AVA's "Pelléas et Mélisande' (1st review)

Pelléas et Mélisande is a nebulous story about a mysterious girl and a young man, who act like children, written by the Belgian mystic Maurice Maeterlinck and set to impressionistic music by Claude Debussy in 1902. It's considered to be a literary and musical masterpiece, but it's never been a popular favorite.

Shall we be blunt? Many attendees hate this opera; some walk out. Not because it's shocking— as occurred at the1913 premiere of Stravinsky's Le sacre du printemps— but because Pelléas is hard to understand and has "no tunes." Even at the performance I attended at the Academy of Vocal Arts— and keep in mind that AVA audiences are above average in erudition— I overheard one person at intermission saying he didn't understand it, and his well-meaning friend advising: "Don't try to understand; just go with the flow."

He was on the right track. As someone who saw his first Pelléas in the '50s (with Theodor Uppman, Nadine Conner, Martial Singher and Jerome Hines, conducted by Pierre Monteux), and who has seen many star-studded performances since, I'd like to expand on that point— especially since the AVA's current production is the best Pelléas I've ever experienced.

Maeterlinck practiced the aesthetic of symbolism, as opposed to realism, where one observed slivers of life and tried to assemble them to reach understanding. His style was lean and spare, suggesting more than what was actually said. His writing included wordplay and concern for the musical qualities of language.

Lost in a forest

Debussy was the perfect composer to set Maeterlinck's ideas to music. His style was wispy and impressionistic, often avoiding specific keys or pitches. His harmonies exude sensual color, as they float and transport listeners into another world. In Pelléas, Debussy was intent on setting the words and sustaining a mood, rather than writing arias. Pelléas definitely does contain melodies, although they're intentionally fragmentary.

The opera has been criticized as bizarre and enigmatic. Accept those words as compliments. Those qualities add excitement to the watching of the piece.

Prince Golaud, a widower, finds a mysterious young woman, Mélisande, lost in a forest. She's afraid to tell him of her past, her age, or her fears. He brings her back to his castle and marries her.

Mélisande becomes increasingly attached to Golaud's younger half-brother Pelléas, arousing Golaud's jealousy. Golaud becomes obsessed with discovering the details of Pelléas and Mélisande's relationship, even forcing his own child, Yniold, to spy on them.

Pelléas decides to leave the castle but meets Mélisande one last time. Golaud, eavesdropping, kills Pelléas. Mélisande dies shortly afterwards, having given birth to a daughter while Golaud continues to demand "the truth."

Perfect tenor

John Viscardi, who sang Pelléas on opening night, is in his mid-20s and looks even younger, which is perfect for the role. His singing was soft and yearning. This was better than the expert singing of high baritones like Theodor Uppman in the '50s and others I've seen since then— first, because Viscardi's tenor voice conveys youth; and, second, because it contrasts with Golaud's baritone.

To be sure, I've heard Pelléas sung expertly by other tenors. But none displayed Viscardi's innocent sound or his attention to the words.

Mélisande was described (at the Met's 1925 premiere) as "the shadowy, inarticulate, enigmatic little Princess, that haunted creature, so quiet, so timid, so silent." Chloe Moore captured these qualities and sang with a sweet, pure voice.

Zachary Nelson played Golaud as a brooding man with unspecified insecurities that lead him to dark actions. While singing beautifully, he revealed the instability that's inherent in his character. By contrast, the elegant Martial Singher, one of the all-time great Golauds, never really probed beneath his character's surface.

Another giant

Patrick Guetti as Arkel, grandfather to Pelléas and Golaud, evoked memories of the towering Jerome Hines: Both are very tall men with similar dark bass voices. Margaret Mezzacappa was excellent in her brief mezzo role as the mother of Pelléas and Golaud.

While a boy soprano would have appeared more realistic as the child Yniold, Maria Aleida looked fine in the part and sang it beautifully.

Luke Housner prepared these performances and accompanied them masterfully on the piano, which seems appropriate. Debussy's best-known composition is Clair de lune, composed as a piano solo. Debussy's orchestral scoring is hard for singers to penetrate, and the almost constant presence of wind instruments, especially of oboe and bassoon, competes with the human voice. Housner had his cast sing the French text cleanly, without the percussive attacks that some opera singers bring.

Debussy admired the innovations that Wagner brought to music drama, so it's not surprising to hear echoes of Wagner's Parsifal in the music that introduced the grandfather. On the other hand, one wonders if there was any intentional borrowing when we hear exotic chords like those that Verdi wrote to introduce the Nile scene in Aida. These are fascinating moments, but the whole of Pelléas et Mélisande is highly original.

K. James McDowell directed clearly and simply amidst the castle walls, towers and grottoes of the mythical kingdom.♦


To read another review by Robert Zaller, click here.