Critic’s Notebook: Evgeny Titov’s New Wozzeck in Graz

A. Berg, Wozzeck, Dohnanyi, WPh Silja, Waechter et al. (Decca, 1981) US | UK | DE

H. Berlioz, Les Troyens, Böhm, Deutsche Oper Berlin Lear, Fischer-Dieskau et al. (DG, 1965) US | UK | DE

The Naked Truth About Graz’s Wozzeck

Every aspect of the new Wozzeck in Graz is better than average. Even if (with one exception) nothing is quite superlative, the result is an enormously successful evening.

Is it actually possible to ruin Alban Berg’s Wozzeck? Musically, it may be “difficult” fare for the more occasional opera-goer, but the drama is so goshdarn concentrated and Berg’s setting so atmospheric that one often feels closer to witnessing spoken theater with music than an opera proper. That was certainly the case in Graz, where Evgeny Titov’s new production – the same director responsible for the dark-romantic Vienna Iolanta – opened to deserved applause on Friday evening.

Anyone who saw said Iolanta, with its sugar-coated mountain of flowers, can imagine Titov’s Wozzeck as its inversion. The “Upside Down” (cf. Stranger Things), so to speak. Low dunes of sand where yonder a green knoll rises high. Arid, wispy brown brambles instead of flowers blooming in technicolor, gloom instead of brightness. This natural landscape rotates – sometimes faster, sometimes slower – on the revolving stage. Behind it, occasionally kitschy, occasionally strikingly effective, projections: a blood moon, a forest (turning in perspective with the stage), ominous clouds. Titov plays – consciously or not – with dark kitsch and realism, kept in productive tension.

The costumes (Sebastian Alphons) move in a similar direction. The protagonist, thrown butt naked into the first act (dramaturgically unnecessary, though undeniably efficient in underscoring Wozzeck’s humiliation at the hands of his superiors), wanders about in a shabby blazer and socks, while the figures around him appear in black latex costumes, grotesque and abstract, ghoulishly made up so that they faintly resemble figures from a George Grosz drawing. The latter appears to be a popular device for visualizing Büchner; the wildly outstanding productions by Kriegenburg (Munich) and Andreas Homoki (Zurich) went in a roughly similar direction. Does one need a mute black angel silently overseeing the action? Probably not. It’s directorial bric-a-brac – tasteful enough, and not much of a distraction –but bric-a-brac nonetheless.

For all its dramatic and visual appeal, a Wozzeck still wants be sung and played – and here, too, Graz delivered handsomely. First and foremost, with the Wozzeck himself. Unexpectedly, perhaps: Daniel Schmutzhard. A perennial Papageno elsewhere, here unmistakably tragic on a smaller, more human scale – and all the more touching for it. That he does not possess the most powerful voice proves dramaturgically apt; one might even bemoan the fact (not seriously, though) that his voice proved almost too beautiful! Annette Dasch, by contrast, could not be accused of too much beauty at this stage in her career: her Marie occasionally sounded strained, slightly worn – but again entirely in keeping with the character (a spent, run-down prostitute), and dramatically persuasive throughout.

The vocal high point (in more ways than one), and perhaps the evening’s most gratifying surprise, was Thomas Ebenstein’s Captain: penetrating, incisive, clear, and more secure in the upper register than is often the case in this role. A pleasure to hear… if only he weren’t such a scoundrel. (The Captain, not Ebenstein.)

The orchestra did itself proud, too. Properly brutal when needed, and mostly precise; a few off-moments in the interludes were the exception rather than the rule. This came as little surprise, given how impressively Les Troyens had fared in Graz under Vassilis Christopoulos. Could it have sounded even rounder from the pit? More lush? Sure thing. But Wozzeck does not necessarily benefit from polish for polish’s sake. An impressive overall package then, this Graz Wozzeck.

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