Lulu, the opera that Alban Berg left unfinished on his death in 1935, is considered an undisputed masterpiece, which is frequently performed. The opera is at the Muziektheater for the third time this millennium, but for the first time with the third act completed by Friedrich Cerha. South African artist William Kentridge will direct. He and the performers were enthusiastically applauded after the premiere on Monday 1 June. Yet the production did not succeed on all fronts.
Berg based his libretto on the tragedies Erdgeist and Die Büchse der Pandora by Frank Wedekind, about a dancer who unconcernedly follows her (sexual) impulses, traces a trail of dead lovers and is eventually killed herself by the sex murderer Jack the Ripper. The character Lulu has always led to fierce discussions: is she a femme fatale who, out of sheer lust for money, turns every man's head - as well as the lesbian Gräfin Geschwitz - only to drop him rücksichtslos, or even kill him herself? Or is she an innocent soul, acting like a Frau ohne Eigenschaften tries to adapt to the image people around her stick on her? In this view, her cool bloodlust is actually a sign of resistance.
Lulu as men's devourer
In his direction, Kentridge seems to opt for Lulu the man-killer. For three hours, she snares every man who crosses her path in her nets of seduction. German soprano Mojca Erdmann, despite her unappetising outfit of shorts and bitchy bra, portrays a desirable character who folds her beautiful legs around potential lovers with lascivious delight. Meanwhile, after a somewhat difficult start with some shrill notes in the high register, she manages to flawlessly convey her intensely difficult parts, a phenomenal performance. Danish bass-baritone Johan Reuter also glories in his role as Dr Schön, the only man she claims to truly love, but whom she shoots without mercy when he catches her with his son Alwa (a somewhat colourless Daniel Brenna).
As we are used to from Kentridge, the stage image is largely determined by projections of drawings (often consisting of loose, flapping sheets), pages from magazines, newspaper headlines, enlarged fragments of text and even images from silent films. Thus we see a - drawn - naked Lulu assuming graceful poses, and bleeding from nose and eyes as she breathes her last, but we also see endless portraits, including of Alban Berg, Arnold Schönberg and Kurt Weill. These images are imaginative and beautiful to behold.
However, the sparse lighting makes it difficult to distinguish the people on stage themselves. As a result, your attention is automatically drawn to the projections and the action gets snowed under. Kentridge's character direction is not ideal either: mostly, the singers perform their parts without any significant interaction with each other. Alongside the excellent singing but uninspiring Erdmann and Reuter, British mezzo Jennifer Larmore gives her character, Gräfin Geschwitz, more empathy. In her closing aria, she even managed to move.
Atonal but sensual
Berg is often praised for the almost romantic atmosphere he managed to achieve with, or despite, his twelve-tone method. At the premiere, however, a mediocre balance between the angular vocal lines and jumpy motifs in the orchestra created a somewhat restless atmosphere. Musically, there was much to enjoy, especially in the instrumental passages, although Zagrosek and the Concertgebouw Orchestra could have highlighted Berg's Klimt-like, shimmeringly sensual sonority a little more. Perhaps the somewhat uninspired performance was due to the late moment when German conductor Zagrosek replaced Italian Fabio Luisi, who had to cancel due to family circumstances. There were nice solos by bass clarinettist Davide Lattuada and saxophonist Femke IJlstra, though.
In addition to the projections, Kentridge also deploys two extras who, as he told a press meeting, act as links between the set and the characters on stage. The highly focused Joanna Dudley acts as pianist/dancer/femme fatale as Lulu's alter-ego, and Andrea Fabi, in his black butler suit with white gloves, is a dry-comic jack-of-all-trades. But as with the production Benvenuto Cellini this visual spectacle distracted from the already unfathomable story. It remained unclear exactly what Kentridge wanted to tell us with his orgy of images.
I was reminded of the Chinese fairy tale, in which a child exclaims in dismay: 'The emperor is not wearing any clothes!'
English (UK) 
Nederlands 
Français 
