(Photo: Národní divadlo Brno)

Fairytales often speak directly to our unconscious, revealing drives and truths that are not always apparent to our conscious selves. It is therefore not surprising that many tales are replicated across countries and cultures, even if the characters and details vary. The Slavic fable of Rusalka, for example, has counterparts with the French Melusine, Germanic Nixie and numerous others, including, most famously, Hans Christian Andersen’s ‘The Little Mermaid.” Although Rusalka is a simple story of a water nymph who relinquishes the power of speech so that she can become human to be with a prince with whom she has fallen in love, her motivations lie deep within the unconscious, taking in sexual awakening, resentment and a desire to return to an innocent state, and it was these aspects of the narrative that the director, David Radok, wished to explore.

A Journey Into the Unconscious

Although it is not a unique nor a particularly profound reading, Radok’s presentation, for which he also designed the scenery, was hugely successful. Not only did he capture the full dramatic and emotional dimensions of the work, but his ability to convey the drama within the context of Rusalka’s unconscious motivations was expertly rendered and allowed the audience to fully engage with his interpretation.

Act one opened to a stage that blended a large room in a house with windows and doors in a watery blue-grey colour with wooden walkways and reeds as would be found in a marshy area, and that stretched from inside the room to the outside world. This was Rusalka’s world; it was secure and safe, in which the walls represented the borders between the known and unknown, between innocence and knowledge. Rusalka, like many a teenager, was desperate to open the doors, to leave the secure and safe world behind, and to explore what else exists; the prince provided the impetus that awakened her sexual desires and thus set her on the path. Unfortunately, that door opens in only one direction; innocence is not something that can ever be regained.

Act two takes her into a world of luxury and frivolity, of betrayal and lust. It is a complex world of suffering, illusion and disappointment. Radok’s staging was brilliantly conceived to create the impression of wealth through chandeliers and the façade of a mansion and an outdoor area dedicated to dancing. He also ensured that Rusalka’s disillusionment was clearly portrayed through her detached meanderings between the dancers and attempts to find a way out through the dense undergrowth that surrounded the dancing area.

Act three finds her back in her original room, but everything has changed. The roof is leaking, and the plants are dying; everything looks to be in a state of decay. No longer human, but neither a nymph, she allows her resentment for the outside world to grow and retreats into her watery world, shuts the doors, and closes the shutters on the windows, but it is not innocence that she finds, only isolation.

It was a reading that fitted sympathetically with the surface fairytale narrative, with each complementing the other to provide a layered and satisfying staging. Radok also ensured that the visual presentation was sensitively developed to draw out the dramatic significance of the events and to manage the tensions. The costume designer, Zuzana Ježková, created a series of costumes that set the characters in the Victorian period, detailed to reflect the characters’ natures. The Water Goblin appeared slimy and unkempt in old blue and grey coloured garments, while the three wood sprites were in greeny blue, light shifts. Jezibaba’s blue and grey costume gave her the appearance of a matron or nanny figure. All appeared as if water was their natural habitat. The Prince and Princess, on the other hand, definitely came from the civilized human world and were dressed as wealthy Victorians of high status. It was the costumes of the chorus for the ballroom scene that really stood out. They were all attired in black with top hats, including the women, which gave them a sinister appearance; they were certainly not benign, nor did they act in a manner sympathetic towards Rusalka. The two worlds, the human and nonhuman, were visually clearly divided. Rusalka’s changing costumes reflected her movement between the two worlds but always in a way that ensured she appeared different from those around her.

Ivanović Oversees a Musically Engaging Performance

It was also a reading that complemented the score perfectly, which the conductor Marko Ivanović sensitively brought to life with the Janáček Opera of the National Theatre Brno. The pace and dynamic contrasts were carefully judged to support the onstage drama, if on occasions slightly understated, while the dance episodes were lively and graceful. It was also a reading that caught the beauty of the score.

Soprano Jana Šrejma Kačírková produced an emotionally compelling performance in the role of Rusalka. As the young and innocent water nymph, she was headstrong, rebellious, and yearning for love that she convincingly captured with a vocally expressive presentation, which she convincingly transformed into an insecure, bewildered and downtrodden young woman, before finally returning to the watery depths, hollowed out by her experience with humans.

Kačírková possesses a secure, resonant voice, which she uses with considerable skill to present emotional states, in which her pleading with her father and then with Jezibaba were particularly well developed as she coated her voice with longing and desire overlaid with an insistent determination to get her own way. There is also a pleasing energy in the voice so that even when singing in a more subdued manner, you could sense a restless spirit ready to explode at any minute. Her ability to move the voice freely enabled her to capture Rusalka’s disoriented state in acts two and three as she moved her voice flexibly across the range, with neatly placed accents and dynamic contrasts that expertly caught her pain and grief. It was, therefore, slightly disappointing that her rendition of the showpiece aria, “Song of the Moon,” did not really take flight; it was pleasant enough, and she allowed her emotions to strengthen as the aria progressed, but overall, it was too understated to convince.

Tenor Peter Berger made an excellent impression as the Prince, whom he played as a weak-willed and frivolous character, totally at the mercy of his fast-changing passions. Even as an old man, when he returns to Rusalka, full of remorse, to ask her forgiveness, he readily accepts her kiss that he knows will kill him. It appeared as the easy way out rather than an expression of deep love, despite his passionate pleading. Vocally, it was a role that seemed to suit him almost perfectly. He possesses a voice with a passionate, sweet-sounding tone that moves securely and with agility across the range, allowing for a lyrically strong performance, which he delivered with confidence and emotional force.

Vodnik, the water goblin, was given an engaging yet not wholly sympathetic reading by bass Jan Štáva. He was suitably anxious about and supportive of his daughter Rusalka but was abusive and sexually aggressive towards the wood spirits. His singing had a determined, even fierce, quality that gave him an imposing demeanour. Although certainly not lacking in beauty, his crafting of the vocal line was focused on promoting the meaning of the text, which he furnished with emotional honesty.

Soprano Eliška Gattringerová was thoroughly dislikable as the Foreign Princess. She was cynical, vicious and served only her own interests. Her voice had a harsh, strident edge, which she used forcefully and energetically to assert her will over both the Prince and Rusalka, whom she treated as an inferior.

Mezzo-soprano Václava Krejčí portrayed the witch, Jezibaba, as hard, unforgiving and cold, and treated Rusalka with total contempt. She possesses an agile, secure voice over which she exhibits excellent control, which she used to create a compelling vocal portrayal that captured her vicious and opportunistic nature. Her forceful response to Rusalka’s pleading in Act three was expertly rendered as she spat out her lines full of bile, which also showed off its nuanced colouring.

No attempt was made by Radok to hide the fact that the three wood spirits were based on Wagner’s Rheinmaidens; if anything, it appeared he wished to draw attention to the fact. With their greeny-blue costumes that evoked connections with the watery depths and their playfully cruel taunting of the Water Goblin, one could so easily have mistaken it for the opening scene of “Das Rheingold.” Played by soprano Doubravka Novotná, and contraltos Ivana Pavlu and Monika Jägerová, they acted their parts as a group, yet each managed to maintain an individual identity.

Baritone Tadeáš Hoza gave a solid performance as the Hunter.

The choir of the Janáček Opera of the National Theatre, under the direction of Pavel Koñárek, produced an energetic and beautifully sung performance, played out the dance routines wonderfully, and acted out their Act two roles convincingly to create an oppressive, even threatening presence.

Overall, it was a high-quality presentation, for which Radok must take a large share of the credit. It was an imaginative and dramatically convincing reading, which in no way is meant to belittle the contribution made by the orchestra or the singers, who all gave strong performances and made it the most successful of the four operas I reviewed at this year’s festival.