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Selim Pasha and the Flying Carpet Torino
Teatro Regio
11/08/2025 - & 9, 11, 14, 15, 16 November 2025
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart : Die Entführung aus dem Serail, K. 384
Olga Pudova*/Sofia Fomina (Konstanze), Leonor Bonilla*/Eleonora Bellocci (Blonde), Alasdair Kent*/Anthony Leon (Belmonte), Manuel Günther*/Denzil Delaere (Pedrillo), Wilhelm Schwinghammer*/Dimitry Ivashchenko (Osmin), Sebastian Wendelin (Pasha Selim)
Coro del Teatro Regio, Plisse Trabacchin (Chorus Master), Orchestra del Teatro Regio, Gianluca Capuano (Conductor)
Michel Faui (Stage Director), Tristan Gouailler (Reprisal Stage Director), Antoine Fontaine (Sets), Antoine Belugou (Costumes), Joël Fabing (Lighting)
(© Mattia Gaido)
Since the turn of the last century, Mozart’s Die Entführung aus dem Serail has ceased to be produced with the same frequency as in earlier decades. This is despite the fact that after the three Da Ponte operas (Le nozze di Figaro, Don Giovanni and Così fan tutte) and Die Zauberflöte, it’s his fifth most popular opera. Even his Graeco‑Roman operas, Idomeneo and La Clemenza di Tito, appear more frequently at opera houses worldwide. The reason is due to the relative triviality of the subject matter and to stereotypes that are now deemed politically incorrect. And this, notwithstanding that at the work’s conclusion, the magnanimous Pasha Selim appears in the best possible light.
To better understand (and stage) this opera, it must be placed in its proper historical context. Though the Ottoman Turks had been an existential threat to the Habsburgs and almost invaded Vienna in 1683, substantial changes had occurred by 1782, the year Die Entführung aus dem Serail was premiered at Vienna’s Imperial Court Theatre (Burgtheater). Firstly, the Ottomans had declined and were on the retreat ever since their defeat by an ascending Russian Empire. The Russians had seized Ottoman territory on the Black Sea and in the Caucasus. The Ottomans were further destabilized by Russia’s support of independence movements by Christian Orthodox subjects within the Ottoman Empire. By the late eighteenth century, the Empire had acquired the sad title of “The sick man of Europe” and was no longer seen as a threat.
In the 1600 and 1700s, The Enlightenment had started sweeping Western Europe, leading to reforms and in some cases to revolutions. The death of absolute monarch Maria Theresa (1717‑1780) saw the succession of her reformist son, Joseph II, who attended the premiere of Die Entführung aus dem Serail. He was the first monarch to recognize the equality of religious minorities in the (then very Catholic) Habsburg Empire. Unlike France, Britain, Spain, the Kingdom of Naples, Prussia, Bavaria and Saxony (the major Western European powers of the time), the Habsburg Empire was a virtual mosaic of various nationalities and religions, including sizable Orthodox, Protestant and Jewish minorities. Recognizing these as equal in the eyes of the law was both courageous and revolutionary.
Mozart, together with his librettist Gottlieb Stephanie (1741‑1800), presented Emperor Franz II with a vision of the East influenced by The Enlightenment. French director Michel Fau’s conception of the work emanates from this premise. The production by the Opéra de Tours was first produced in French at the Opéra Royal de Versailles. The ravishing sets presented an idealized vision of the “East,” in sharp contrast to the colonialist “orientalist” vision of a chaotic uncivilized Orient (hence, in need of being civilized, while its resources are plundered).
Antoine Fontaine’s sets were strikingly beautiful, though as in most “orientalist” opera, Islamic styles are a hodgepodge, from Morocco to Indonesia. The actual setting is meant to be a coastal town in the European part of the Ottoman Empire, in Turkey, Greece, Albania or Cyprus. Yet the gates of the Pasha’s palace were in Andalusian or Moroccan style, while two minarets in the background were in Mughal (Indian) style. Its stucco ceiling was in Anadalusian style, reminiscent of Granada’s Alhambra. Authenticity is to be commended in opera, but evidently, setting the mood is the priority. As few in the audience could hope to distinguish between these styles, authenticity took a back seat.
The harmoniously geometric sets were aesthetically pleasing, a blend of the Orient and the West. The symmetry is enhanced by the use of repeated sequences of hanging lamps, creating the illusion of the infinite (as in the great mosque of Cordoba). At one end of the palace’s sitting room is a window overlooking a harbour, reminiscent of the painter Canaletto (1697‑1768), suggesting the location is on the western coast of Albania or Greece. Antoine Belugou’s colourful costumes were as pleasing as the sets, evocative of the exotic Sindbad films. One felt transported to the fairytale world of One Thousand and One Nights.
There was even a clin d’œil to Giorgio Strehler’s historic 1965 Salzburg production. Joël Fabing’s excellent lighting produced a warm atmosphere. At pivotal moments, lighting was manipulated to produce the effect of Javanese shadow puppetry. This helped create tension in the (thus far) smooth narration.
After Selim Pasha’s threats and just before “Marten aller Arten,” the walls of the palace retracted to constrict space for Konstanze. The huge window overlooking the harbour (symbolizing freedom) becomes smaller and more distant, hinting at her despair. At that moment, a spotlight guides her aria “Martern aller Arten,” giving the effect of a concert aria.
At the end of the opera, when the magnanimous Selim Pasha frees the four Europeans, despite the revelation that Belmonte is the son of the Spanish nobleman who’d ruined him and stolen his beloved, the quartet are joined by a chorus of Janissaries, who extol the virtue of the enlightened “Oriental despot.” The jubilant finale sees the virtuous Selim Pasha flying on a magic carpet, another clin d’œil, this time to the elaborate stagings of the past two centuries.
It’s to be noted that in recent years, some directors, including Lebanese-Canadian Wajdi Mouawad, have added a twist to the Pasha’s magnanimity, as in his Toronto staging. As Belmonte’s mother was once Selim Pasha’s betrothed, the latter surmises Belmonte to be his son – a valid hypothesis.
It would be hard to imagine a more magnificent staging of Die Entführung aus dem Serail. Could one also hope for an equally glorious cast? Not so fast.
In the rousing overture, exotic Turkish instruments were prominent, setting the mood for an evening of intoxicating fantasy. Italian conductor Gianluca Capuano, leader of Les Musiciens du Prince – Monaco, did a fabulous job leading the Orchestra del Teatro Regio, an excellent ensemble known for their Puccini, Verdi, bel canto and occasional German operas, such as last season’s Der fliegende Holländer, or French opera, such as Auber’s Manon Lescaut earlier this year. Baroque is rarely in their repertoire, yet under Capuano’s masterful baton, they evoked the spirit of the late eighteenth century.
Russian soprano Olga Pudova was the uncontested star of the evening. An excellent singer and actress, this Konstanze is a prized lover that Belmonte would travel to the end of the world to rescue, and one that Selim Pasha would be compelled to treat like a queen. Vocally, she was up to the role’s technical challenges. Her Act II “Martern aller Arten” was the highlight of the evening. She aptly conveyed her fragility in her Act I aria “Ach ich liebte.” It’s clear Pudova has often performed the role and undeniably owns it.
Spanish soprano Leonor Bonilla performed the soubrette role of Blonde with panache. It was a brilliant idea to have her stick to her fancy European clothes while Konstanze was in oriental garb. One could immediately see this Blonde had character. Her light soprano voice contrasted well with Pudova’s heftier voice. Her Act II aria “Durch Zärtlichkeit und Schmeicheln” was charm personified.
Australian tenor Alasdair Kent, heard this summer in Semiramide in Paris, was the weakest cast member here. He was inadequate in the aforementioned Rossini, and Belmonte is a still more demanding role; he struggled with its high tessitura. He was much more effective as an actor, showing both Belmonte’s passion for Konstanze and his jealous nature. His short Act I aria, “Hier soll ich dich denn sehen” was more successful than his aria “Konstanze, Konstanze, dich wiedersehen”. Act III’s “Ich baue ganz auf deine Stärke” was even more disappointing, with noticeable difficulty in delivering his high notes.
German tenor Manuel Günther was the ideal Pedrillo, vocally at ease with the role, as well as dramatically convincing. His Act III romance “In Mohrenland gefangen war” was charming. He convincingly conveyed his hesitation regarding the escape plot in Act II’s “Frisch zum Kampfe”. The ensuing duet with Osmin, “Vivat Bacchus! Bacchus lebe” was the opera’s most amusing moment.
German bass Wilhelm Schwinghammer was an amiably unthreatening Osmin. This is most likely part of Fau’s vision of the role, not indicating any shortcoming of Schwinghammer. His voice was more cantante than profondo, thereby reducing a degree of menace. His Act III aria, “O, wie will ich triumphieren” was well performed and effective, but truth be told, more amusing than intimidating.
Pasha Selim, a spoken role, was superbly interpreted by actor Sebastian Wendelin, who exuded charm and nobility. A more sensible Konstanze would have chosen him, especially given the underwhelming Belmonte.
To a large extent, this was the Entführung of a lifetime. I doubt I’ll ever again see such a visually striking production. Its captivating images may even persuade some to vacation this winter in Egypt or Morocco. Others may revel in their copies of A Thousand and One Nights. I suspect many more will listen to recordings of this absolute jewel of an opera. Pedrillo may sing “Vivat Bacchus”, but I will chant “Vivat Mozart.”
Ossama el Naggar
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