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Flamenco and Tauromachy: An Authentic Carmen East of the Rhine Düsseldorf
Deutsche Oper am Rhein
06/08/2025 - & June 14, July 2, 12*, September 6, 13, 21, 26, 28, October 12, 2025
Georges Bizet: Carmen
Ramona Zaharia*/Anna Harvey/Ezgi Kutlu (Carmen), Eduardo Aladrén*/Ovidiu Purcel (Don José), Sylvia Hamvasi*/Luiza Fatyol/Anke Krabbe (Micaëla), Adrian Sâmpetrean*/Bogdan Baciu/Dmitry Lavrov (Escamillo), Mara Guseynova (Frasquita), Maria Polanska (Mercédès), Jake Muffett*/Jorge Espino (Dancaïre), Florian Simson (Remendado), Günes Gürle*/Beniamin Pop (Zuniga), Constantin Motei*/Roman Hoza (Moralès)
Chor der Deutschen Oper am Rhein, Gerhard Michalski*/Albert Horne (chorus master), Akademie für Chor und Musiktheater an der Johanneskirche, Justine Wanat (children’s chorus master), Düsseldorfer Symphoniker, Jordan de Souza*/Asher Fisch/Katharina Müllner (conductor)
Carlos Wagner (stage director), Rifail Ajdarpasic (sets), Patrick Dutertre (costumes), Fabrice Kebour (lighting), Ana García (choreography), Heidi Schwartz-Schütte (dramaturgy)
R. Zaharia, E. Aladrén (© Birgit Hupfeld)
Carmen is one of the most perfect operas, with an inspired setting, marvellous orchestration and vocal parts, and most of all intense drama. It was highly admired by no less than Gustav Mahler, who championed the work while Director of the Vienna Court Opera. It’s thought of as an indestructible work, a glorious stage success no matter what sauce it’s served in: a mezzo or a soprano Carmen, spoken dialogue or sung recitatives, set in its authentic Seville, during the Spanish Civil War, the Mexican Revolution or the circus. A case in point is Otto Preminger’s powerful film, the musical‑comedy adaptation Carmen Jones, set in the segregation‑era Southern U.S. In Germany, my expectations are muted due to the preeminence of Regietheater, which often means muddled ravings.
However, pleasant surprises do occur, and the most exhilarating production seen in ages awaited me in Düsseldorf’s Deutsche Oper am Rhein. The reasons for my joy are manifold but the spartan sets was not one of them, though I suspect the frugality was not for budgetary reasons. Venezuelan director Carlos Wagner was determined to deconstruct Bizet’s opera to its essence, preserving the bare minimum. The sets in each act were stark: obscure walls that varied in their state of decrepitude according to each segment: at their dirtiest, at Lilas Pastia’s tavern in Act II, and at their neatest in Act I, the outside wall of the tobacco factory.
Another surprise was the use of the Ernest Guiraud (1837-1892) sung recitatives, rarely used in today’s urtext‑oriented opera world. Firstly, dialogue in opera, especially a drama, interrupts the flow. Secondly, sung recitatives are quite melodious and fun. Thirdly, it’s absurd to have non‑native speakers of a language with difficult phonetics act in a language they haven’t mastered or can even speak. What was created for Paris’s Opéra Comique ought to stay there, as with French‑speaking singers and spectators, the acted dialogue makes sense.
Despite this diatribe against spoken dialogue in Carmen, the exceptional cast of this production boasted uniformly excellent diction. It’s hard to believe, but this performance east of the Rhine featured better French speakers than any I’ve heard in France or Quebec. Singers in smaller roles sounded more French than Macron. That was certainly the case for Turkish bass‑baritone Günes Gürle, as Zuniga, whose French was so idiomatic and his acting so excellent that – never mind opera – he could easily succeed as a stage actor in France.
The other marvel of this production is the director’s thorough understanding of the psychological profiles of the characters. For once, here’s a director who understands that Carmen is anything but a floozy, a nymphomaniac or even a serial seductress. She’s above all a free spirit, self‑aware, unconcerned about society’s rules and norms, and most of all, she’s a curious woman with agency. Her attraction to Don José is based on not having previously met a man of his ilk. He’s a shy, decent peasant from the Northwestern region of Navarra, in Seville for military service. Such a man may lust for a pretty woman with loose morals, but would certainly not fall in love with or risk everything for such a woman.
Romanian mezzo Ramona Zaharia captured a self-confident, sensuous and likeable Carmen. She’s neither monster, whore nor man‑eater. As such, the public can easily identify with her and cheer her on. Heard last season in Düsseldorf as Eboli in Don Carlo, Zaharia has a warm mezzo with a secure upper register. In Act I, her habanera or “L’amour est un oiseau rebelle” is crucial, not for its familiar tunefulness, but because it enables the singer to show what sort of Carmen she is. And that, she certainly did. This Carmen is strong‑willed, proud and playful. She doesn’t throw Don José a rose, as written in the libretto, but a cigar!
In a truly exceptional Act II, Carmen doesn’t play femme fatale when the just-out-of-prison José comes to Lillas Pastia. She’s confused, kicking her companions out, rearranging the chairs, placing a basket of fruit for her beau, like an ingénue on a first date. And it probably is her first day with a man such as José. Yes, this Carmen is a sensitive, vulnerable young woman who’s fallen for Don José.
She is also a corrupting influence, as she lives on the margins of society and will inevitably corrupt and destroy him. When Zuniga, officer of the guard and José’s superior, interrupts the quarrelling couple at Lillas’s, Carmen calls her smuggler friends who murder him and make sure naïve José is holding the trigger. In most productions he’s merely tied‑up.
Act II opened with the aria “Les tringles des sistres tintaient” and its ballabile rhythms. Though director Carlos Wagner did not opt for an especially Andalusian decor, he chose what truly defines Andalusia to present Bizet’s opera: flamenco. In his staging, Carmen works at the cigarette factory during the day and dances flamenco at night. Occasionally, she helps her companions Frasquita, Mercédès, Dancaïre and Remendado in their smuggling endeavours. It was a great idea to have Carmen sing her aria seated, while her four companions and two other couples danced.
Lillas Pastia’s tavern is a zambra flamenco, or what has been called since the 1960s a tablao, a locale where Flamenco is sung and danced. Spanish choreographer Ana García certainly knows the idiom, as the dancing for Carmen’s Act II’s opening aria would win respect at the best tablao in present day Seville or Granada.
Likewise, the choreography for the quintet “Nous avons en tête une affaire” was well done and contained elements of flamenco. Musically, this piece is decades ahead of its time. Canadian conductor Jordan de Souza brought out the the music’s impressive avant‑garde syncopation. His conducting of the opening of Act III was also riveting, as he managed to imbue a certain melancholy that rightfully augured doom.
Romanian bass Adrian Sâmpetrean had the right voice for Escamillo, a role often wrongly relegated to baritones. Escamillo, despite the brevity of the role, is not an easy one, as it requires both high and low notes. It’s truly a bass‑baritone role, and few baritones have ease in the lower part. Fortunately, Sâmpetrean has the high notes as well as the low. His “Votre toast, je peux vous le rendre” was brilliantly interpreted and elicited huge applause.
Zaharia’s interpretation of the scene with Don José in Act II, “Tout doux, Monsieur, tout doux. Je vais danser en votre honneur”, was quite brilliant. Vocally she’s seductive, but the moment José gets nervous hearing the bugles sounding retrait to the camp, she doesn’t immediately turn demonic, as do many directors. She’s more bewildered, trying to understand and to convince him to stay. Indeed, an honest, rule‑abiding man is a novel specimen for her.
Spanish tenor Eduardo Aladrén had less than perfect diction in the sung recitatives, but his diction in the arias and duets was quite good. He moves well on stage, has a strong presence as well as a pleasant voice. He convinced as a gauche provincial Navarro. Don José’s signature aria, “La fleur que tu m’avais jetée,” was moving and well sung, but the aria’s emblematic final note was somewhat underwhelming.
Amusingly, Lillas Pastia, owner of the louche tavern Carmen and her mates frequent, appears in this production. Usually, it’s merely a name. Here it’s a tall skinny actor evocative of Don Quixote. Curiously, he reappears in Act III dressed as Arlecchino with a fat female companion dressed similarly to the model in the painting Las meninas (1656) by Diego Velázquez (1599‑1660). Lillas Pastia/Don Quixote throws Carmen a deck of cards in which she sees her doomed fate. Then “La menina” throws a deck of cards to Frasquita and Mercédès, who start the card trio, “Coupons, jouons.” Azerbaijani soprano Mara Guseynova and Polish mezzo Maria Polanska contrasted beautifully with Zaharia’s powerful mezzo in the trio, where humour alternated with tragedy.
Act III, which showed the smugglers in action, revealed crates with both goods and human beings. The merry band of smugglers are more criminal than initially thought. Usually, the customs officers are distracted by Carmen, Frasquita and Mercédès. In Wagner’s production, the officers are captured and viciously tortured.
Hungarian soprano Sylvia Hamvasi was a touching Micaëla, sweet-toned and endowed with a lovely lyric soprano. Her Act I duet with Don José, “Parle‑moi de ma mère” was charming. She seemed more maternal than flirtatious, which is probably the kind of woman Don José really needed. Her Act IV “Je dis que rien ne m’épouvante” was poised and touching. Given her prudish and gauche style, she had no chance against Carmen.
In Act IV, the chorus was used in lieu of sets, nearly convincing the audience they were at the crowded gates of a popular corrida. Having used flamenco for local colour, Wagner resorts to tauromachy. The staging of the love duet between Carmen and Escamillo was the best I’ve ever seen. Wagner drew a parallel between seduction and bullfighting. From a certain perspective, both are arts of subjugation. While singing “Si tu m’aimes, Carmen... Escamillo, je t’aime,” Sâmpetrean and Zaharia danced sensually, each using a yellow faena, the cloth used in bullfighting. It’s usually red, but here it’s yellow, signifying jealousy, which makes sense, as both are highly desired by just about everyone.
Finally, we see José reduced to one of the men who butcher fallen bulls. He walks on stage with a bull’s head in his cart, a symbol of his own failed manhood. Carmen keeps the faena in her confrontation with José in a poetically-stylized final duet “C’est toi ! C’est moi !”. Again, this Carmen is not an over-the-top virago, but rather a sensitive woman who feels affection and pity for Don José. With such measured emotion, the finale became that much more powerful. Zaharia was impressive with her matter-of-fact enunciation “Eh bien ! Frappe‑moi donc, ou laisse‑moi passer” and “Cette bague autrefois, tu me l’avais donnée, tiens” with an impressive lack of excess that typically plagues this opera.
Astonishingly, I’d seen a production of Carmen by Carlos Wagner some six years ago in Oviedo, Spain, and it didn’t then appeal to me as this one did, even though in hindsight many of the same elements were present. It would seem both the director and this reviewer have changed over time, as this Carmen really spoke to me.
Ossama el Naggar
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