Rusalka is the most famous of Antonín Dvořák’s operas, premiered in Prague in 1901 and now part of the standard repertoire of any opera house. Hence it is bewildering that the Teatro alla Scala has not staged it until now. The story is a Czech version of The Little Mermaid: a water nymph falls in love with a human prince, she takes human form with the help of a witch, resulting in a disaster for all involved.
Director Emma Dante envisioned an eerie, magical interpretation of this timeless tale of love, sacrifice and desire for human connection, avoiding literal, Disney-like underwater environments. Carmine Maringola's sets include natural and fantastical elements. The first and third acts are set in a dilapidated gothic church, with a (real water) pond on the floor; Rusalka, dressed in baby pink and resembling a doll, enters on a fancy wheelchair, her legs replaced by pink, large tentacles, making her similar to an octopus or jellyfish rather than a mermaid. The second act, in the human world, opens with a stunning vertical forest backdrop, animated by dancers covered in leaves who move up and down the wall, then roll on the floor, mischievously playing tricks on the Prince’s gamekeeper and kitchen boy. The Prince’s palace is more conventional splendour, but the pond still remains, with the guests dining sitting in the water.
The narrative is heavily centred on the “otherness” of the title character, who renounces her magical nature to pursue a futile dream of love, accepting the nonsensical rules – typical of fairy tales – of the witch: she will obtain human form but will not be able to speak, and will be damned for eternity if she fails to win the Prince’s love. The Prince does fall in love with her and decides to marry her, but his fickle affections are soon attracted by a “Foreign Princess”, much more socially savvy and able to hold a conversation. We see a clumsy Rusalka stumbling on her new legs in the palace, watching horrified as the guests feast on the tentacles of a large octopus resembling her former “legs”, trying to dance awkwardly with the humans, being ridiculed. In the second act Rusalka is mute and is played by a dancer double; one of the few operatic instances where this dramatic device actually makes sense. It was an enchanting, moving telling of the story, framed by stunning images and Vanessa Sannino's extravagant costumes. All the characters were dressed in shades of red (from pink to purple), which is the only element I did not understand: Rusalka is an opera all revolving around water, so making the colour red was a peculiar choice.
La Scala invited a Czech specialist to the podium: Tomáš Hanus clearly knows this score inside out and led La Scala orchestra with a precise, confident, authoritative baton, underlining the dramatic and the lyrical moments, doing justice to Dvořák's sophisticated orchestration, highlighting the Bohemian folkloristic melodies, with great attention to the brass section. The score contains several Wagnerian elements from the uninterrupted flow of the melodies, with no closed numbers, to the use of leitmotif.
Olga Bezsmertna’s Rusalka was both vulnerable and dramatic, avoiding any sugary affect. Her soprano was supported by a remarkable technique; the very high notes tended at times to be less covered than one would have hoped, but this was just a detail in a moving, intense performance. Dmitry Korchak gave a great interpretation of the young Prince, his high notes easy and brilliant, secure in his projection. I found his voice particularly suited to this repertoire. Jongmin Park was a commanding, mournful Vodník, Rusalka’s father, his deep bass perfect for the role, his recurring leitmotif haunting, like a chilling thread through the whole work. Okka von der Damerau lent her powerful mezzo to the witch Ježibaba, her interpretation free from the forced exaggerations sometimes typical of this role. The Foreign Princess was Elena Guseva, her strong soprano full of metal, very suited to the passional, sensual character.
Baritone Jiří Rajniš and mezzo Svetlina Stoyanova provided comic relief with convincing performances as the gamekeeper and kitchen boy, the three Wood Nymphs – I was about to write the Rhinemaidens – Hila Fahima, Juliana Grigoryan and Valentina Pluzhnikova – were very effective in their teasing of Vodník at the beginning of the opera, and Ilya Silchukov competently completed the cast as the hunter.
