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Ulysses in Munich: A “Breth” of Fresh Air München
Prinzregententheater
07/18/2025 - & July 21, 23, 26, 29, 2025
Gabriel Fauré: Pénélope
Victoria Karkacheva (Pénélope), Rinat Shaham (Euryclée), Brandon Jovanovich (Ulysse), Loïc Félix (Antinoüs), Joël Williams (Léodès), Zachary Rioux (Ctésippe), Dafydd Jones (Pisandre), Thomas Mole (Eumée), Valerie Eickhoff (Cléone), Seonwoo Lee (Mélantho), Hélène Carpentier*/Martina Myskohlid (Alkandre), Ena Pongrac (Phylo), Eirin Rogneru (Lydie), Elene Gvritishvili (Eurynome), Leigh Melrose (Eurymache), Soloist of Tölzer Knabenchor (Un berger)
Chor der Bayerischen Staatsoper, Sonja Lachenmayr (chorus master), Bayerisches Staatsorchester, Susanna Mälkki (conductor)
Andrea Breth (stage director), Raimund Orfeo Voigt (sets), Ursula Renzenbrink (costumes), Alexander Koppelmann (lights), Klaus Bertisch, Lukas Leipfinger (dramaturgy)
V. Karkacheva (© Bernd Uhlig)
Best known for his Requiem and his piano and chamber works, few are aware that Fauré also wrote two operas, both inspired by Greek mythology (though one, Prométhée, from 1917, is considered a tragédie lyrique, or grand cantata). The present work was created at the urging of the French Wagnerian soprano Lucienne Bréval, who introduced Fauré to young poet and dramatist René Fauchois (1882‑1962), who’d just finished the libretto to a five‑act opera, Pénélope. Preoccupied with his job as Director of the Paris Conservatoire, Fauré insisted on shortening it to three acts and of eliminating Télémaque, Pénélope and Ulysses’s son, from the story. It took Fauré six years to compose Pénélope, which premiered in 1913 in Monte‑Carlo and a few months later at Paris’s iconic Théâtre des Champs‑Elysées. Initially well‑received, it was soon eclipsed by the succès à scandale of Stravinsky’s infamous ballet Le Sacre du printemps, which premiered three weeks after Pénélope, and at the same venue. The theatre went bankrupt a few months later, and the opera’s sets were sold off. The opera was promptly forgotten, only to be occasionally revived, when dramatic sopranos with the necessary voice and temperament are available.
I’m pleased to report that the present performance was no less than a musical revelation that will hopefully reestablish the work in the repertoire. Twentieth century French opera is so different in style and sensibility from Italian and German operatic idioms that few nowadays are performed, with the near miraculous exception of Debussy’s Pelléas et Mélisande (1902).
Fauré had travelled to Bayreuth to hear Parsifal, and had also attended a Ring cycle in Munich. Wagnerian influence is palpable in Pénélope, namely for the absence of discernable arias and his extensive use of leitmotifs, one for the character of its namesake and another for Ulysse. Unlike Pelléas et Mélisande, there is much singing in Fauré’s opera.
The eponymous role is a killer, demanding either a dramatic soprano or a mezzo. As Pénélope sings a good deal of the time, the opera requires a performer with huge charisma, which explains the opera’s rarity.
Russian mezzo Victoria Karkacheva was the perfect choice for the role, despite her age. She’s only thirty years old, and the story calls for a Pénélope who has been waiting for Ulysse for twenty. Heard recently as Olga in Christof Loy’s Eugene Onegin in Madrid, Karkacheva managed to make Tatiana’s sister a major character in the opera, which was no minor feat. Stunningly attractive, Karkacheva is endowed with a beautiful, light distinct mezzo with a pleasing facility in her upper register. Her French diction was surprisingly good, and she managed to convey the Queen of Ithaca’s exasperation with her parasitic suitors while maintaining regal pride. She was portrayed as sad, but never despondent, and a naturally noble woman.
American tenor Brandon Jovanovich’s Ulysse was a true tour de force. For a dramatic tenor too often wrongly accused of lack of subtlety due to his huge voice, Jovanovich impressed in every respect, and in perfectly French style. This was not limited to his excellent diction. It was as if he’d had masterclasses with Alain Vanzo (1928‑2002) or Jacques Jansen (1913‑2002), the former a veteran Ulysse and the latter the greatest Pelléas ever. His Gallic flair was not limited to his enunciation; it was also in his phrasing and declamation. Almost a decade ago, in his portrayal of Enée in Les Troyens in Chicago, Jovanovich had already demonstrated a natural affinity for the French repertoire. Heard two seasons ago as Michele in Puccini’s Il tabarro in Barcelona, and as Siegmund in Die Walküre in Chicago a few years ago, this dramatic tenor’s powerful voice is a natural marvel. For this role, at times he had to modulate almost to a whisper. At moments of rage and triumph, especially in the opera’s finale, his clarion tenor easily cut through the huge orchestral sound.
Unlike two weeks earlier, when she conducted a pedestrian and overly rapid Le nozze di Figaro, also in Munich, Finnish conductor Susanna Mälkki seemed much more involved here. The result was a fluid and highly dramatic interpretation that was an essential part of this glorious performance.
The smaller roles too were well cast, whether the maids, the suitors or the old swineherd Eumée. Though supposedly an old man present at Ulysses’s birth, Eumée was sung by 23‑year‑old British baritone Thomas Mole, who astounded with his warm, virile voice. His diction was such that his every word was clearly understood. Watch out for this young man; he will take the opera world by storm.
Of the suitors, two stood out: French-Guyanese tenor Loïc Félix as Antinoüs, and Canadian tenor Zachary Rioux as Ctésippe. All the suitors, these two in particular, managed to convey different personalities that made these secondary roles memorable. Director Andrea Breth assured they would not be portrayed as interchangeable monsters.
Breth’s take on Pénélope was brilliant. She conveyed the essence of the faithful wife, wise queen and resourceful woman. By moving the action to the present, this Pénélope became a real person, not a mythological character. During the orchestral prelude, the opera opened onto a gallery with Grecian statues in a museum. A man, who we later discover is Ulysse, and a frail old woman in a wheelchair pushed by her husband are ambling through the gallery. The same image is repeated in Act II, though this time the woman is replaced by Ulysse in the wheelchair, and the old man pushing the chair is replaced by Pénélope. The double transposition is a brilliant metaphor for conjugal love and loyalty, achieved elegantly and discreetly. It’s also perfectly suited to the action in Act II, where Queen Pénélope has a chat with the old beggar who, unbeknown to her, is Ulysse in disguise.
In Acts I and III, a revolving stage was used to compartmentalize the action and the characters. In Act I, three adjacent rooms are shown: in one room the sleeping maids lament their fate of being born poor but also Pénélope’s procrastination in taking a spouse; in the second room, other maids are performing domestic tasks. This was presented in slow, stylized fashion, reminiscent of the hand movements of the nymphs in the original choreography for the ballet L’Après‑midi d’un faune, which may be an unconscious clin d’œil to Grecian Antiquity. Finally, the five suitors are in a third room, dressed as 1920s mafiosi.
By presenting the characters in different rooms, Breth created distance – between servants and mistress, and above all between Pénélope and her unwanted suitors. The rowdy suitors were revolting, though they could have been worse. Breth is a smart director, and knows that excess has the opposite effect. By dressing them as Mafiosi, they’re already reprehensible. Having them order the palace’s best wine, as if paying customers in a tavern, showed how parasitic they were. Having them fondle the maids made one guess what else they might do. Imagining is more powerful than seeing.
Likewise, the final butchering of the suitors is achieved with minimum gore. Again, in three compartmentalized rooms, we see Pénélope in one, a suitor with a knife in another, and the carcasses of five calves, suspended on hooks. The obvious image is that the suitors ordered the butchering of livestock in preparation for the Queen’s wedding to one of them. The subconscious image is of five carcasses for the soon-to-be-butchered suitors; an awful image, yet averting gratuitous gore.
The rooms kept moving and we saw an acrobat holding Ulysse’s bow with her feet, shooting an arrow. In an adjacent room, Eumée and the shepherds join arms, ready to kill the suitors. In yet another space, the five suitors replace the hanging ones, indicating their massacre.
In the finale, the two leitmotifs of Pénélope and Ulysse blended, while the orchestra soared gloriously, together with the chorus of shepherds, maids, king and queen. It was an appropriately euphoric finale for a caringly resurrected treasure.
Ossama el Naggar
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