BY CHANTAL NGUYEN
Carmen
Opera Australia
Cockatoo Island, 25 November
Ah, another outdoor experience brought to you by Opera Australia. Staged on Sydney’s gorgeous harbour complete with yachts and sunsets, I like to think of them as the opera version of glamping. This year OA has extended the winning PR formula, branching out from the annual Handa Opera on the Harbour to launch Carmen on Cockatoo Island – complete with OA-designated ferry.
There’s a lot of queuing and being shuttled around by OA minders to even get to Carmen. You line up for the OA ferry, disembark onto a trail, hoof your way through a long and gloomy warehouse, then join a queue for the OA-organised food. On opening night, panic breaks out when long lines of hungry operagoers hear the pre-performance bell. It was a surreal cross between feeling like an Australian live beef export and joining a (very well-dressed) rations queue.
That part of the “experience” over, we tramp down to the purpose-built stage. Liesel Badorrek’s production is inspired by the island’s World Heritage industrial ruins. Aiming to highlight the “rebelliousness” in Carmen, this is a grungy staging with a rock’n’roll aesthetic set in a car wrecker’s yard. It’s complete with oil barrels, graffiti, and a chorus unafraid of leather pants and eyeliner (Mark Thompson’s design). There’s even a squad of motorcycles revving down the aisles, with that addictive petrol whiff giving more realism than some audience members bargained for.
Carmen Topciu sings the lead role with a full, sensuous sound. She captures some of the heroine’s strutting confidence, but I’d have liked more depth and charisma to her portrayal. Her Act I scenes with Roberto Aronica’s Don José lack chemistry (the lady next to me falls asleep) but their Act II arguments have more spark. Aronica himself has a strong voice and channels the character’s dangerously brewing passion with increasing effectiveness, but it isn’t enough to overcome the Act I torpor and convince me they were ever “in love”.
Danita Weatherstone is emotionally committed and sympathetic as Micaëla, singing the character’s beautiful arias in a clear, sweetly poignant tone. Jane Ede and Agnes Sarkis, always reliable, are an assured and showy duo as Frasquita and Mercédès. Alexander Hargreaves is my absolute favourite as the mohawked pistol-wielding coat-swishing gang-leader Dancairo, singing with a pleasing baritone and impressive stage presence. His ability to bodily inhabit his character is a talent that seems rare in opera, and is such a refreshing X factor in his performance. Adam Player is a trusty, grungy foil as Remendado, and Haotian Qi and Richard Morales put in strong performances as regiment officers.
Our toreador Escamillo is Daniel Sumegi, singing from behind his aviators in a skilled and open-hearted bass baritone (“a big-tongued, woolly Alan Rickman timbre”, my guest remarks). Sumegi’s rockstar entrances are loads of fun, emerging through clouds of smoke to hordes of hysterical fans. “Who knew?” I think to myself, as Sumegi deftly catches fan underwear hurled from the moshpit, “that the Toreador Song accompanied by constant screams would sound this good?” This staging of the Toreador Song was the evening’s highlight, where Badorrek’s grunge vision – with strobe lighting, rave dancing, and the obligatory OA outdoor fireworks – makes most sense.
Unfortunately, the concept feels weaker through the rest of the production. Sure, the carwrecker vibe (“like a Mad Max leisure centre”, observes my guest) is a nice change from Carmen’s usual flamenco frills. But does it go beyond derivative spectacle and convey added meaning? I’m not convinced, especially when the cracks in conceptual cohesion start showing. Footage of a picturesque rolling road, combined with Bizet’s cinematic compositional style, make the Act 2 Entr’acte (sublimely played by the OA orchestra) look, unfortunately, just like a car insurance commercial. I absent-mindedly wonder if my NRMA cover is up to date. Then, with the chorus beginning to curl up against the car wreckage to a rising moon, all I can see is Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Cats.
The final questionable moment is Carmen’s death scene. Badorrek has publicly emphasised her Carmen is for a post-#metoo era, but it all feels a bit gimmicky as the chorus literally grab popcorn to watch, and a “violence against women” warning flickers onto the backdrop. The warning is, at this point, too late to be useful; and the idea that it’s a theatrical device feels equally ham-fisted. Given the much-needed Coercive Control Bill passed the lower house in New South Wales this month, you’d hope we’d be a bit more sophisticated with these discussions by now.
The dancers, choreographed by Shannon Burns, are particularly strong, as is the ever-reliable OA chorus. The amplification on the night seemed a bit off-kilter, causing pitch and rhythm issues between the singers and the instrumentation, but hopefully this will be ironed out in future performances. The OA orchestra under Tahu Matheson’s baton is in top form, persevering heroically with the challenges of the outdoor setting.
Images supplied. Credit Prudence Upton.
