Opéra national de Paris’ The Satin Slipper review – five hours of operatic excellence
The roots of Marc-André Dalbavie’s epic opera, The Satin Slipper are nourished in the loam of 20th-century literary genius, French poet Paul Claudel, then dig deeper still, down, down – to 16th century Spain, newly discovered America and the Far East.
The opera – put the kettle on, it lasts five hours – is currently being staged by Opéra national de Paris, directed by Stanislas Nordey, conducted by the composer Marc-André Dalbavie and available on medici.tv.
Stanislas Nordey, French comic actor and theatre director, is an inspired choice to direct The Satin Slipper. The work sparks with comedic scenes, even at moments of imminent high tragedy. The character of Don Rodrigue, a campaigning veteran and former ruler of the Spanish Americas, at the end down and out with a wooden leg and mocked by priests, is still capable of cracking a joke. Very human.
Paul Claudel employed every linguistic trick in the book in his marathon original play. He delivered lush, mystical, thrilling, lines and one-liners too. Not quite verse. Though the consciously poetical rhythm makes his text well suited to translation into an opera libretto. The language flows. It is not surprising that Dalbavie turned to Claudel for inspiration.
Raphaèle Fleury, the librettist, is a French puppeteer as well as a dab hand with a précis. And my heroine. Ten hours down to five. Audiences are in her debt.
A useful theatrical device is deployed from the start. Each scene is opened by two comic henchmen who introduce the characters and – Deo Gratias – explain the plot. They push characters on and off during the action, with what comes across as ad-libs, and help move the scenery. In white tie and tails and the occasional ruff, they cut quite a dash. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hand me downs.
The themes of the original work are operatic, making the Claudel play a natural choice for Dalbavie. In thirty years of prolific composing his vocal works have largely been emotionally driven – Les miroirs transparents; The Dream of the Unified Space; La source d’un regard. There is a sense of the surreal in his composing style.
Dalbavie’s music is delightful, lacking the relentless pursuit of rhythmical repetition favoured by many modern composers, the likes of Philip Glass or John Adams. Glass, with no hope of escape for five hours, would test the deaf. Dalbavie draws on a broad range of styles, not least Japanese Noh theatre music. Everything is melded into a seamless flow of sound. It is a remarkable achievement.
The Satin Slipper is set in 16th century medieval Spain, the newly discovered gold-rich lands of the Americas and Morocco. There are occasional glances to the fabulous East. No red list restrictions here. Plenty of opportunities to luxuriate in traditional Spanish costume, imposing panoplies of armour – and even a scary prosthetic – the hero, Rodrigue’s burnished-brown wooden leg.
Claudel became a devout Catholic after reading Arthur Rimbaud’s book, Illuminations, at the age of 18. Benjamin Britten based his 1939 song cycle Les Illuminations on the same text. It is a quirky tribute to the anarchic, surrealist Rimbaud that inspired both a Catholic and an Atheist.
The Satin Slipper uses scenes of passionate, obsessive human love to convey God’s infinite love for humanity. The play would have been good for filling empty Covid days. It stretches to eleven hours in its original form. A 1985 film version by Golden Lion award-winning Portuguese film director Manoel Cândido Pinto de Olivera cut the action to a bum-numbing seven hours. Dalbavie’s operatic version is compressed into a five-hour flash.
Frankly, I anticipated a long, impenetrable slog. Play, film and opera all press the realities of material staging to their limits. But once aboard Dalbavie’s roller coaster there was no getting off. The experience delivered by Opéra national de Paris is spellbinding. I did not, however, watch it twice.
Here is a compact synopsis. A comprehensive version would occupy the totality of Reaction Weekend. Which has not been encouraged. You will thank me for sparing you.
The Satin Slipper – full, The Satin Slipper; or, The Worst is Not Always Certain – lovers of happy endings click away from the opera – takes place over four days – phases in the loves of the hero, heroine and downright bastards who propel the action along. It is an ambiguous and convoluted epic that celebrates Roman Catholic doctrine. Hmm… I have a teensy-weensy doubt that Pope Francis would approve of the manifestation of God in the form of a scarlet woman, minus a red satin slipper, possessing a knightly hero, Rodrigue’s soul. But in today’s laissez-faire Vatican, who knows?
The action spans four continents – hence Dalbavie’s astute blend of different musical traditions – during the late 16th and early 17th centuries. We are principally concerned with the love of Rodrigue, a Spanish conquistador, for Prouhèze, a married woman. In the background bubbles the politics of westward conquest and the Christian – Islamic clash in southern Europe.
The two are separated for many years while Rodrigue is on a mission to the Americas and Prouhèze is sent to North Africa. She shacks up with a local brigand potentate. When the pair finally meet again, they choose not to consummate their love and sacrifice their happiness in exchange for God’s grace. This turns out not to be a good deal. No spoilers. The fatherhood of a mysterious child is never fully explained.
The production is eye-catching and absorbing. The characters are dressed in immaculate simulacrums of Baroque and Renaissance court dress. The opera is worth goggling at for the costumes alone. Raoul Fernandez, the costume designer, seems to have cornered the hoop, sequin and shiny armour market. With little distracting background on set and innovative use of lighting the characters form an uninterrupted focal point.
Discourse is in complex dialogue, mostly sung, rapid-fire exchanges, a little spoken, and while internal introspection may go on a bit, none of it is otiose. Slowly, the audience is drawn into the web of complex threads of plot and emotion.
Paris Opera began a French literature cycle in 2017. This is the third instalment. Dalbavie conducts the Paris Opera Orchestra, whose impeccable playing never overwhelms the singers onstage. This is the opera’s premiere. It received thunderous applause from the Covid-diminished audience.
I shall focus on the two principals. That is not to detract from the excellence of the fourteen other cast members. Ève-Maud Hubeaux, a Swiss mezzo-soprano with an already busy season despite Covid – as Eboli in Don Carlos alongside Jonas Kaufman in Vienna and Judith in Bluebeard’s Castle in Lyon – soared through her hefty role of Prouhèze with statuesque authority. She was a magnificent presence and used a naturally authoritative voice to convey her turbulent emotions and her love for poor old Rodrigue.
He was played by Luca Pisaroni, an Italian bass-baritone, specialising in Mozart and now moving his repertoire towards the Baroque. The fortunes of the character Rodrigue veered through court favourite, omnipotent ruler of the Americas to a broken outcast, leg amputated in battle, being mocked by a Jesuit priest. His pink-dyed hair and beard remained unruffled throughout. What was the pink hair all about?
Matching the immovable Prouhèze for moral stubbornness the climax of their unconsummated relationship is reached after a lengthy dialogue when he cannot bring himself to utter the one word she insists upon and they part forever. What was the word? That exchange lasted fifteen minutes. Come on, just say the word, Rodrigue! We are never told.
Is there a place for this scale of allegorical epic in today’s repertoire? Attention spans are not what they were when Wagner locked everyone into Bayreuth for his 19th century Ring Cycle. Clearly, this is not a work for casual viewing. Mind you, the masked lady sitting next to me last week on my first transatlantic flight for fifteen months spent seven hours deep in a Sudoku book. Screenings on long haul flights may prove a winner. However, avoid any CDs claiming to contain hits from The Satin Slipper. There are none. Hearing without watching is pointless.
Here is the case for The Satin Slipper. It is an immersive experience, requiring total commitment, and rewards emotionally and intellectually. Should all art be short form these days, conforming to contemporary attention spans?
I recall Sir John Tavener’s Veil of the Temple, an all-night seven-hour vigil premiered in 2003 at London’s Temple Church under the baton of the incomparable Stephen Layton. Next best thing to a lock-in. But when the audience and performers processed from the 12th century church to Temple Gardens at dawn, a light treble voice chorus It was Early in the Morning ringing out, I felt I had been transported to another place.
When the curtain dropped on The Satin Slipper, I realised I had indeed been in other places, and assuming unlikely roles. Spain, South America, the Moroccan coast. Sometimes a Christian fighting infidels. Sometimes an infidel fighting Christians. Finally, cast adrift on the ocean. I shall remember this opera as vividly as I recall Veil of the Temple almost twenty years ago.
Nearly forgot. There is indeed a red satin slipper. The magnificent Prouhèze discards it without explanation on Day 1. We see it no more. Could this be a hint a sequel is on the cards, Soulier Satin – Le Retour?