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The Mermaid of the Convent Düsseldorf
Deutsche Oper am Rhein
06/15/2025 - & June 18, 21, 29, July 1, 4, 8, 11*, 2025
Antonín Dvorák: Rusalka, opus 114, B. 203
Nicole Chevalier (Rusalka), Giorgi Sturua (The Prince), Sarah Ferede*/Katrin Wundsam (The Foreign Princess), Luke Stoker (Vodník), Anna Harvey (Jezibaba), Jorge Espino/Jake Muffett* (Gamekeeper), Kimberley Boettger-Soller (Kitchen Boy), Mara Guseynova (First Nymph), Elisabeth Freyhoff (Second Nymph), Katya Semenisty (Third Nymph), Henry Ross (The Hunter)
Chor der Deutschen Oper am Rhein, Patrick Francis Chestnut (chorus master), Düsseldorfer Symphoniker, Harry Ogg*/Srba Dinic (conductor)
Vasily Barkhatov (stage director), Christian Schmidt (sets), Kirsten Dephoff (costumes), Alexander Sivaev (lighting), Juliane Schunke (dramaturgy)
N. Chevalier (© Barbara Aumüller)
Though premiered in Prague in 1901, Rusalka’s arrival in the world’s major concert halls would need to wait another half century. First was London, in 1950; Venice’s La Fenice followed in 1958; San Diego in 1975; New York’s Metropolitan Opera in 1993. Its La Scala premiere was only two years ago. In the 80s, Rusalka’s “Song to the Moon” had become popular, thanks to its use in film and in recitals. This finally led to opera companies producing Dvorák’s most popular opera. The increased popularity of Janácek’s works has generally increased interest in the Czech operatic repertoire.
Dvorák’s most famous opera is indeed a masterpiece. The music is rich, and unquestionably influenced by Wagner, replete with leitmotifs representing the principal characters. It’s also a nationalist work, with Dvorák generously weaving in more than a few irresistible Czech folk melodies. It’s heartening that Rusalka now stands tall in the pantheon of established operatic repertoire.
The story of Rusalka is the Slavic fairytale of the siren, adapted by Hans Christian Andersen into The Little Mermaid. It’s out of fashion to stage fairy tales as such, so directors devise concepts that allow for realistic or modern adaptations. In Milan, Italian director Emma Dante chose to make the siren into an octopus who falls in love with the Prince. Presumably, this was to accentuate Rusalka’s alienation and her outsider status. Earlier this season in Berlin, Hungarian director Kornél Mundruczó went even further, making it a sci‑fi episode with elements of the class struggle. The present production looked promising, staged as it was by Russian Vasily Barkhatov, whose Der fliegende Holländer for Düsseldorf was a brilliant interpretation of that legend into a titillating psychological drama.
Barkhatov astutely set the Slavic mermaid’s fairytale into the world of the Orthodox Church. During the overture, we see a young child being dropped off by an elderly woman at a Russian Orthodox convent which also serves as an orphanage. The place is stern and austere, more Calvinist than Orthodox, with strict rules and corporal punishment. Vodník, the Water Sprite and Rusalka’s father, here becomes an Orthodox priest. The witch Jezibaba is now the convent’s Mother Superior. The three nymphs become three other orphaned girls who taunt and bully the introverted Rusalka. To escape this bleak universe, dreamy Rusalka dreams of a Fairytale Prince to rescue her.
Though Rusalka no longer dwells in a pond, water is crucial to her world. The basin where she was baptised as a child becomes her refuge from reality. Her ritual of immersing her head there and removing it, while shaking her long blond hair backwards, making a splash, was a striking recurrent image.
Determined to leave the convent and search for her Fairytale Prince, Rusalka asks for Mother Superior Jezibaba’s counsel. The latter curses her. Is that the reason she can no longer talk in the outside world, or is it her fear and lack of social skills? She meets a man on a motorcycle that she believes is her Fairytale Prince. But he’s just a barman who takes her to his establishment.
It’s time for Carnival – instead of the Prince’s palatial ball – and the patrons, dressed as animals, monsters and historical figures, celebrate at the bar. Unable to speak, Rusalka is shunned, and feels as alienated as she did in the convent. A sultry woman in a cowboy hat substitutes for the libretto’s Foreign Princess. She breaks Rusalka’s heart by having a one night stand with the barman/Prince.
A distraught Rusalka returns to the convent but Mother Superior Jezibaba will only accept her if she kills her seducer. Here, the transposition no longer works for it is hard to fathom Mother Superior, no matter how austere, inciting murder. Rusalka is now a homeless vagrant. Dumped by the sultry cowgirl, the barman goes looking for Rusalka. In the libretto, Rusalka’s embrace is fatal, but here, the barman dies of alcohol poisoning.
The first act, and to a lesser extent the second, were well conceived and the transposition worked quite brilliantly. Alas, it all crumbled in the final act. Despite the half‑baked staging, this was a highly enjoyable performance. Christian Schmidt’s sets for the convent were appealing, contrasting well with the run‑down bar in Act II. The revolving stage was used in Acts I and III to alternate between the convent’s interior and the vestry, which often served as a place in Rusalka’s troubled mind. Kirsten Dephoff’s ecclesiastic habits were authentically Russian Orthodox, and those for the Carnival in Act II were imaginative and zany.
American soprano Nicole Chevalier was an incandescent Rusalka. Her fresh lyric soprano had the right timbre to convey Rusalka’s innocence and fragility. Singing her marvelous “Song to the Moon” in the baptismal basin was a great idea. It made it prayer‑like, which it is. She was utterly convincing as a lost and tortured soul; one could not help but feel for her. She conveyed the character’s alienation better than any other Rusalka I’ve seen. Her basin ritual was a captivating image that’s now eternally seared in my memory. To recreate Rita Hayworth’s signature gesture from Charles Vidor’s Gilda (1946) without sexual undertones was indeed masterful.
Possibly because of their “modern” identities in this production, Vodník, Jezibaba and the Prince acquired lesser prominence than in other productions. Australian bass Luke Stoker was an imposing Vodník. His priestly identity rendered him sterner than a Water Sprite. His deep, dark voice conveyed both authority and occasional tenderness (as at the end of Act II).
Georgian tenor Giorgi Sturua, the Prince turned barman, sang and acted well, though as a barman on a motorcycle, he was more sleazy than dashing. As a man with an alcohol problem, his character became less sympathetic than originally conceived. Sturua’s lyric tenor was appealing and he had no difficulty with the role’s many high notes. However, the final duet lost its allure as played by a drunk barman in lieu of a languishing, remorseful Prince.
German mezzo Sarah Ferede impressed with her warm, velvety mezzo as the Foreign Princess. A floozy in a cowboy hat is much less imposing than an imperious royal. Nonetheless, she played the role of the nasty seductress to a tee.
Previously seen as Mary in the aforementioned Düsseldorf production of Der fliegende Holländer, British mezzo Anna Harvey was an imposing Jezibaba/Mother Superior. She had none of the maternal attributes some Jezibabas have; she was as austere as they come, and scarier than the most frightening witch. Her high mezzo, rather than a warm contralto, was the appropriate voice for such a nasty ice‑cold character.
The supporting roles were well performed, but other than the nymphs-turned-orphans, one could not tell which roles they’d morphed into in this new setting. Most likely, the kitchen boy and the gamekeeper were the barman’s mates.
Despite the incongruity of Barkhatov’s staging in Act III, this was an intelligently-conceived production. Thanks to excellent singers and to Harry Ogg’s masterful and attentive conducting, this was a memorable performance. Most impressive were the beautiful sets of the Russian Orthodox convent, and especially the enchanting voice and superlative acting of Nicole Chevalier. Her captivating hair ritual may even replace Rita Hayworth’s!
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