing so, allows the possibility of a secure life with Micaëla to evaporate. It was also a fundamental aspect of Rousseau’s interpretation. Unfortunately, however, Thomas Birch, playing the role of Don José, was suffering from an irritating cough, which worsened rapidly over the course of the first half of the opera. Just before the interval, he was reduced to miming the role, while tenor Heldur Harry Põlda sung the part from the score in the wings. Listening to his disembodied voice emanating from a source obviously separated from the miming Birch was very disconcerting, and despite their best efforts, it undermined the successful portrayal of the role.

Clearly, this was nobody’s fault, just sheer bad luck, and Birch did enough in the early stages to hint at what might have been a successful reading, underpinned by his lyrically pleasing singing.

Helen Lokuta has an attractive voice that she used to produce a technically solid performance as Carmen. It was not a role, however, that suited either her vocal qualities or her stage personality. Her voice lacked the seductive quality and coloring of a femme fatale and the punch of a singer that needs to dominate the scene. It was all too pleasant rather than dramatically strong. Similarly, she was not able to physically dominate the stage and was often overshadowed by Mercedes and Frasquita, whom she often grabbed hold of to support her, making her look like part of a group rather than an independent force. Her best moment was undoubtedly in Act four, in which she successfully captured Carmen’s defiance and spirit. There was a clear sense that she was determined to meet her death. It was also the first time she was provided with a costume that allowed her to stand out from the crowd. Ultimately, however, it was a performance that failed to capture the role’s dramatic strengths and thereby undermined the significance of the drama.

With its two main characters compromised, one might have expected it to have disintegrated into a lackluster performance. That this was not the case was partly down to Rousseau’s ability to present a clear reading of the narrative, which, despite the not-so-convincing scenery, held the audience’s attention. More importantly, however, it was the impressive performance of the rest of the cast, and in particular that of the orchestra, which ensured that it could be classed as a partial success.

Excellent Performance from the Orchestra

The Estonian National Opera Orchestra, under the baton of the company’s artistic director, Arvo Volmer, successfully captured the spirit of the piece with a reading that sparkled and fizzed. He elicited strong rhythmic and dynamic contrasts and displayed a sure grasp of the tempi, which produced a vibrant sound with an engaging, thrusting momentum that both carried the drama and captured the immediacy and thrill of the score’s melodies, which all too often can appear tired and overly familiar.

Micaëla was given a more assertive character than one is normally used to seeing by soprano Elena Brazhnyk. In certain respects, her portrayal was convincing; she had the necessary strength and force to confront Don José without appearing timid or too compliant. It was not surprising that she turned up at the smugglers camp in the dead of night; she possessed the necessary confidence and determination to make such behavior believable. On the other hand, having her pull out a gun went a little too far. Her characterization was supported by a fine vocal performance in which, on occasions, she furnished her voice with a strident, hard cutting edge that emphasized her courage and inner strength that was neatly suited to her Act three appearance in the smugglers camp. Her Act one duet with Don José, “Parle-moi de ma mère,” however, lacked the loving sensitivity and soft emission that would have fully developed her characterization.

Baritone Raiko Raalik made for an impressive Escamillo. His powerful physique, accentuated by his costume and natural stage presence, gave him a heroic quality, which he used to good effect as he strutted confidently around the stage, accepting the accolades heaped upon him by his adoring fans. His voice is firm and secure, which he imbued with a pleasing swagger that served him well for his rendition of “Votre toast, je peux vous le rendre.”

Bass René Soom produced a well-sung performance in the role of Morales, displaying a pleasing tone and clear articulation in a finely characterized performance.

Baritone Priit Volmer, cast in the role of Zuniga, convinced with his distant and aloof manner that gave him a natural air of authority. His singing was confident and nicely understated, although his delivery was occasionally not wholly secure.

Sopranos Kadri Nirgi and Janne Švetšenko, playing the roles of Frasquita and Mercedes, both produced secure, well-sung, and energetic performances that captured their shady, devil-may-care lifestyles.

Tenor Reigo Tamm impressed as the smuggler Dancaire. He possesses an attractive voice with a distinctive tone, which he used intelligently and sensitively to develop his character.

Having to step in at moment’s notice to sing the role of Don José, tenor Heldur Harry Põlda had his work cut out; he also sang the role of the smuggler Remendado, for which he produced a fine performance. Although he was hidden in the wings and only able to be heard when singing Don José, he managed to bring sufficient emotion to the voice to make his scenes musically convincing and prevented what would otherwise have been a disaster.

For sure, this was not the best presentation of “Carmen” one is likely to see. Apart from the unavoidable cough affecting Don José, there were a number of minor irritants that detracted from the performance. However, there were aspects to admire, not least the musical quality of the orchestra under Volmer, and Rousseau’s overall conception was a strong one; it was just unfortunate that the staging did not live up to the idea.