This Flute, which first we watch, with ever-widening eyes, for we proceed from good to excellent surprises, then we hear…is especially noteworthy, as you may have guessed, because of the unique, often staggering reinterpretation by the Berlin theatre troupe, “1927,” (Suzanne Andrade) and Barrie Kosky, the Australian director, in the throes of euphoria. An audacious reinterpretation, embellished by the breathtaking animation of Paul Barritt. Of course, Mozart suffers a bit…but so what? Let's not pout over our pleasure! We're at a party…or rather, we're at the movies, the movies of the ‘20's. On stage, an immense screen reproduces images–often crazy, odd, and stylized– of the silent era. The characters move around in front of this screen, sometimes go through it, take it over, and become part of it. Dialogue is not delivered orally but written, like in the intertitles of a Murnau or a W.D. Griffith. But sly winks and references are not limited to that… Pamina, in costumes and hairstyle, evokes Louise Brooks. Papageno (pork-pie hat fixed on his head and dull yellow checkered costume) brings back Buster Keaton; Monostatos,– Nosferatu. The Queen of the Night, a man-eater, is nothing but an enormous spider with gigantic legs. All of this is conceived with humor, originality, mastery. We laugh; we wait impatiently for the next gag or the next gimmick. We forget about Mozart! The scenes which might bother us or have nothing to do with the project are boldly eliminated; every Masonic ritual or pseudo-ritual is cut out, with no digression.
A solid set, nothing extraneous. Janai Brugger's Pamina delights in her interpretation. Her delicate, refined timbre moves us. In white-face, another reference to the silent film, Lawrence Brownlee, insecure and unstable at first, (in a 3,000 seat theatre, ouch!) quickly gained control of himself. The Papageno-Papagena couple (Pogossov/Woodbury), well-cast and perfect, with spontaneous and expressive gestures, won over the audience, as did the Queen of the Night of Erika Miklósa (her singing still carefully controlled), the valiant and incisive Sorastro of Evan Boyer, and the Monostatos of Rodell Rosel. Our Three Ladies also suggest, by their thrift-store clothes, hats, and gestures, those third-rate actresses of the ‘20's. Only the orchestra and James Conlon, idiomatic and lyric, without forgetting the excellent chorus of Grant Gershon, seemed interested in Mozart. Three miles from Hollywood, before people who have their Busby Berkeley or King Vidor at their finger-tips (but do not necessarily have a handle on their Mozart), this production will be a smash hit and garner standing ovations.
Crédit photographique : © Robert Millard
Translated by Miriam Ellis