Rich Romanian opera heritage should be more widely shared
Bucharest has a strong operatic gene pool. But it could do so much better if it forged closer links with other European opera houses.
Two soldiers stood impassive guard outside Bucharest Opera House in the evening dusk. Could have been extras left over from last Christmas’s Nutcracker ballet. Immaculate red tunics, black General de Gaulle pill box hats, razor-creased white trousers gashed by wide, blood-crimson hash stripes, crossed white-gloved hands.
They flanked a wide red carpet leading to seven shallow steps and the yellow, blue and red (colours of the Romanian national flag) illuminated opera house beyond.
Much effort had gone into making a trip to Bucharest Opera feel special. The formality made the bustling nightly chaos of Covent Garden’s Floral Street and English National Opera’s Coliseum on St. Martin’s Lane seem negligent.
This was a building making an artistic declaration of intent. Its three-porticoed entrance proclaimed. “Your opera experience starts here.”
In the park in front of the house, flanked by sweeping driveways, is a statue of Romanian musician George Enescu, probably Romania’s most famous composer (1881 -1955). It is a bronze sculpture by the one-handed sculptor, Ion Jalea. He lost his left hand in battle in the Second World War. Doesn’t seem to have held him back.
Front of the building, facing the entrance, is the bust of Gheorghe Stephănescu (1843-1925), founder of Romanian Opera and composer of five operas. Romania has a strong operatic gene pool.
The 1,000-seater house was built in 1953, when brutalism might have been the expected architectural meme. Not at all. The foyer is elegant, marble-floored and stucco-ceilinged, with an imposing imperial bifurcated staircase leading to the auditorium and the boxes and promenade areas above.
A mannequin-singer, togged out in 18th century court dress looked down imperiously from an upper arch. When I clocked him, he was paired with a sharp looking girl with turquoise hair. Clever juxtaposition of costumed figures. Then, the girl walked away with a drink in her hand. Oops!
I paused on the staircase to meet the Director of the House, Rǎzvan Ioan Dinča, who has been in charge since 2012. He has been on a survival mission, facing shortfalls in funding, industrial unrest from the house orchestra and the need to restructure Romania’s four national companies.
Bizarrely, there is an article from 2017 in Slipped Disc by critic Norman Lebrecht reporting that Dinča had been sentenced to six years in chokey for some dastardly contractual act relating to an artist furioso.
Seems to have been some over-egged operatic crisis-pudding as the manager seemed very much in post, on top of his subject extolling the virtues of his house and cast. Minus ankle bracelets. Did not think it politic to bring the little slip up.
Romania has a population of 19 million and four “National” opera houses in Iasi, Cluj-Napoca, and Timişoara, as well as Bucharest. In Dinča’s view consolidation is needed to make the best use of limited state support. He has a diplomatic battle on his hands.
In the Ceausescu era, good friends from Glasgow visited Romania on an “Orient Express” sort of train to trundle round all the country’s opera hotspots. They were flattered that at every station they were given the red-carpet treatment, greeted by a liveried oompah band.
Only on arrival at Bucharest did they twig it was the same band and carpet, travelling with them, craftily concealed in the rear coach. While they were detained with luggage issues the band would rush down the platform with the carpet to be in full greeting mode as the gullible tourist grandees alighted. Brilliant use of resources. An opera all its own. Ingenuity at the highest level.
Verdi’s Il Trovatore is difficult to stage, because it is a notoriously “dark” piece, focused on witchcraft, not a lot of dramatic action and long periods when some of the characters remain silent onstage, as others vent their feelings in the swooping Verdian score.
Azucena, the gypsy mother of the hero, Manrico, hangs about a lot, doing nowt, except to loom. In Bucharest, the problem was neatly solved by having her fall asleep in a corner. An effective, but not very dramatic directing device. Bit of a last resort.
The production tended towards clunky, with huge pauses during scenery changes that did not seem to make much difference. What were the bustling stagehands behind the heavy curtain up to? They certainly kicked up a racket.
The choral scenes were static. Swordplay was unconvincing. Voices were, overall, good, but nothing remarkable to report. No detail I’m afraid. Programme unavailable. Very irritating. It was, apparently, “virtual”, but also inaccessible.
This is a very brief precis of the action in Il Trovatore. Fuller version for readers fascinated by 15th century witchcraft, here.
Act 1
It is 15th century Aragon, Spain. Count di Luna’s younger brother is sickly from birth. It is blamed on an old gypsy woman, so she is burnt at the stake. As one did with suspicious gypsies back in the day, when NHS self-help hotlines were unknown.
Luna’s brother also goes missing. Some unidentified bones are found in the funeral pyre ashes. Plot hint! Whose can they be?
Count di Luna grows up to be a well-respected member of the aristocracy. He falls in love with Leonora, a queen’s servant. But Leonora loves a troubadour, Manrico. The feeling’s mutual.
Act 2
Manrico’s mum is a gypsy, Azucena. She tells her son that when her own mother was murdered at the stake, she stole the count’s baby, and threw him on the fire. Dem bones! But, she made a mistake. She threw not the count’s baby but her own. So, guess who Manrico really is? Yup! The Count’s bro.
Act 3
Count di Luna arrests Azucena. She is the old gipsy woman’s daughter and Manrico’s mother. No jury trials in Aragon. Manrico is infuriated by Luna’s action. He and his gang fight against Luna’s army.
Act 4
Count di Luna captures Manrico and condemns Manrico and Azucena to death. Leonora begs Luna to save her lover's life.
She lies to Luna that she will yield herself to him in exchange for her lover's life. What’s this? She slurps poison from a secret ring instead, embarking on a customary, long drawn operatic death at full volume.
Manrico mistakenly accuses Leonora of infidelity. Already poisoned, she collapses in his arms. Manrico gets it. Too late to forgive!
Count di Luna is infuriated to be double crossed by Leonora. He condemns Manrico to death. Again. Maybe Manrico is on a BOGOF (buy one get one free) death sentence package.
Even though Azucena counsels Luna to stay the execution, Manrico is executed. Finally, Azucena exclaims, “Manrico is your brother! … I have realized my revenge, Mother!” and in this version stomps off to entomb herself in a sarcophagus. Which looked like a leftover prop from Aida.
As an occasion, it was a good night at the opera, as much for the vibes from the house and the back story as the opera itself. The company could do so much better if it forged closer links with other European opera houses. Co-productions would avoid clunky efforts like this.
And co-productions might open the doors to Romania’s unknown opera treasure house. I was astonished to learn that the country boasts around 70 composers, mostly unknown to the mainstream repertoire, dating from the 17th century to the present day.
Their oeuvres are mostly based on folk and romantic nationalist themes. Take Petru Rares, by Edouard Caudella, 1889. It’s a delightfully lyrical piece about a Moldavian fisherman who overthrows the 16th century tyrant ruler. Could easily be adapted to chime with last week’s referendum on Moldova’s EU membership.
Rich Romanian opera heritage should be more widely shared. The Iron Curtain parted nearly 35 years ago. High time for the country to bring its fascinating repertoire to a wider audience. And for other European houses to give Bucharest Opera a bit of a leg up with more traditional works in the repertoire.
And Another Thing!
News! Next year’s 2025 Leeds Lieder Festival, marking its 20th anniversary, will feature a celebratory programme themed “Song, the Secret of Eternity.” The official press release is about to go live. Here’s a peek behind the arras.
As we could do with a few secrets up our sleeves these days, Leeds must be worth a visit!
“Under the artistic direction of Joseph Middleton, the Festival promises a vibrant week of music, honouring the timeless power of song,” says the blurb.
This year’s Festival title comes from the final song Egyptian soprano Fatma Said will sing in her eclectic programme - words by Khalil Gibran and music by Lebanese polymath Najib Hankash.
The opening stanza reads:
“Give me a flute and sing,
For song is the secret of eternity,
And the sound of the flute remains
Beyond the end of existence.”
For me, many of the secrets of eternity are wrapped up in Schubert lieder. Two monumental song cycles open and close the festival, performed by a duo of the greatest exponents of the art form. Baritone Florian Boesch opens the week with Winterreise. The legendary tenor Christoph Prégardien concludes with Die schöne Müllerin.
Recitals by the finest British vocalists such as Alice Coote, Kitty Whately, Louise Alder, and Roderick Williams will provide filling for the festival cake. What a treat!
Song will be performed beyond the confines of the concert hall with a series of performances in surprising settings. Highlights include the Erda Ensemble’s homage to women in music and brewing at North Brewing, and Freddie Ballentine and Kunal Lahiry’s powerful programme in The Attic, based on contemporary social drama.
Blank out 5 – 12 April 2025 in the calendar!