Stravinsky's full-length opera, The Rake's Progress of 1951, is a difficult work to perform, its overall effect potentially electrifying but the path to the end equally potentially rocky, in both musical and dramatic terms.
Giving little indication in his music of the serialist language that he would soon adopt, Stravinsky provides a richly neo-classical score, set out in highly distorted Classical style with an abundance of arias and duets, secco and accompagnato recitative separating the movements; the Mozartian style is never far from the surface.
Yet this compositional approach can be harmful to the opera's sense of forward progression: other twentieth century operatic composers (Berg and Strauss, for example) explored the full possibility of through-composed scenas and acts, and the ear accustomed to such scores may find Stravinsky's approach distractingly bitty. One is sometimes left with a sense that the work strives to emulate Mozart's masterpieces (The Marriage of Figaro in the opening scene of homely domesticity, Don Giovanni in the moralising final chorus), without providing the lightness and economy of touch to fully realise its ambition: Stravinsky imbues most numbers with contemporary, sometimes aurally uninviting harmony and melody, yet unfairly demands that the work remain trapped in the (arguably, here) constricting Classical tradition. The work's finest scene occurs near the end, as Tom Rakewell descends to madness in an asylum, the eerie, spare orchestral textures and intense vocal lines merging to gripping and grotesque effect.
Whether or not we agree with the claims that some characterisation is but surface deep and that Stravinsky's level of musical inspiration is not consistently high, it would be hard to disapprove of this new DVD release from Opus Arte, a release that provides as strong a case for the difficult opera as one is ever likely to see and hear. When shown like this, The Rake's Progress easily asserts its place as one of the greatest music dramas of the last century, alongside Shostakovich's Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk, say, and Berg's Wozzeck. Robert Lepage's production is simply breathtaking, updating the tale's setting to 1950s America, providing a brilliantly sustained visual aesthetic to complement Stravinsky's narrative.
Each facet of the production is perfectly realised - the pastoral eloquence of the opening scene, with its simple, uncluttered set allowing the human drama to arrest instantly; the garishly coloured Las Vegas scenes providing a sensuously seductive, preposterously gaudy environment in which Rakewell's descent to madness seems all the more probable; the impotently bleak asylum scene, with inmates looking like more sterile versions of Nibelungen from the Royal Opera's recent Das Rheingold. Lepage has plenty of tricks up his sleeve too, miniature houses, blow-up caravans and swimming pools among them. And the whole is bathed in the shimmering atmosphere of a sweeping, richly animated backdrop, painting the cloud-brushed skyscapes, the moonlit night and even the rolling of the waves in a deeply-hued crimson sea. In these luxurious environments, the focus on character interaction remains strong, and thus the production is both visually and dramatically exciting. Indeed, such is the strength of the dramatic propulsion that I was often reminded of Hitchcockian cinema; Anne, in one scene, takes a car ride ominously reminiscent of a similar scene in Psycho.
The video direction is excellent, capturing the action in intimate detail yet never intruding on the production's sweeping magic: the staging will come to Covent Garden this year, and while I look forward to seeing it in the theatre, I am immensely grateful that this performance from La Monnaie (Brussels) has been preserved. Andrew Kennedy's central characterisation of Tom Rakewell alone would make the DVD essential. This is one of the most exciting all-round performances by a tenor that I have come across on video. Kennedy's voice is superb, with all the cleanliness of enunciation upheld in English tenorial tradition, placed alongside a thrilling power of delivery and a high register of liquid gold. On top of this, Kennedy provides a physically and psychologically revealing interpretation of his character, melding his actions and his words into so coherent and convincing a whole that one often forgets that he is actually singing. Sublime, sublime.
Laura Claycomb is Anne Trulove, and though in the opera's earlier stretches a certain steeliness can introduce itself to her voice, she sings with a crystal clear line and characterises equally formidably, boasting pinpoint coloratura. William Shimell's Nick Shadow is introverted and darkly fascinating, not perfect of voice but nevertheless gripping. The cast is completed admirably, with not one weak link. Kazushi Ono conducts the Symphony Orchestra of La Monnaie sharply, the pinpoint ensemble articulation careful to remind one of this work's proudly Classical roots. My only question is whether the choral singing could be fractionally sharper at times. Otherwise, this is essential viewing: aesthetically arresting, dramatically sharp and absolutely revelatory.
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