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A rare treat in Berlioz’s The Trojans

The San Francisco Opera has undertaken the enormous challenge of mounting Berlioz’s The Trojans. It consists of two complete operas, The Capture of Troy and The Trojans at Carthage. They are being performed together, which is most unusual, but is how Berlioz envisioned it. The forces involved are enormous. In this production there are 72 instrumentalists in the pit and 23 backstage including 4 trumpets. There are 18 principals, 97 choristers, 18 dancers and acrobats, and 10 supers. The performance time is more than four hours.

Naturally in a production of this scale not every performer and each staging element can be of equal quality. That said, the overall level was extremely high. Particularly outstanding were the orchestra and chorus under the leadership of Donald Runnicles. His conducting was sensitive and musical, and his forces responded in kind–fulfilling the demands of the very areas in which Berlioz’ writing seems the strongest. That the instrumental writing is brilliant is not surprising coming from one of the great orchestral colorists. Less expected is the superb choral writing, which constitutes one of the most evocative elements of the piece.

Among the singers, Susan Graham’s artistry as Dido shone the brightest, particularly in her lament after Aeneas’ departure. Not only does she sing with great feeling and moving beauty, but she uses her body to effectively bring to life the wide range of emotions this piece demands. Surprisingly, the other memorable vocal performance was René Barbera’s beautifully lyrical rendition of Iopas’ entertainment for Dido and Aeneas.

The evening I heard the opera, Aeneas was sung by Corey Bix, a last minute replacement for Bryan Hymel. It appears that this may have been his first time performing this demanding role, and he did well, especially in his love scenes with Dido. However, his most important aria, in which he is torn between staying with Dido and leaving to fulfill his god-given mission of founding Rome, was disappointing. He was stiff, and his singing was neither attractive nor expressive.

The star of the first opera was, without doubt, Anna Caterina Antonacci in the role of Cassandra, whose tragic fate it is to forsee the future, but never to be believed. She held the center solidly with excellent singing and physicality. However, her face was strangely passive. I wonder if it was a purposeful, if not entirely satisfactory, choice to convey Cassandra as a visionary?

Much of the physical production was stunning; kudos to set designer Es Devlin. The opening of the second opera set outside of Carthage was particularly gorgeous. I both enjoyed and understood the dramatic logic of the model of Carthage, which occupied the center of the stage. What confused me was its use in the later acts: first flying upside overhead and then divided in half lying to the sides of the harbor. In the latter case I could theorize that it represented Aeneas’ divided loyalty, or, perhaps, Dido’s broken heart, but the need to theorize pulled me out of the drama.

The first opera, which takes place in and about Troy, was set in 1855. According to the program, “Troy resembles the battle of Sebastopol in the Crimean War. The Trojan soldier costumes are military uniforms from the various nations involved in the Crimean conflict. It is a strong statement on how humanity is destined to repeat its mistakes through history.” Maybe. There certainly were some odd tensions between the ancient mythology and the updating. The report that the high priest Laocoön was destroyed by serpents who rose out of the sea to silence his suspicions about the horse, seemed unlikely in a nineteenth century context. More difficult still was the way it turned the ending scene, in which the women of Troy commit mass suicide to preserve their virginity, into an anachronism. Perhaps it was to minimize this mismatch of behavior and period that in this production only Cassandra kills herself. It did enhance the parallel with Dido’s later suicide, but drained away much of the horror of the savagery of war.

The second opera was set in ancient Carthage. The disconnect between the two operas was disconcerting and hampered our ability to appreciate the two operas as a whole. I do, however, give the director, David McVicar, and the designers credit for introducing elements in its Finale, such as the giant male torso constructed in the same style as the Trojan horse and the piles of nineteenth century detritus on the sides, which although, curious in themselves, attempted to bridge the gap.

Without a doubt, the production was a success both musically and dramatically and gave us the chance to taste Grand opéra in all its glory. At the same time, however, it raised the issue of how one can update a work to make it feel more relevant without raising extraneous questions and creating confusion. Or perhaps the issue is a more fundamental one. Can we perform an opera as originally conceived and trust that, if the issues in it are clearly delineated, the audience will find its relevance?

Featured image: Scene from San Franciso Opera’s The Trojans. (c) San Francisco Opera.

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