(Photo Credit: © Forster)

The premiere of “The Tale of Tsar Saltan” at the Teatro Real de Madrid became an extraordinary event. Dmitri Tcherniakov offered the audience a new interpretation of the famous opera by Rimsky-Korsakov, transforming it from a fairy-tale into a psychological drama. The director boldly departs from familiar images and, like a surgeon, reveals the hidden meanings in Pushkin’s original text. On the stage of the Teatro Real, a classical magical world is not recreated, but rather deconstructed: what was perceived as a miracle in childhood now passes through the filter of loss, memory, and trauma. Gvidon, as interpreted by Bogdan Volkov, is not just a fairy-tale prince, but a child with autism who lives in his own imaginary world.

In an interview, Volkov admitted, ‘To prepare for the role, I immersed myself in documentary materials, including the film “Anton’s Right Here” — it was a key moment for understanding the character. This work became for me not only a means of studying the character but the discovery of a whole world — a world for which society, including myself, was not prepared.’ He also noted that to embody Gvidon on stage, he had to rethink his approach to acting and immersion in the role. ‘From the day of the premiere at La Monnaie, where the performance was first staged, I was fully involved in it from the first to the last act — without a break, without the opportunity to leave the character. You are completely in this world, and then when it ends, you realize how much you have given.’

It is precisely this inner world that becomes the magical island of Buyan, where the fairy-tale events unfold. But in Tcherniakov’s interpretation, this is not a place of happy magic, but a ghostly reflection of children’s dreams of harmony and acceptance. The ending of the production leaves the audience on edge: the tale does not conclude with a happy ending but fades into a blurred space of memories and pain. Tcherniakov himself noted in an interview, ‘For me, it is important that opera speaks to the audience in its own language. I want everyone to see something of their own in it, even if it’s painful, but real.’

The role of Tsarina Militrisa, performed by Svetlana Aksenova, became one of the emotional peaks of the performance. Her heroine is not just an archetypal mother, but a woman living on the edge between reality and fantasy, striving to preserve her love and faith in a miracle. Svetlana shared her feelings about the role in a recent interview: ‘Everything is honest, everything is real. I live it, I think it through completely. It is very important that every time, every rehearsal, every performance, you discover something new for yourself.’

She emphasizes that the process of immersing herself in the character is not just a technique for her but a profound emotional experience. ‘I think it’s much more interesting on any stage when you exist holistically: if you’re a great actor but can’t sing, there’s also a question…’ This understanding of the stage as a single space for acting and singing makes her Militrisa alive and tragically deep. Svetlana recalls one of the key moments during rehearsals: ‘When we were discussing my role with Tcherniakov, he said that Militrisa is not just a Tsarina; she is a mother fighting for her child. And this fight is not for the throne, not for power, but for the soul, for his future.’ These words became crucial in her acting work on the character.

Svetlana also shared that her connection with the role is deeply personal, reflecting her own journey in understanding maternal strength and sacrifice. ‘Militrisa is not just a queen; she is a woman who survives unimaginable loneliness and still finds strength to fight for her son. Her world is fragile but unbreakable… When I stand on stage as Militrisa, I feel that I am carrying not only her pain but the pain of many mothers who fight for their children against all odds. It is an emotional journey every time.’

The Swan Princess, performed by Nina Minasyan, comes to life on stage; her crystal-clear voice captivates, immersing the audience in an atmosphere of fragile magic. Nina herself noted that ‘This role and this part are probably mine forever; they are definitely in my heart. From the very first moment I saw the broadcast, I loved the show!’ Her sincerity and deep understanding of the character are conveyed in every musical phrase, making her Swan not just a fairy-tale character, but an embodiment of the dream of salvation.

Minasyan also shared her admiration for Tcherniakov’s ability to create a living, breathing world on stage. ‘Working with Dmitri Feliksovich [Tcherniakov] allows you to discover not only your voice but your inner self. It’s not just opera; it’s like living inside a film where every movement, every gesture has meaning.’ She added that this role allows her to express not just vocal purity but emotional truth. ‘I want to be part of productions that push boundaries, that surprise, that live beyond the stage. With this Swan Princess, I feel I am not just singing; I am telling her story.’

Minasyan also emphasized how the role opened up new possibilities for her acting. ‘In opera, we sometimes forget that we are not only singing; we are living the character’s life on stage. Dmitri made sure that every gesture, every look, had a purpose. It is not about perfection; it is about truth.’ Her Swan Princess, as she described, is ‘a mirror of lost innocence, a symbol of pure love that transcends the constraints of reality.’

The premiere of “The Tale of Tsar Saltan” is a powerful continuation of a legacy that began in Moscow’s Private Opera in 1900. At that time, the role of the Swan Princess was performed by Nadezhda Zabela-Vrubel, whose husband, the artist Mikhail Vrubel, created a series of iconic paintings based on her stage presence. These images captured not just the character, but the ethereal and tragic beauty that Vrubel envisioned. Unlike a simple fairy-tale princess, his Swan was a symbol of purity, fragility, and an almost prophetic mysticism. In Tcherniakov’s hands, this archetype transforms into a psychological exploration of innocence and isolation. Where Vrubel saw the divine, Tcherniakov sees the psychological rupture—both interpretations connected by a thread of transcendence and emotional rawness.

Dmitri Tcherniakov’s production is not just another interpretation of a classic opera. It is a complete rethinking of the role of fairy-tales in modern culture and their place in a world where miracles seem to have been replaced by realities and traumas. Tcherniakov shows that “The Tale of Tsar Saltan” is not a children’s fantasy but a psychological therapy, a means of survival in a world where dreams are the only salvation. In this sense, the performance in Madrid not only met expectations but showed how a classic can sound new if you put not only music and vocals into it but also a deep understanding of modern pain and hope.