Carmencita
Carmen, Carmencita…. Whichever you wish. That’s what our heroine says when Escamillo asks for her name. In this case it’s all Carmen all the time but the R in her name might be flipped, trilled, or uvular, depending on who is singing or speaking and when. The pursuit of “authentic” French style has variable results.
René Jacobs presented Carmen as it existed in 1874, written by Bizet but not yet in rehearsals, not yet subject to the revisions that happen in rehearsals. Interesting to hear Bizet’s first thoughts. But as with Verdi (but not Mozart) second thoughts are usually better. By 1875 Carmen was a tighter show. And had added its most famous number, shockingly missing here.
No Habañera. That’s the biggest difference. A rather Offenbach-sounding aria in its place. Other changes include the ends of the first and last acts and a number of vocal lines that sit lower here. Played in two long acts the opera lacks two entr’actes—unclear if they were already written and just cut for this production. Otherwise the opera is mostly as it has always sounded—minus the recitatives added after Bizet’s death.
The orchestra sounds clear and trim. The horns has some troubles. The wind solos are lovely. The conducting ranges from acceptible routine to quite annoying: Jacobs has no concept of breath and rushes cadences. A few times the singers audibly struggle to drag him back into reasonable tempi. They lose. Even so, the score is essentially indestructible and makes most of its effects.
Carmen is played by a tall and striking actress with a luscious voice and expressive face. She strikes the balance between femme fatale and free spirit well. She misses one moment: the beat before launching her temptation to run off to the mountains. Her intonation occasionally dips. And her Act 1 and 2 red dress reminds me of John Moriarty’s rule about characters who must never wear red (too cliché) (the other is Musetta). Then the black dress for the card scene just compounds the predictability. But she sings and acts and just stands there beautifully and convincingly, in a role that eludes many.
What to make of this José? A nebbish in Act 1, a delusional dreamer with a violent streak for the rest of the opera. He croons and shouts and runs out of shouting voice before he runs out of lines. His flower song was absolutely mesmerizing. But so much of it was off the voice, dramatically defensible but without the microphone probably inaudible (everyone, including the whole chorus, had mics).
Micaëla was terrific. Much smaller voice than is customary but clear and strong nonetheless. The way she interacted with José was so tender and genuine, most of all begging him to follow her, obviously both hoping and doubting simultaneously.
Escamillo was amusing. Full of himself in an artless almost childlike way. Zuniga was excellent, riding the privilege of his rank. Frasquita and Mercedes were vivid and charming. They read their fortunes in their cellphones. Whatever. Dancaire and Remendado were several degrees beyond vivid—they seemed to have strayed in from some annoying vaudeville production. And when did Remendado become so femme?
Semi-staged with no set beyond the stage itself and the pathway through the orchestra. Simple costuming. All quite effective, as was the videography. Enjoyable. But not Carmen. Carmencita, maybe!