Wexford Festival Opera's production of Camille Erlanger's L’Aube rouge proves Aristotle’s adage wrong that of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts. There were pleasing tunes, excellent singing and generally interesting sets and staging, but none of this was enough to rescue a work from the oblivion from which it was plucked. I suppose that is the inevitable risk of putting on long-forgotten operas; there will be the occasional damp squib.
I confess to not having even heard of Erlanger before and judging from tonight I don’t think I will be rushing back for more. His approach to composition resembles a curious mix of different styles and pastiches, each pleasant in their own way, but that don’t hang together as a whole. L’Aube rouge’s fractured and frenetic score wasn’t helped by the libretto by Arthur Bernède and Paul de Choudens, who seemed determined to drag in every opera cliché possible: hero and heroine falling madly in love within the first ten seconds of meeting? Tick. Heroine deserting her fiancé, whom her parents have forced to marry, as hero arrives in the nick of time? Check. Singing endlessly of how much they love one another while swanning around Paris instead of plotting like dutiful Russian revolutionaries? Mais oui! Surely there was a much better angle to take on Russian anarchists than going for the conventional love one?
So much for the internal failings of the work itself. However, director Ella Marchment doesn’t do the opera any favours either. Originally set at the beginning of the 20th century in Russia, Marchment isn’t interested in fixing a time period for the action; there are references to the 1920s, 1970s and to 2023. On the other hand, the timeframe of the protagonists’ life is done rather effectively. A giant countdown clock projected onto the curtain at the beginning of each act delineates the number of days, hours and minutes left for the star-crossed lovers. The actions switches between St Petersburg, Moscow and Paris, but nowhere was the feeling of there being a different city let alone a different country in evidence. The greatest failing though is Marchment’s distracting inclusion of dancing gypsies for the entire final act. These are involved in some type of pagan ritual which detracts from the climax of the opera. It is impossible to take seriously any singing about dying for love when you have white-frocked gypsies cavorting in front of the singers.
Holly Pigott's sets and costumes are a mixed bag. The opening scene featuring metal barriers, charcoal fire and stairs conjures a grungy look of Russian anarchy and the wedding scene of Act 2 conveys opulence of the sort that Tsarist Russia did so well. However the waiting room of Act 3 looks like it was taken from the local A&E and the Red Cross is rather lurid. The final act looks as if the designer had run out of ideas and brought out the moveable stairs again simply because it had been used in the other three acts. Costumes disappoint and confuse in equal measure. The Russian anarchists look dressed for Woodstock; the nuns in the hospital appear like 1920 French maids and as for those dancing gypsies...
The big redeeming quality of the performance was soprano Andreea Soare as Olga, who features in practically every scene. Possessing a huge range and heft, her mellifluous voice soared up on high, dazzling all before her. Her acting was superlative too. She weeps, she beseeches, she loves intensely. Her begging of her former fiancé (a surgeon in Paris) to heal her lover was brilliant, alternating between utter desperation and heartrending entreaty. It was nothing short of magical the way she unfurled the most delicate pianissmo on her high notes as she sang of her (soon-to-be short-lived) happiness in Act 4.
Tenor Andrew Morstein, as her anarchist lover Serge, wasn’t her match either vocally or dramatically, lacking projection, although he shaped his phrases well and the quality of his voice was agreeable. His acting was somewhat muted too and so it was never convincing that he would go on a suicide bombing mission for the anarchist cause at the end. The other honourable mention is to Giorgi Manoshvili as Kouraguine, whose powerful bass was able to rise above the waves of this frequently overpowering music.
Conductor Christophe Manien kept a steady hand on Erlanger’s rollercoaster score and the WFO orchestra responded in kind with gusto.
