Although British opera houses show an almost insatiable appetite for Handel there's still a distinct lack of enthusiasm when it comes to his near contemporary Rameau: a handful of rumoured projects have, somewhat embarrassingly, failed to take flight and even concert suites are few and far between. For the moment at least, it seems DVD recordings from the continent are as close as we're going to get.
Rameau's operas are often celebrated for their gesamtkunst aspirations but the narrative, steeped in myth or folkish whimsy, is invariably the weakest link. In recent years there have been some innovative solutions, most notably José Montalvo's spectacular multimedia staging of Les Paladins for Théâtre du Châtelet, but sadly Pierre Audi's production of Castor et Pollux, Rameau's third and most successful opera, is not among them.
There's nothing glib or gimmicky about Audi's production, first seen at Amsterdam's Het Muziektheater this January; in fact it's intelligent, tasteful and painstakingly considered, but herein lies the problem. While his clever conceptualism provides an astringent balance to the whirls and twirls of the score, the references are not obvious enough: as a piece of dramatic theory it would no doubt prove stimulating, but as piece of stage entertainment it seems cripplingly monotonous.
Audi's staging is minimal and deliberately vague, but the Star Wars franchise is clearly an important influence, hinting at an otherworldly setting and also the brothers' ultimate fate as the Gemini constellation. Detail is limited to the odd hollow cube, a large hexagonal portal and cross-hatching laser-beams, but the stage is saturated with pure bright colour, which bleeds from Klein blue through violets to an impenetrable gloom (a yawning black hole, perhaps), and golden yellow highlights.
There are also subtle allusions to Ancient Greece. Patrick Kinmonth's costumes are toga-like but with severe, military pleats, and the hairstyles are apparently based on classical designs – and conveniently Princess Leia-ish too – but the androgynous effect of both is stultifying. Additional interest should have come from Amir Hosseinpour's choreography, which assigns each singer with a dancing alter ego (a nice extension of the twin analogy) during the divertissements, but his martial arts approach is baffling.
Vocally there is much to enjoy. Finnur Bjarnson and Henk Neven are well cast as Castor and Pollux respectively; Neven's strong and steady baritone has the edge, perhaps, Bjarnson's tenor seeming a little lightweight at times. Anna Maria Panzarella's Télaïre is slightly matronly in appearance but her voice is emotive and especially poignant in the celebrated aria 'Triste apprêts'. It is Véronique Gens, however, completing the quartet as the scheming Phébé, who really stands out: she ploughs the role's dramatic depths and sings with exceptional beauty and control.
Christophe Rousset drives his own ensemble, Les Talens Lyriques, and the Chorus of de Nederlandse Opera at a lively pace, which keeps the show on the road, but it would be fair to argue that a lack of colour and imagination in the pit contributes to the overall sense of ennui. The recording itself is top quality, and includes a generous essay slip and a behind-the-scenes documentary.
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