At the time when Richard Strauss’ Daphne premiered in Dresden, its bucolic setting must have made quite a clash with what the audience would find once they left the theatre – indeed, nature would hardly be blooming in the middle of a German autumn. It is somehow consistent with the opera’s roots, then, that the Staatsoper Berlin should present its new production of the work during a wet and windy February. Yet in his rendition of the myth director Romeo Castellucci shortens the distance between the weather inside and outside the theatre by imagining a snowy, rigid climate that is not too dissimilar from Berlin as it appears now. Arguably, this provided a fruitful contrast with Thomas Guggeis’ warm, lyrical approach to Strauss’ score.
While maybe puzzling at first, Castellucci’s choice is not gratuitously contrarian. By placing the action in a desolate, foggy environment, the director puts Daphne’s tale in perspective and questions the meaning and significance of the myth in our age. As it is shown on stage, nature is inhospitable at best, unsalvageable at worst. The almost incessant snowfall lays a thick cold blanket on the ground, making it impossible for vegetation to grow and for people to connect to the earth. The only exception is Daphne: stripping herself of her clothes, she doesn’t seem to notice or care about the extreme weather, choosing instead to embrace it. Is Daphne’s symbiosis with nature a delusion? Are we to pity her, relate to her, or both?
Most certainly, the girl’s wariness of human relations does not protect her from the deceit of her suitors, be they the shepherd Leukippos or Apollo himself. Through disguise and deception, the two men try to break and replace the bond that ties her to the earth, represented by a tree that stands, well-rooted, in the middle of the stage. Meanwhile, in the background, ever-changing lighting colours the scene to various degrees, charging a most realistic phenomenon – the passing of time – with symbolic overtones. This is one of Castellucci’s finest effects in a staging whose visual impact is never less than striking. Perhaps less convincing, and somewhat didactic, is his choice to lower a giant panel showing the title page of TS Eliot’s The Waste Land. Together with a few other props, such as a frieze and a simple pedestal, these are the only items that suggest the presence of history, echoes of cultures past.
Barred from the stage, the lushness of nature found its outlet in the orchestra pit. Despite its limited length, Strauss’ opera is scored for a considerable ensemble whose timbral potential is widely explored by the composer to evoke natural scenery. Guggeis tended to such musical undergrowth with care, while also giving distinct, recognisable voices to the web of themes. Some imbalances in the brass section didn’t jeopardise the rendition of an elaborate, contemplative sound that is so typical of late Strauss. Where the opera lacks in dramatic tightness, it partially makes up for it in the charm of its orchestral frescos, which could easily stand next to the melancholic luminescence of the Four Last Songs. Especially during Daphne’s farewell – her metamorphosis – the Staatskapelle opened up to the spaciousness of the score, tracing the process of her transformation with sympathetic gestures of great emotional effect.
It should not come as a surprise that the pastoral setting in Daphne is inhabited by characters whose singing leans towards the dramatic, rather than the leggero. The opera’s tragic mythological subject, with its strong symbolic implications, made the choice almost obvious. Thanks to the volume and great projection of her soprano, Vera-Lotte Boecker was certainly well-equipped for the title role; but it was the ease with which she so often ventured into the high register that made her an ideal Daphne, embodying both the youthful and the fated side of her character. Competing for the girl’s love, Apollo and Leukippos share an almost identical vocal range, but not the same voice type. Linard Vrielink’s slender, agile tenor allowed him to portray a multi-faceted Leukippos – ingenuous and passionate, but also ominously mournful. Pavel Černoch, instead, sang a stentorian, almost intimidating Apollo; while maybe not as nuanced, his solid tenor conveyed the god’s violent, forceful nature. Finally, as Daphne’s parents, Anna Kissjudit and René Pape filled the theatre with their cavernous contralto and bass, their voices serving as musical concretions of a vain authority.
