Unveiled during weather inclement enough to recall Ostrovsky’s storm over the Volga, Damiano Michieletto’s COVID-era production garnered mixed reviews on its initial outing. This first revival will fare similarly. I gather there have been some changes and that the dancers [sic] have gone! Retained are Czech soprano Kateřina Knĕžíková in the title role and tenor Nicky Spence, Tichon in 2021, Boris this time round. While neither portrayal disappoints and Knĕžíková is outstanding, this is still a Glyndebourne production in which social context, character development and a given narrative play second fiddle to imposed directorial conceits. The Volga that dominates so many contemporary realisations has vanished. Nor is there a garden suitable for lovers’ trysts in Act 2. Expect no shelter from Act 3’s storm nor any suggestion of a church. Banished more crucially is any sense of community whether indifferent or actively hostile. A constant presence in Barrie Kosky’s recent modern-dress Salzburg staging, there is no such context here and we never see the townsfolk. Instead, the central image of the final act – a multiplicity of empty birdcages – stands in for their repressed, unfulfilled lives. Or perhaps just Káťa’s own collapsing hopes and dreams.
Shorn of realism save for one all-purpose white sofa, this production is in thrall to heavy-handed symbolism, emotions literally caged. The idea is drawn from the libretto but dangerously extended. The heroine becomes herself a species of trapped bird whose physical confinement and psychological torment are symbolized by stark white walls and those cages variously festooning the featureless space. A falling feather flutters into Káťa’s grasp as early as the instrumental prelude. Atmospheric lighting by Alessandro Carletti does ring the changes and some of the imagery is memorable on its own terms. Less so the extracurricular angel in red. With everything interiorized (and we are mostly inside Kát’a’s head), the external, human drama relies on performances which can seem to be in competition with the stage business. At the end of Act 2 the sublime music for Váňa Kudrjás and Varvara (with Káťa and Boris heard in wordless ecstasy in the distance) is the biggest casualty. The stage is dominated by silent intruders, Susan Bickley’s perversely malevolent Kabanicha seen plucking feathers from the angel’s wings. Bickley is costumed as a buttoned-up dominatrix yet elsewhere her interaction with John Tomlinson’s veteran but gamely mobile Dikoj (the Lewes resident singing in Czech for the first time) seems designed to frustrate his aspirations. The casting of Jaroslav Březina and Nicky Spence is odd in the sense that they are so physically alike that those watching from the cheaper seats will have trouble differentiating them. Sam Furness’s lighter, more pleasantly lyrical tenor engages as Kudrjáš while Rachael Wilson is a real find as Varvara; her gleaming, effortless mezzo and superior acting skills must shortly lead to greater things. Kněžíková is nevertheless the star. Triumphing over the oddities of direction and drab everyday costuming, she presents an eloquent and idiomatic protagonist, more subtly nuanced and passionate than the production deserves.
With the fuller string section not permitted in 2021 now at his disposal, Ticciati relishes the composer’s eccentric contrasts of sonority from the abrasive to the luminous. That said the score has a slightly softer grain than might be expected given the harshness of the production’s visual imagery. The sleigh bells lacked penetration from my seat and the boosting of thunder effects and offstage chorus with new-fangled electronics didn’t quite work either. A decidedly mixed bag but well worth a punt. Outside the gardens are as glorious as ever. The run continues on selected nights until August 23.
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