It is clear that there is a link between the rise of cinema and the decline of opera. Once the primary form of entertainment, opera’s prominence was overshadowed by the silver screen. Opera used to offer something that cinema now provides as well—so what exactly was that?
Last year, the Salzburg Festival tried to merge the two art forms by staging Verdi’s “Falstaff,” but the result was a failure. Now, they are making another attempt with a similar approach, this time presenting Jacques Offenbach’s masterpiece, “Les Contes d’Hoffmann.” The productions share many similarities: an effort to grant autonomy to female characters, a comparable relationship to filmmaking and masculinity, similar critiques of the romantic figure of the artistic creator, and even matching scenarios and costumes…
The outcome was similar as well: another theatrical failure.
Butchering Hoffmann
The German-speaking press has seized the opportunity to expand its critical vocabulary in response to Mariame Clément’s staging of the opera. Their criticism is not without merit—it is indeed a failure—but it is worth exploring why it faltered so spectacularly. After all, Clément is an accomplished stage director, and many, including myself, had high hopes for her Salzburg début.
Apart from the festival’s clear mismanagement—why persist with a concept that had previously failed so miserably? How difficult is it to abandon it before it is too late?—Clément seems to have misunderstood the essence of “Hoffmann” as a unique opera. Unlike most operas, “Hoffmann” operates almost as a first-person narrative, full of tension. The opera functions like a traditional opera, with numerous characters and a series of dramas over which Hoffmann has no control or awareness (such as the muse and her apparitions). However, the central acts represent Hoffmann’s stories, aiming to provide a bittersweet exploration of the individual journey of literary creation.
In the program, Clément expressed her disdain for this romanticised view of the artist (calling it “a little fascist”), and her staging reflects how much she has distorted Hoffmann’s character. Here, the renowned writer is depicted as a failed filmmaker dragging a stolen shopping cart behind a film studio (as a homeless person). He was once a screenwriter (in Olympia’s act) and even a film director (in Antonia’s act), but he lost everything, believing this to be due to his beloved actress Stella’s betrayal with a film producer.
The issue is that Hoffmann is not shown to possess any minimal talent or intelligence. Worse, none of the women seem to have ever been in love with him. Olympia, portrayed as a character combining elements of Britney Spears and Barbarella, is seen as a doll not because she is one, but because she rejects his advances. Antonia, who is Stella, complains about Hoffmann’s lack of attention while she was acting in a film he directed, and leaves to focus on her career. Giulietta, a disturbing mix of these women, is portrayed simply as a sadist. On the positive side, Clément succeeds in providing private lives and self-interest motives to all these female characters, who are usually overshadowed by Hoffmann’s genius. However, this comes at the expense of not only the opera’s protagonist but also the opera’s overall coherence.
Rarely have I been as dissatisfied with a staging as I was this time. While there was some attention to detail—such as Hoffmann’s mayonnaise replacing Hermann’s and a celebrity magazine featuring Kathryn Lewek’s face—the stage design was overly focused on its meta-narrative goals, compromising both visual appeal and narrative coherence. In Antonia’s act, the stage design felt as if my eyes were darting about like a small fly. In Olympia’s act, the action was limited to just one-third of the stage. By the time we reached Giulietta’s act, it was evident that the scenes were crafted more for whimsical photographs than for engaging theatre. Additionally, the film projections were done with a Windows Movie Maker black-and-white filter from 2005, which should have been retired years ago.
It’s unfortunate, but also a valuable lesson: if a stage director, even a talented one, does not appreciate the opera, why should they be entrusted with staging it?
Mostly Solid
Marc Minkowski’s musical direction is mostly accurate and solid. While perhaps less dramatically compelling than usual, it is evident that he has a deep understanding of “Hoffmann’s” music, likely in all its various versions. I was particularly impressed with the quality of the Vienna Philharmonic’s string soloists: their playing was lyrical, yet dark and melancholic.
The cast was headed by today’s leading French tenor, Benjamin Bernheim. There is little to fault in his performance: his enunciation is flawless, his voice possesses a piercing tone, and his legato is smooth. However, even his vocal excellence was somewhat diminished by the staging. The depiction of toxic masculinity and narcissism in Hoffmann seemed at odds with Bernheim’s interpretation of the role, which leaned towards tender lyricism. Unlike most tenors who perform Hoffmann today, Bernheim has the talent to present the role as a man without any rough edges—even at times a perfect victim. His eyes convey excitement, and although his tone is melancholic, it appears more focused on shaping musical phrases than anything else. This sincerity makes his violent outbursts particularly striking, making it difficult not to empathise with his perspective. Don’t misunderstand me: he is violent, but he creates the impression that he can perfectly conceal his violence when needed, which is something his peers portraying Hoffmann cannot achieve. The issue is that throughout much of the opera, I found myself wondering, “How can such refined singing be associated with the role of an unsuccessful filmmaker?” and even, “How can such a tender artist be so dismissive towards his female counterparts?”
Despite Bernheim’s many virtues—and there are indeed many—the evening was dominated by Kathryn Lewek. It is highly commendable for a singer to perform all four female roles in a single night, and Lewek’s performance throughout the opera was exceptional, with her Antonia act standing out as the clear highlight. I had the opportunity to attend this production twice—on one occasion from the highest seat in the house (the final row of the balcony)—and never before have I heard a lyric voice with such refinement and sensitivity, particularly in the dramatic scene where she hears the spectral voice of her mother. Lewek’s tone, full and rich, achieves moments of intense dramatic tension while maintaining the elegance of her sound. Her Antonia is, above all, a class act—elegant and smooth. Her Olympia demonstrates her remarkably flexible voice and enchanting coloratura, which has captivated Met audiences in her many performances as the Queen of the Night and proves she deserves to be recognised for more than that single role. While she perfectly captured the persona of Britney Spears in “Hit Me Baby One More Time,” her Barbarella-inspired Olympia aria was genuinely entertaining without relying on typical operatic clichés—perhaps the best scenic solution of the night, in my view. Her Giulietta, though slightly less dazzling than her other portrayals, was still effective, with a lascivious and aggressive edge.
I was also particularly impressed with Kate Lindsey’s portrayal of the Muse/Nicklausse. Few mezzos possess as much affinity and familiarity with the role as she does, and it’s easy to understand why. Although her voice shows some sharper nuances in the higher notes, her vocal core is warm and inspiring. Her volume is ample enough to never be overshadowed by Giulietta in the “Belle Nuit” duet. While her Muse/Nicklausse stands as a true counterpart to any of Hoffmann’s loves, Lindsey sings the role with a nurturing care—almost like a supportive mother—that leads the opera to an Apollonian final scene where she calls for art and inspiration.
Another rare sight was Christian Van Horn’s convincing portrayal of the villain roles, who were depicted as somewhat congenial figures. Rather than engaging in an active antagonist relationship with Hoffmann, Van Horn’s Lindorf—who progressively assumes all the villain roles—becomes dehumanised by the poet, who increasingly views him as the embodiment of evil. As a result, Lindorf appears somewhat indifferent to Hoffmann’s troubles, which is not entirely negative. Van Horn’s voice, sonorous and deep, was engaging but never quite as demonic as his costumes might have led us to expect.
The rest of the cast delivered strong performances. Marc Mauillon was particularly graceful with his light tone and exquisite French, especially in his role as Franz. Michael Laurenz provided a comic touch as Olympia’s creator (here portrayed as an agent?). Special mention should be made of Paco Garcia’s excellent portrayal of Nathanäel and Géraldine Chauvet’s role as the voice of Antonia’s mother.
It’s hard not to feel disheartened by this production. Although the musical aspects were successful—unlike last year’s “Falstaff”—the complete lack of competence on the scenic side rendered the experience bittersweet. As I noted, I saw this production twice. The first time, without the intention of writing about it, I was able to appreciate the music despite the stage confusion. The second time, with a more critical eye, it was hard not to feel frustrated: it was one of those experiences where deeper reflection only heightened disappointment. I sincerely hope Clément is given another opportunity—I’ve enjoyed her work in the past—but this time, it was very challenging to enjoy.
Leave a comment