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Fabulous Faust! Lille
Opéra
05/05/2025 - & May 7*, 10, 12, 15, 17, 20, 22, 2025
Charles Gounod: Faust
Julien Dran (Faust), Vannina Santoni/Gabrielle Philiponet* (Marguerite), Jérôme Boutillier (Méphistophélès), Lioniel Lhote (Valentin), Juliette Mey (Siebel), Anas Séguin (Wagner), Marie Lenormand (Dame Marthe), Alexis Debieuvre & Léo Reybaud (comédiens), Julie Dariosecq & Elsa Tagawa (danseuses), Arthur Dreger & Alice Leborgne (L’Enfant)
Chœur de l’Opéra de Lille, Mathieu Romano & Louis Gal (chorus directors), Orchestre National de Lille, Louis Langrée (conductor)
Denis Podalydès (director), Bertrand Couderc (lighting designer), Eric Ruf (designer), Cécile Bon (choreographer), Christian Lacroix (costumes)
(© Simon Gosselin)
Faust might not be as popular as it was in its heyday but it’s still in the list of the world’s 50 most performed operas this season: interestingly, it is one place behind Gounod’s Roméo et Juliette, which is enjoying a current vogue. For a classic piece, Faust is actually very difficult to get right onstage: too much and you kill it off, not enough and its C19th sentimentality can become cloying. So, credit to director Denis Podalydès for striking the balance just right, with a new production seen first in Lille and headed to the Opéra Comique with the assistance of the Palazzetto Bru Zane. And, as a bonus, the version is Gounod’s original 1859 opéra comique, meaning dialogue and different musical numbers to the Faust you might already know, which usually has recitatives by Choudens and a musical conflation into grand opera.
Podalydès works with an almost bare stage: just a door for entrances and exits, a desk, a wardrobe. There is a revolve, to keep characters on the move and the scenes flow naturally into each other; for example, Faust’s transformation into a young man is played in front of us as his aged visage is literally peeled off. And the later acts are played out against what looks like the back of the sets, vast and bleak. It is all beautifully lit by Bertrand Couderc, who manages to downlight performers without making them look drained or ill, and atmospheric smoke is used with discretion. Christian Lacroix restrains his celebrated exuberance with elegantly‑cut costumes, crinolined heavy silk for Marguerite, sharp tailoring for the men, in muted hues apart from the soldiers’ blue jackets and pantalons rouges and a splurge of extravagant colour at the Walpurgis Night at the start of Act V. Within the simplicity lurks a complex production, constantly shifting. Character are sharply drawn and everything displays a light touch; no‑one strays too far from the traditional but it is not lazy, and Méphistophélès has a great time breaking the fourth wall and guying to the audience without ever quite descending into camp. Two actors discretely follow the soloists, often leaning in to hand, receive or move an item, intrinsic but not distracting. Also, two dancers underpin Faust and Marguerite’s relationship at key moments, with the woman remaining young and the man ageing, their appearances moving from courtship to graphically sexual. A clever touch is Marguerite’s child being older than the usual baby – a young lad of school age, strangled by her in front of us, a chilling moment. Being niggly about details, I even questioned the use of a screw top bottle used by the boy: wrong again, as the idea was apparently patented in 1810.
Musically, things match the stage. Louis Langrée’s conducting balances the gloom and doom with a certain buoyancy: as much as Marguerite’s music tugs at the heartstrings, Dame Marthe’s has an overt humour. Conducting without baton, Langrée’s precise opening chords herald a controlled reading, and he relishes Gounod’s orchestral weave – there are many moments of atmospheric woodwind, and the two harpists are given their moments, particularly in the sensuous scoring at the end of Act III. The orchestra plays exceptionally well, and the chorus is perfectly drilled and often thrilling. The edition is fascinating and if you know Faust well you will be constantly wrong‑footed as scenes often start as usual and then develop along interesting byways. A famous example is Valentin’s Act II aria, omitted here as it was composed five years later. But, lest one fear that the baritone has been short‑changed, there is a martial number for him in Act IV, stirring stuff. Also startling is the missing Soldiers’ Chorus as we generally know it, though a variant appears. The ear is constantly surprised and delighted.
The cast is truly excellent. Julien Dran certainly looks the part of a Romantic lead, tall and elegant, and his tenor is as equally refined. Along with beauty of tone, he has decibels, and his voice really rings around the theatre. He also has exquisitely natural phrasing and his diminuendo on the top C of “Salut, demeure chaste et pure” is reminiscent of Di Stefano’s legendary 1950 in‑house recording. Jérôme Boutillier’s Mephistophélès has a ball, his expressive features conveying as much as his voice as he weaves mayhem around his victims: a baritone rather than the usual bass, he is vocally nimble and annoyingly amusing. The other baritone, Lionel Lhote as Valentin, has a more robust instrument, thrilling at full throttle, and he is a commanding presence, particularly in his death scene. Juliette Mey, still at the start of her professional career, is a pretty perfect Siebel, her fleet mezzo possessing a controlled vibrancy and a touching manner. Anas Séguin brings an easy charm to Wagner’s small role.
I have deliberately left Marguerite until last as she was a replacement. Vannina Santoni was ill and Gabrielle Philiponet took over in what is a killer of a role: it requires a great range of colours, coloratura, much thrust in the middle voice plus the stamina to soar at full throttle in Act IV and then the final trio, getting ever‑higher as you tire. Philiponet cleared every hurdle, even displaying a decent trill, and once some initial nerves were out of the way her tone bloomed. An affecting actress, she fitted in dramatically as though she’d rehearsed for weeks, helped in the dialogue by some well‑timed letters presumably quickly woven into the production. A remarkable achievement and gratifyingly recognised by the audience at her curtain call.
Francis Muzzu
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