by Leoš Janáček
seen at Covent Garden on 2 October 2021
The Royal Opera's first new production of Jenůfa in twenty years is conducted by Henrik Nánási and directed by Claus Guth (his first Janáček production). It features the Lithuanian soprano Asmik Grigorian in the title role (her Covent Garden debut), Karita Mattila from Finland as her stepmother the Kostelnička (village Sacristan), Nicky Spence as Laca and the Albanian Saimir Pirgu as Števa, the two half-brothers who vie for Jenůfa's affections - Covent Garden keeps its tradition of drawing international singers to its stage despite the complications of pandemic restrictions and an increased visa bureaucracy.
The opera, based on a play by Gabriela Preissová from which Janáček devised his own libretto, is a grim tale of late nineteenth century village life in which the moral strictures of society all too easily crush its individual members should they step out of line. Jenůfa has the misfortune of having fallen pregnant by the feckless Števa, while the ostensibly more patient Laca is driven to distraction and 'accidentally' inflicts a wound on her face. In the meantime her stepmother, mindful of her own standing in village life, which reqires the utmost personal rectitude, and remembering the catastrophes of her own married life when she was young and being determined to protect Jenůfa from a similar fate, takes matters into her own hand with disastrous results.
The situations are thus potentially too melodramatic, but the opera transcends the danger, largely due to the extraordinary dramatic force of Janáček's music and the stark way it exposes the inner torments of the two women. Ravishing melodic scraps flit through the score, often gone almost before they can be appreciated, while the climactic confrontations which conclude the first two acts have a shattering impact. In the final act Jenůfa rises above all the provocations with an act of forgiveness that seems almost impossible to contemplate, but the music convinces utterly in its radiant hopefulness.
Claus Guth has decided to abstract the opera from a realistic setting, preferring a huge white box with slatted walls - indeed when the curtain goes up on each act there is a second curtain of slats which must also be raised to reveal the stage. In the first act villagers are spaced against each of the three walls performing menial tasks at the mill owned by the two brothers, their almost uniform actions a silent but potent reminder of the narowness of their lives. In the second act there are fewer villagers, but they are all women dressed in black, their faces completely hidden by formidable bonnets not dissimlar to the profile of the huge raven which also prowls the scene intimating disaster. Instead of seeing the interior of the Kostelnička's house, where Jenůfa has been hidden until giving birth to her child, we see only a series of bedframes upended to indicate the cottage's walls in a way that is uncomfortably reminiscent of a prison. Only in the third act, in which Jenůfa and Laca are about to be married, does some colour enter, with bright yellow flowers scattered across the floor and the village women arriving in colourful skirts (wondering why Jenůfa has chosen to be married in black).
The cast was superb, and the orchestral playing beautifully managed, even if at times the climaxes overwhelmed the singing. In particular Asmik Grigorian brought a poignant mix of fragility and growing self awareness to her role, while Karita Mattila showed us the desperation of a woman driven to betray fundamental decency through a twisted notion of social acceptability. She is not just a nasty piece of work like the fearsome mother in Kaťá Kabanová, but rather another victim of village morality.
In a gracious touch at the curtain call, Asmik Grigorin curtsied deeply before Karita Mattila, who had sung the role of Jenůfa at Covent Garden in its last outing in 2000. This new production is a worthy addition to the current repertoire of the house, visually compelling and musically wonderful.
