Every now and again David McVicar does a faithful-to-the-libretto read that works like a charm. His Carmen and Le Nozze di Figaro were like that; Giulio Cesare was more interventionist but it too showed this welcome attitude of unfussiness and laissez-faire. We can now add the 2015 Glyndebourne Die Entführung aus dem Serail to this small but precious list of productions where what he and designer Vicki Mortimer describe as “radical realism” lets the piece do its thing and lets the viewer make up her own mind.
Which is not to say that this Entführung will not come across as somewhat old-fashioned and a mile too beautiful. It will, especially if you watch it after an interventionist version such as Mouawad’s. On the other hand, you will also feel less preached to and less in need of instruction. (Though I respect its willingness to expose the long avoided dark underside of this opera, I have no idea what I’d make of the notorious Bieito version. At this point I suspect he’s using violence and sex to “sell an opera” just like Hollywood does to sell a movie.) Mouawad’s gives a lot to chew on and is very aware and in tune with our time, while McVicar’s could have been funded by the Met circa 1950s.
Forgive me, reader: I am inconsistent; I cared for this production and didn’t. I cared for it more than I didn’t. Yes, I think that’s accurate. More than not.
There are hints on what life on Pasha Selim’s court and in his harem might be like throughout the production, but it’s only in the final scene after the Europeans leave that it all comes back to life for the viewer too: his three wives (three of his wives?) uncover their faces, and he takes a favourite kid out of the gaggle of his cute children for a cuddle. In his Figaro, McVicar made the lives of servants much more present and vivid, and here the life on Pasha’s court comes out more clearly than in a lot of productions. I think it’s important to show Pasha’s other women, and this production does (while Mouawad’s shows an implausibly monogamous and Konstanze-focused Selim).
The second repudiation scene that leads Konstanze to sing “Martern aller Arten” in the libretto happens in a garden, but McVicar raises the tension and the stakes by putting it in Pasha’s bedroom. Pasha (Franck Saurel) is a total beefcake to whom moreover consent matters and Konstanze is clearly tempted–mixed with angry and frightened. Her state may explain some of the extremeness of vocal writing, says Mortimer in the DVD interview. (Yes; I always wondered why this aria was so bizarre, almost comical with its sudden extreme lines.) While Mouawad’s Pasha is kind of meek, McVicar in this scene keeps you guessing whether Pasha is about to crack and resort to force after all.
There was a good period orchestra (the OAE, under Robin “The Curls” Ticciati) in the pit.
The cons, there are a few:
The Blonde-Osmin scene of comic marital strife in the kitchen amid cakelets and girly knitwear is a cop-out. Even though well sung and acted (Mari Eriksmoen’s Blonde and Tobias Kehrer’s Osmin, separately and together, have a whole lot of zest), it rings untrue. The idea was to show a captured woman who manages to avoid rape by wit and stubborn independence. It doesn’t work like that. You may tell me that that’s exactly what the Bretzner-Stephanie libretto commands, but is it ever specified in the libretto whether Blonde is Osmin’s slave in every possible way, or just in some? Or maybe the libretto does depict two Ottoman protagonists who, despite any other possible flaws, would never force themselves on a woman, even if they’ve kindnapped her off a foreign ship? Mouawad has, I think, solved this knot of issues better with Blonde’s pregnancy, but both directors create a likeable Osmin. Would it be more historically accurate to depict him as a brute, is averting the gaze a cop-out?
Pedrillo (Brenden Gunnell)’s life in the harem is highly estheticized, and much is made of the fact that the Pasha tolerates him because of his gardening skill. I get it, Singspiel is supposed to be comic at times, but the comic escape scene with the long ladder, windows opening and closing, Pedrillo’s tantrums in shouted whispers is just tiresome. (Mouawad opted for a non-comic escape, wisely.)
Belmonte (prettily sung by Edvaras Montvidas) in both productions and maybe every possible production is a windbag who stops the proceedings to sing a self-important aria. Sally Matthews’ Konstanze was a composite of lush frocks and stylized movements to the degree that comes dangerously close to Opera Atelier’s.
The Entführung production though still very much worth seeing on DVD/BluRay issued by Glyndebourne and making up your own mind about.