A 'Don Giovanni' Straight From Hell

Don Giovanni has been deemed Mozart’s best opera, if not one of the greatest operas ever written.

Gustave Flaubert declared that "the three finest things in creation are the sea, Hamlet, and Mozart's Don Giovanni." Johann von Goethe was overwhelmed with admiration and found inspiration for Faust. Even Richard Wagner was somehow humbled by the work.

It would seem very un-German to turn one’s back on history and rewrite the opera according to an isolated aesthetic sensibility. Not for proponents of Regietheater.

Roland Schwab, in his current staging at the Deutsche Oper, set out to create a Don Giovanni for Berliners today. This would be fine if he hadn’t butchered the libretto along with much of the opera’s emotional depth and appeal.

The production, as seen on October 29 (ironically the date on which the opera premiered in 1787), redefines the title character not as a lascivious womanizer, but as the ring leader of an underground club scene.

A gaggle of men in business suits follow around Don Giovanni and Leporello, seemingly to represent a collective consciousness. When the Don smokes a cigarette, they all light a cigarette. In the opening scene, they lip sync at Leporello’s side like soulless, sexless adherents.

Even better, they are armed with golf clubs, mobbing the Commendatore and leaving Don Giovanni the pleasure of placing a golf ball in his open mouth. Then, in place of recitative, he holds the ball up and observes it in silence.

The tastelessness and absurdity escalate in the ballroom scene, where women wrapped in cellophane ride a jagged carousel of metal poles and red lights. For the minuet, a half-naked woman in a barbed metal leg brace hobbles across a runway in front of the orchestra pit.

 

The production’s lugubrious feel was underscored by Roberto Abbado’s conducting, whose abrupt tempo shifts juxtaposed moribund interpretations with raced, frenetic passages. The dynamic contrasts so elegantly laid out in Mozart’s score, however, were understated throughout much of the opera.

Abbado reined in more intensity from the orchestra in the closing scenes but, sadly, Scwab chose to eliminate the finale “Questo è il fin di chi fa mal” (This is the end for those who do wrong), as per Mozart’s revised version for the opera’s first performance in Vienna. The audience members could have particularly used some musical respite after having flashlights waved in their faces and watching Leporello dance in underwear and a halter top just before the Commendatore’s famous reappearance in the final act.

The cast found moments of redemption in their vocal performances (when they were actually granted that opportunity) and the occasional touch of good comic timing. Alex Esposito was, at his best, a riotously amusing Leporello, singing with a consistently elegant bass-baritone despite the antics demanded of him onstage. Ildebrando d’Arcangelo was an evil-spirited yet aloof Don Giovanni. His booming voice is a rarity, but has a gravelly quality that failed to seduce in this role.

Schwab’s perverse staging of course did not help matters.

As Donna Elvira, Ruxandra Donose showed moments of great musicality but sounded strained at times. The portrayal of her character was also not at all in keeping with libretto, depriving her of the feminine rage that is a driving force in the opera.

Marina Rebeka brought clear lyricism and unblemished coloratura to the role of Donna Anna, but her technical prowess outweighs the emotional power of her voice. Yosep Kang similarly was a steadfast Don Ottavio, nearly bringing a moment of repose in “Dalla sua Pace,” but his timbre lacks versatility and he did produce the necessarily nuanced phrasing.

Martina Welschenbach sang Zerlina pleasantly, bringing natural innocence and comic flair to the role. Krzysztof Szumanski complemented her well as Masetto, although the dynamic between them was lost when Don Giovanni’s mob branded his bare buttocks with the red letters “DG.”

Ante Jerkunica, heard through amplification from offstage, sang the Commendatore admirably, although his performance pales in comparison with legendary singers such as Kurt Moll or Gottlob Frick.

With the orchestra of the Deutsche Oper currently on strike over low wages, it seems a travesty to invest time and money in such a production. Opera is theater, and always has been, but without virtuosity and music-making at its center, we might as well spend our time at clubs or in cabaret venues.