Critic’s Notebook: A Flying Dutchman from the Budapest Opera
A Pleasing-Enough Dutchman
The point was to come to Budapest and witness the Hungarian Premiere of Nixon in China, but en passant it only seemed fitting to stop by the opera house proper (Nixon took place in a different venue) for a Flying Dutchman. It was celebrating its 140th birthday and, owing to it having been shut down for several years for comprehensive renovation work until its re-opening in 2022, I had never actually been. High time to change that, after all, it’s one of the finest examples of the neo-Renaissance style, a jewel among opera houses, perfectly sized (unless you want to make money with it), and now glowing again in its new-old splendour that had (allegedly) elicited the congratulatory grumble from Emperor Franz Joseph I at its opening that he “prescribed it to be smaller than the opera house in Vienna” but should also have “decreed that it not be more beautiful”. And indeed, it’s a truly grand opera house, all gilded, marbled, satined, and candelabraed. And yet just small enough to be intimate. (Far away enough to be ignored by the Western press, you’d think it’s the ideal stage for trying out new rôles for ambitious singers.)So the Flying Dutchman it was. Earlier that day, a matinee of Carmen had already been produced… and apparently exhausted the Budapestian’s hunger for opera that day: The attendance was somewhere between “low” and “pitiful”, but certainly below 50% capacity of the roughly 1000 comfortable seats (fitted with subtitle screens) that the new post-renovation arrangement provides. What the hardy Wagnerians got was a fine Dutchman with some good singing in a production by János Szikora that means to offend no one or maybe just doesn’t mean much at all. The costumes (Kriszta Berzsenyi) are toned down, except for the slightly more elaborate getups of Senta and the Dutchman (a red dress and coat, respectively, with matching concentric yellow and orange circles painted on them) and a brief appearance of the Dutch sailor’s chorus as clunky papier-mâché zombies. Incidentally, that was the production’s only veritable failure. When the Norwegians call on, invite, and tease the Dutchman’s crew, their delayed, eventual response is supposed to be positively overwhelming. Various directors have come up with variously successful means of creating that effect. Amplification of the voices, as done here, is often among them. But then it should really be overwhelming. Here, it was an electronically distorted whimper that never got particularly loud and certainly never intimidating. A damp squib. The cowering visible chorus on stage was shivering for no reason.
Everywhere else, the production did not stand in the way of the music or the singing, which some more conservative audiences (for whatever that’s worth) might consider a good quality. The set by Éva Szendrényi is highly economical; two, three props (large ropes, a large frame, a loom) and otherwise it’s an empty stage, framed by frames with fabric stretched across them, doubling as a projection screen and revolving doors for getting all the seamen on and off the stage.
The singing had a few positive surprises in store. András Palerdi’s was a very pleasantly understated Daland, subtle, with good pronunciation. A bit on the soft side but never trying to overcompensate. Like his Steersman, István Horváth, who seems a fine all-purpose character tenor, à la Kevin Conners, he could be easily found on any international stage in that rôle. Anna Kissjudit’s Mary with a huge, natural, controlled voice that easily rang throughout the round was quite something (little wonder she’s in demand all over the place, already) – although it was almost impossible to tell if it was really her that night, thanks to the ridiculous costume and overt-the-top wig. (Also: Cast lists or programs are not available; the opera has moved on to be all-digital in that regard. A cost-saving but heart-breaking measure.)
Eszter Sümegi’s Senta easily pierced the orchestral sound but the aged, slightly shrill quality was bound to impress more likely than charm. A sense of vulnerability was not in earshot. Her Dutchman, Michele Kalmandy, was in the “good enough” category, if just. Effort over effectiveness – with a muffled, accented, nasal, and soft-hued way with the music. That leaves Erik, István Kovácsházi, who strikes me as the Hungarian Opera’s own all-purpose tenor, who has spent decades with the company. It’s not that he didn’t live up to the treacherous rôle, which is so much more demanding than it seems important. Quite the opposite. Vocally, he was one of the more convincing Eriks I have heard in a while, always there when needed, from Zero to 60 in no time at all. But boy was he criminally let down – if not downright assassinated, by the costume department. Being a man of modestly advanced years, with a friendly face, notable jowls, and grey hair, Kriszta Berzsenyi thought it a good idea to put him into a baggy, olive green hunting smock or gamekeeper’s overall with three clunky plastic ducks dangling from his cotton bullet belt. That made Erik look like a 70-year-old Elmer Fudd, instead of a bloody cool cat (whatever the age) maybe somewhere along the lines of a “Peaky Blinders-goes-George Clooney” look. If we can’t take Erik seriously as the most eligible bachelor in town, the whole opera suffers.
Enthusiastic conducting from Martin Rajna, occasionally a touch indulgent, when forcing the tempo might have done everyone well though it also never dragged. The orchestra responded well, especially the brass, which went for it.
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