Rossini à la Nico – The Petite Messe solennelle at the Opéra Comique, Paris

For a few years now Paris's Opéra Comique has structured its monthly programme of shows around a centrepiece production, meaning it often has wonderful surprises up its sleeve. So it was at April's festival, during which audiences could discover a unique and remarkably intelligent production, albeit one that was potentially confusing for a few spectators. The Berlin-based theatre company and director Nicola Hümpel presented a new take on Rossini that surpassed even the month's centrepiece (“La Muette de Portici”). On tour in Europe following its premiere at the Weimar Arts Festival last September, this Petite Messe was unfortunately only in Paris for two nights. The stage, designed by Oliver Proske, is a triumph, and although at first glance it seemed to be a little squeezed into the venue at Rue Favart, this impression quickly faded in the face of the overall coherence of the production. An extremely curious, Fassbinder-esque figure dressed in a hood and sunglasses and a second figure by the name of Benedikt (yes, Benedikt!) represent the clash of faith and reason in this staged version of the work. Nicola Hümpel permits herself a few dialogues as an addition to the score, which, as harmless as they may seem, are never just idle chitchat (by turns in German and English, with a bit of French thrown in). One couldn't really claim that Hümpel's view of things embraces religious rituals (the mystery of the Eucharist is viewed rather mockingly), but neither could one attribute her vision to the delight she may take in “shocking the bourgeoisie”. The director is intimately acquainted with the New Testament and she returns to it again and again for inspiration in tackling Rossini's oeuvre. This results in a performance which flows with astonishing ease and is singularly hard to put into words. Perhaps it suffices to mention the two semicircular stage elements which whimsically signify first Jesus's walking on water and subsequently – now standing on end and propped up against each other – the passing through of a narrow portal, an image that is cheekily reminiscent of the metal detectors we walk through in security checks. At the end of the evening, as the Agnus Dei is heard, all the singers and performers are once more to be found lying on the stage, eyes directed towards heaven, arms stretched out wide and imploringly, then vengefully clenched into fists: an image that beautifully reflects the spirit of this Petite Messe solennelle, balanced between faith and scepticism, spirituality and materialism. The twelve singers (including soloists Laura Mitchell, Ulrike Mayer, Milos Bulajic and Nikolay Borchev) prove to be the equals of the four performers and dancers. You could nitpick if you wanted to, but it is much more important to emphasise the degree to which all those involved are integrated into Hümpel's scheme – including the great pianists David Zobel, SooJin Anjou (grand piano) und Jan Gerdes (reed organ) and the conductor Nicholas Jenkins, all of whom are protagonists in this subtly drawn production.

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