PERSPECTIVE — Pique Dame (Queen of Spades) was Tchaikovsky’s favorite of his works, and this summer it was possible to see it twice in the span of a week: first at the Vienna State Opera and then at the Deutsche Oper Berlin.
The Vienna performance on June 24 featured soprano Anna Netrebko as Lisa, her first time singing this role, with her husband, tenor Yusif Eyvazov, as Hermann. They are now separated, but when they were together they often came as a package, reportedly at Netrebko’s insistence, and these performances were cast before the separation. Once banished from most major stages for her embrace of Vladimir Putin and her refusal to denounce Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, Netrebko has now been reinstated in major roles around the world, though not at the Metropolitan Opera.
Although Netrebko is the bigger star, Eyvazov had the more important role. He has impressive power and range, and this was a good role for him, as it depends less on vocal beauty, which is not his strength. He delivered an impassioned performance, vocally and visually convincing in his descent into madness. The way he touched and embraced Netrebko was especially poignant. So much so that one wondered, was he acting?
Netrebko was thrilling. Her dark-hued soprano soars with gorgeous colors and delicate pianissimo. In interviews before the performance, she spoke of her personal connection to the locations and the “Russianness” of the opera, all of which was clearly at work here. Few singers can match her ability to project emotion; none today can do so in her native Russian. Her final aria, before her suicide, was wrenching, gorgeous.
Russian baritone Boris Pinkhasovich portrayed Prince Yeletsky, Lisa’s fiancé, with poise, power, and resigned melancholy. His “Ya vas lyublyu” (“I love you”) aria got the evening’s biggest applause. Alexey Markov portrayed Tomski, turning recitative into poetry, and doubled as Pluto in the pastorale. Andrea Giovannini played Chekalinsky with confidence. Ivo Stanchev was a fine Surin. Elena Maximova, as Polina, was charming in her duet with Lisa. She doubled as Daphnis. Elena Zaremba portrayed the Countess as a regal, glamorous figure, draped in furs, her voice strong, but with a tremolo.
In 2007, I reviewed a Lohengrin at the Paris Opera, which Valery Gergiev had been scheduled to conduct. After a delay of about 15 minutes, an announcer appeared. Gergiev’s plane was late, and the first act would be conducted by his protégé, Michael Güttler. His work was superb; he had likely prepared the orchestra. When we returned for the second act, the announcer again appeared: “Mr. Gergiev has arrived.” (Loud, sustained booing.) “However,” he continued, “he is not in a fit state to conduct.” (Cheers and applause.) It was a magical performance, helping to seal Güttler’s reputation. On this occasion, Timur Zangiev, a fast-rising Russian, had been scheduled to conduct, but he had a problem with lumbago and was replaced by Güttler, who once again led an inspired performance on extremely short notice with confidence and a very Russian sense of gloom and foreboding. The orchestra was on its best behavior for him.
The 2007 production, created by Vera Nemirova, set the action in the 1990s after the collapse of the Soviet Union. It was a time of economic upheaval, with much of the population in poverty while some enjoyed immense wealth. Unfortunately, to appreciate the production, it’s necessary to ignore much of the text and its extensive references to Russian nobility in the era of Catherine the Great. If you can manage that, Nemirova has created a provocative, if somewhat confusing, alternative opera.
Everything takes place inside what was once a great mansion, now in a state of ruin, with a massive staircase and a broken glass ceiling. The curtain opens on an orphanage, where the children are roused from a row of iron beds by their minders, and a few are chosen for adoption by wealthy visitors, even though the text refers to children in a park with nannies. Surin and Chekalinsky appear as contractors or architects, reviewing plans for the building.
The masked ball in Act Two has become a bawdy affair, and the pastorale (often omitted) is transformed into a drag show, with the Countess as a sort of star, descending the stairs with an entourage of dancers. A fashion show features models, some in drag, showing off fur coats over scanty bikinis or trashy outfits. As oligarchs pair off with the women, beggars pick at the detritus or solicit the Countess for handouts. The arrival of Catherine the Great has become another entrance for the Countess instead, this time from the back of the audience, with a retinue of drag queens. When Hermann appears in her room, the Countess welcomes and seduces him. After they make love, he realizes she has died.
The final act is the one least transformed from the original text. The gambling scene is set in a tawdry casino lined with slot machines. As was the case all evening, acting was first rate, stage movements were nicely choreographed. And if the production was something of an adventure, it rarely got in the way of a superb musical experience.
The Berlin Pique Dame was originally to have been directed by Graham Vick, but he died in 2021, having created a “framework,” according to Sam Brown, who took the lead in bringing the project to fruition. The result had its premiere in March 2024. This revival (June 29) featured a gifted young cast and nicely calibrated conducting by Slovak conductor Juraj Valčuha.
Two big themes are apparent in this production: an obsession with movies and another with psychological analysis of the main characters. The opera opens with scenes from Yakov Protazanov’s 1916 silent movie version of the story, and excerpts are repeatedly projected at crucial times showing the film Hermann staring at the Countess or the action on the gaming table with the cards and stacks of money. The effect is to suggest the timelessness of the story, and it doesn’t really distract from the music.
In the opening scene, a small boy, clearly Hermann, is bullied and beaten by the other children in the park and by the child soldiers, who point their weapons at him and spray him with water. One child approaches him, showing kindness, an awkward girl wearing glasses whom we later recognize was intended to suggest Lisa. In other scenes, we see her as a sort of outsider, like Hermann.
The sets, by Stuart Nunn, alternate between abstraction and something suggesting the period of the opera, using movable panels to suggest the various locales, except for Lisa’s bedroom, a shallow space framed by angled neon. Flashing neon is also used to suggest a storm.
The Countess keeps showing up everywhere, including the masked ball and the casino scene. The masked ball features drag queens, as in Vienna, and some same-sex pairing, but the pastorale has been cut.
Costumes follow no rule. The men mostly wear 19th-century military uniforms. The Countess’ outfits range from 18th century to 1920s Hollywood. Lisa and her pals wear relatively simple mid-century dresses and gowns. Whenever a group is on stage, they are moved around in quirky synchronized patterns.
In the end, Lisa’s body is laid out on the gambling table, covered with money.
In this production, Hermann is terminally insecure and fearful from the outset, and Russian tenor Ivan Gyngazov captured that in his portrayal. He has a youthful sound, bright on top, less focused in the mid-range and lower notes.
Lisa also gets special treatment, here forced to wear dorky glasses and an absurd curly wig. Maria Motolygina, also Russian, balanced the outsider concept rather well. Her bright soprano featured nice coloring and adequate power. In the 2024 production premiere, Sondra Radvanovsky sang this role and was reportedly booed. Perhaps this was not a good role for her: Her voice now sounds too mature and can be somewhat strident on top.
Jennifer Larmore, an American mezzo-soprano moving into more dramatic roles, was an interesting choice for the role of the Countess. She looks entirely too young, and in this production she was expected to be a sort of Norma Desmond, intent on seducing Hermann, as in the Vienna production. Vocally, she was secure, and she managed to project a certain regal confidence.
Another American, baritone Dean Murphy, was superb as Prince Yeletsky, elegant, with a calm dignity balanced with ardor. He has a large, dark voice with a fine timbre and excellent technique. Lucio Gallo was charming as Tomsky. Martina Baroni sang sweetly as Polina.
Valčuha led with nicely calibrated tension, rhythmically fluid, with emotional climaxes and conjuring up of the macabre when called for. Balances were superb, and he always supported his singers.
