As of: April 7, 2024, 4:08 p.m
By: Markus Thiel
Comments
Press
Split
Demonic head nurse torments patient: Svitlana Slyvia (left) as Ježibaba and Theodora Varga as Rusalka. © Marie Liebig
Louisa Proske puts Rusalka in the closed institution at the Regensburg Theater. This produces impressive images, but sometimes the director gets tangled up in the concept. The orchestra pit is primarily responsible for Dvorak's melos.
“They gave me 10,000 watts a day, and now I'm really heated up!” McMurphy sees it easily. Also because it is clear to him in Miloš Forman's cinema classic: In "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" he will lead the revolt against the head nurse, against the depressant pills and also against the electric shocks that bring you back to normality from supposed madness should - and which, as this film also says (and not only), cannot exist. His distant relative, a mermaid in the original, capitulates. Tied up, Rusalka has to endure the electric shocks and the straitjacket, especially Ježibaba, who watches over the imprisoned women in a white coat and head nurse's cap.
Dvorak's tragic heroine, who yearns to leave her reality for a different one and ends up eternally excluded, has already been put in a closed institution by others. Last but not least, Martin Kušej at the Bavarian State Opera, who delivered what is probably his best opera direction ever with a shocking interpretation. The dark psychological content that the fairy tale original already whispers about has now also seduced director Louisa Proske. At the Regensburg Theater, not only “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” is being performed, but also Kušej light.
The wedding celebration ends in a straitjacket
This Rusalka meets her prince at a damned gas station, a picture of lostness à la Edward Hopper. Whether it's tablets, injections or simply wishful excesses: At some point she dreams of a wedding with her lover, which is celebrated here in a wood-panelled hunting villa (equipment: Dorota Caro Karolczak). And where he soon succumbs to the charms of the foreign princess. A child version of Rusalka appears again and again. And at some point we no longer understand: Is the wedding that ends with a collapse and a straitjacket the prelude to the hospital stay? A pipe dream? Or “just” a side effect of the chemicals?
As much as Louisa Proske, deputy director and in-house director in Halle, develops acting quality in her meticulous and cleverly rhythmic scenes, she also gets tangled up in the perspectives. This production speaks of over-ambition, from which several unconnected threads hang out. Sometimes the vocal staff is allowed to seek salvation on the ramp. On the other hand, intimate, subtle scenes also occur: when Rusalka is washed by the nurses, this is the only physical closeness, even tenderness, that she experiences.
And what there is above all: a demonic, scheming monster as head nurse, which is particularly thanks to Svitlana Slyvia and her fearless mezzo-soprano. A central figure. In general, what comes from the stage towards the stalls and stands is quite robust. Theodora Varga is on the dramatic side as Rusalka, but she can play well with her soprano and has internalized the directing concept very well. Hany Abdelzaher puts a lot of tenor power into the prince, the naivety of the macho blue-blood comes across well. As an Aquarius, Roger Krebs can be vocally powerful, but also paternally contrite. But on this opening night, others are responsible for Dvorak's melos, and they are sitting in the ditch.
Finale like in “Götterdämmerung”
General Music Director Stefan Veselka and the Regensburg Philharmonic Orchestra make almost everything audible that flows together in Dvorak's score. The folklore, the harsh drama, also the utopian potential, which is not only manifested in Rusalka's “Song to the Moon”. Sometimes, as in the first bars of the prelude, the music seems to have to come to itself first - those are impressive seconds. And all of this has a chamber music feel, the sound is never overstimulated, the smaller Regensburg house somehow does the piece good.
The director, on the other hand, pushes for something more monumental. Louisa Proske lets everything end in a Wagnerian note. When Rusalka grabs canisters at the gas station that appears again and pours gasoline on the prince's corpse, she becomes Brünnhilde's sister. A “Twilight of the Gods” from the Czech spirit. Soon the institution will be in video flames (Jorge Cousineau), and Rusalka won't be the only one to take this realization to the fire: Ultimately, truth is a matter of definition and control. Unfortunately she was on the wrong side.