Káťa Kabanová – The Opera Royale de Wallonie
by Mark Montgomery
“Every country has its national river and Russia has the Volga – the longest river in Europe, the Queen of rivers – and I was one of the many who went to bow to her Majesty River Volga” – the famous French author Alexandre Dumas once wrote.
The waterway also affectionately goes by “Mother Volga” because of its historic importance to the development of Russian civilization. An estimated 40% of modern Russians live along its banks supplying around half of the country’s agricultural needs. This number would have been significantly higher, in 1921, when Leos Janacek set music to The Storm, written by Alexander Ostrovsky. The resulting opera Káťa Kabanova is set in the bucolic village of Kalinov, somewhere between Kazan and Samara, on the bank of the mighty Volga.
This jewel of 20th century opera was staged at the Opera Royale of Wallonie (ORW), in the city of Liège. The curtain went up to a minimalist setting – the Bistro Volga, on the banks of… well, the river Volga. A small group is enjoying a relaxing afternoon with Mother Volga. They are dressed in traditional peasant attire. No surprises there. But the surprises are about to rain down on us. Two of the young peasant girls drift from the main group and consult their mobile phones! I am taken aback! Is the narrative unfolding in 1921 or in 2021? More surprises are on the menu. The plot unfolds delicately.
Káťa Kabanová – The Opera Royale de Wallonie ©J Berger ORW
Káťa Kabanová – The Opera Royale de Wallonie ©J Berger ORW
Boris (Anton Rositskiy) tells Vána (Alexey Dolgov) that he is secretly in love with Káťa, the young wife of Tichon (Magnus Vigilius). The opera was also largely inspired by Janáček’s love for Kamila Stösslová. Kamila and Janacek met in 1917. He was smitten. Sadly, there was no Disney-like happy ending. They were both already married. Janacek was 40 years her senior. His ardour for her was unrequited. The tragic starkness of this one-sided love story is reflected in the ORW staging choices.
Not only is it restrained and austere, it is also monochromatic. The combination of these design choices leaves me with a disturbingly two-dimensional perception of the unfolding plot. Then the movie kicks in. Huge projections of the stage are shown on the back wall of the stage. But the action in the movie, which depicts what is happening on the stage is slightly out of sync with the live actors. In parallel, the props are furnishings that date back to 1921 Russia – or before. There is a metal frame bed that stands very high off the ground. There are a few chairs of dubious vintage. And once again – the mobile phones.
I struggle vainly to lock the action into a fixed time zone. I fail. My next surprise comes from an unexpected direction. This is not a pipe! I realise. Belgium is after all the home of the surrealist. I concede that I am attempting to decipher the proceedings in a way that is too cartesian.
The interpretation of this opera conjured up an image of the famous “This is Not a Pipe” painting by Magritte. He was gifted at juxtaposing elements that, individually, make no rational sense. But their value is laid bare by interpreting them as a composite whole. The impact is evidenced in the reaction of each spectator’s mind toward the relation of those elements.
Once I take a more cubist stance and appreciate the unfolding action from multiple time perspectives, simultaneously, it all makes sense. I am now able to sit back and enjoy the delightful Káťa, played by Anush Hovhannisyan.
Kamila was impervious to the romantic overtures from Janacek. However, she had a profound influence on the composer in his last decade. She was his Patty Boyd. Leos Janacek was 67 when Káťa Kabanova premiered. It is an unashamed response to his passion for Kamila. He dedicated the work to her. Despite her ambivalence about his feelings for her, Janáček was inspired by her to create the lead characters of two of his operas: Káťa in Káťa Kabanová and Emilia Marty in The Makropulos Affair.
Janacek’s love for Kamila was no secret. He acknowledged her as his muse. In a letter he tells her “I saw for the first time how a woman can love her husband… that was the reason why I took up Kát’a Kabanová and composed it” [1] .
Káťa Kabanová – The Opera Royale de Wallonie ©J Berger ORW
Káťa Kabanová – The Opera Royale de Wallonie ©J Berger ORW
On a second occasion, during rehearsals for The Makropulos Affair, Janáček wrote to her that “Mrs. Kerová, who is taking the role of Emilia Marty, has movements like you… that lady seems just like you in her gait and her whole appearance” [2].
The first performance was at the National Theatre Brno on 23 November 1921. The performance at the Opera Royale de Wallonie, I imagine, was stratospherically different to the one in Brno. Obviously, the performance in Liège was of superlative quality in every domain. The lighting, sound, orchestra, production and staging would not be out of place in any opera house anywhere in the world.
It offered riveting entertainment value. It delivered excellence in musicianship. That said, there is one dimension that caught me off guard. The stark, minimalist creativity made a visceral and emotional connection with me. It forced me to think.
[1] Tutter, Adele (2015). “Text As Muse, Muse As Text: Janáček, Kamila, and the Role of Fantasy in Musical Creativity”. American Imago. 72 (4): 407–450. ISSN 0065-860X.
[2] Simeone, Nigel (1995). “Review of Intimate Letters: Leoš Janáček to Kamila Stösslová”. Music & Letters. 76 (1): 117–119. ISSN 0027-4224.
