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Andrejs Žagars about the concept of Un ballo in mascheraThere are two kinds of truth: the real one and the operatic one. An attempt to prove they’re equal is quite dangerous. For me as a stage director it’s important to understand which of them wins. |
| Sometimes I ask myself an easy question: do I believe in what is happening onstage? When I saw Un ballo in maschera for the first time, I had a definite answer: I do not. Later I grew more tolerant to the productions of the wonderful opera by Giuseppe Verdi; it was when I realized how difficult the relationships between the characters are. I’m not sure one should decide on the libretto at the very beginning, to choose which variant is the best starting point in the psychological game. Is it the Stockholm version that revives the luxurious and frivolous atmosphere of the court of Gustav III? Or is it the Boston version used for the premiere — the one telling the story about the governor in Puritan New England. I don’t think the choice of the city and the epoch are crucial as people, wherever and whenever they live, prefer love to sufferings but finally they all die. I find the nationality of Amelia’s husband absolutely irrelevant — it doesn’t matter if he’s Swedish or Creole, the fact doesn’t change the music and only the inner logic of the score made me choose the name of Renato because it sounds more harmonious and suits the style of bel canto. The main character of Un ballo in maschera — turned from Gustav to Ricardo — exclaims Addio! at least 13 times. It might reveal his wish to say goodbye to himself, to run away, to overcome his status and his emotions. His repeated farewells make me feel that it’s the end not only of a life of quite a lonely person but of something major. Dying Ricardo instead of the last Addio! might have quoted Merezhkovsky: ‘I wish peace, I wish oblivion...’ The ruin of love and all of his plans is not only a tragic background of the opera but also a presentiment of the great empires crashing at the beginning of the 20th century. The part of the St Petersburg society regularly visiting Paris before WWI and dressed to kill by Paul Poiret and enjoying themselves during the great time of belle époque still felt the impending doom. The Silver Age of Russian Art inspired the whole Europe but, according to Nikolay Berdyaev, ‘It was the time of independent philosophic and aesthetic ideas emerging in Russia, the poetry blossoming... However, it was in coteries, far away from social movement... Sometimes they seemed to live in hot houses... Romantic spirit manifested itself in eroticism and aesthetic prevailing over ethic.’ I want the public to hear and see the eroticism and aesthetic of Verdi’s melodies caught right before the catastrophe breaks out. In the opera everybody plays a role and the mask conceals not only a face but also something more important. I don’t think that the luxurious frame of love is more significant than love itself but I still can’t get rid of the idea of some ‘façade-ness’ characteristic for the opera (those living in St Petersburg surrounded by architectural masterpieces will understand me perfectly well). The idea of my staging, like that of any real masked ball, is to show that the upper layer of events in Verdi’s opera is as important as those things hidden behind the façade of the fascinating and catching life.
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Idea Fix