SEATTLE — More than 12 years after director Barrie Kosky and the mixed-media theater group 1927’s Paul Barritt and Suzanne Andrade premiered their animated staging of The Magic Flute at Komische Oper Berlin, the co-production reached Seattle Opera on Feb. 22. Judging from the packed audience in McCaw Hall, this Flute‘s mixture of delightful animation and copious silent-film references continues to speak to opera lovers and curiosity-seekers of all ages.
Much of the critical commentary that the production inspired in its early years continues to ring true. Constantly fascinating, endlessly inventive, and overflowing with droll commentary, its frequent busyness can easily draw attention away from Mozart’s most sublime writing. If you happened to be seated next to someone who loves to laugh long and loud at almost anything, as I was, it could be hard to focus on the music.
Nonetheless, the production is a constant delight. It’s truly a show within itself, in the best sense of the descriptor. You never know what you’ll see next, or on which level or through which portal a character or ensemble will appear. In this sense, it’s a bit like Mozart’s writing: How will he surprise, delight, and move us next?
One of the production’s unexpected strengths is that it casts the spotlight on the most offensive aspects of Emanuel Schikaneder’s libretto and Mozart’s setting. Rather than let the opera stand as a singspiel, Kosky and 1927 take the silent-film route by radically condensing and reframing formerly spoken dialogue into projected slides that are accompanied by a fortepiano playing excerpts from Mozart’s Fantasias for solo piano K. 397 in D minor and K. 475 in C minor. Who knew that, in this context, Mozart could sound so silent-film melodramatic? And who expected that Schikaneder’s long dialogues, boiled down into short, simple sentences, would ever sound so repulsively misogynistic?
But the music. Oh, the music. Here, conductor Christine Brandes shone. The overture was a model of clarity, with individual entrances clearly delineated as instruments seamlessly integrated into the orchestral fabric after their solos. Though plasticity of tempo was far more restrained than in more romantic performances and recordings of earlier eras, nothing about the Brandes’ Flute was metronomic. In some instances, she seemed inclined to conduct arias at a somewhat slower pace than her singers chose. But once they set the tempo, she quickly adjusted and supported them perfectly.
Some of the alacrity on the singers’ parts was perhaps due to opening-night jitters. The production necessitates that singers position themselves carefully and move precisely with the animation. With only three weeks’ rehearsal, it seemed as though some of the artists were a bit unsure of themselves.
For example, Act One opens with Tamino (tenor Duke Kim on opening night) seemingly running toward the audience, his arms rapidly moving back and forth above animated legs. Kim pulled this off perfectly; later on, the upper body of Papageno (Rodion Pogossov) was disturbingly misaligned with his animated lower half.
Nerves affected several performers in Act One. Soprano Brandie Sutton, the opening-night Pamina, lacked the pure tone essential to convey her character’s innocence. Undertones predominated throughout the range, and the voice lacked freshness. In Act Two, however, Sutton’s instrument evened out. Pamina’s great aria “Ach, ich fühl’s” was sung with distinction, the second half deeply touching in its sorrow.
Coloratura soprano Sharleen Joynt (Queen of the Night) lacked beauty in her lower and middle ranges until her second-act reappearance, when her most famous aria drew the loudest cheers of the evening. The voice also gained in strength between acts, with the highest notes uncommonly pure and glowing. Similarly, the core sound of baritone Pogossov’s strong and incisive Papageno lacked the gratifying warmth of his finest predecessors until Act Two, when he produced a consistently seductive stream of sound to lure a special Papagena to his nest.
Only four principals sang consistently from beginning to end: Kim, whose still and dignified presence seemed fit for a Prince, sounded like a German tenor of old who replaced purity with a slightly bleaty, throbbing passion. Though his voice was perfectly produced, the overwrought urgency of his sound, complete with the occasional sob, could not convey Tamino’s innate nobility and inner resolve.
Debut bass Insung Sim (Sarastro) was superb. The voice, warm and easily produced on high, remains firm to the lowest notes. Rodell Rosel’s timbre was of the manner born for Monostatos, and Tess Altiveros made a fine and joy-inspiring Papagena. The Three Ladies — sopranos Ariana Wehr and Ibidunni Ojikutu plus debut mezzo-soprano Laurel Semerdjian — blended wonderfully lower in their ranges; on high, soprano edge trumped mezzo warmth. The charm of the Three young Genies — Ethan Ibsen, Autumn Helene Chociej, and Caleb Petrini — was lamentably constrained by choreographic requirements and, at times, the tethers that ensured no one would fall off their perches.
Two debuting artists — Victor Ryan Robertson and Camille Ortiz — perform Tamino and Pamina on alternate nights. If they’re at least the equal of the singers I heard, audience members can expect a joy-filled two hours and 40 minutes. The production, conducting, and underlying reverence for Mozart’s achievement were gratifying from start to finish.
