I am blogging as I watch Khovanshchina on DVD. This is already kind of odd. My usual policy when it comes to watching opera – in the theatre, on DVD, wherever – is very much one of eyes front, don’t talk, don’t move, don’t breathe too loudly. Especially when it comes to Mussorgsky, about whom (I am told) I am just a touch obsessive. So yes, blogging while watching opera is possibly even more than kind of odd. It’s right into the realms of the highly odd.

The thing is, though, it’s not even nearly as odd as the experience of watching the DVD.

Khovanshchina is a very, very historical opera. This is not, as with many historical operas, a love story against the background of a given time and place. There is a love story; in fact, to my eyes there is effectively a love triangle, with the Old Believer heroine sharing a far stronger bond with the charismatic priest who guides her than with the fickle and unsuitable tenor who is her doomed love interest. (Vladimir Matorin brought that point home in by far the most compelling performance of the Bolshoi’s 2002 revival). But the romantic and personal aspect is dwarfed by the events of the time: the Streltsy revolt, the schism in the Orthodox Church and the accession of Peter the Great. The characters act out these great clashes on stage, in an idiomatic Russian that stinks of the 17th century from a mile off. This opera culminates in a mass suicide. This is not an easily transplanted story. And yet, the nice people at the Gran Teatro del Liceu in Barcelona (together with the lovely folks at La Monnaie) have attempted to transplant it.

They transplanted it to the 1950s.

When I saw the cover, with the army men with rifles aiming down at some fairly modern looking oppressed masses, my first reaction was something like “Oh no, not this again!”. But my second, immediately after, was “Wow, look at the cast!”. And I remembered the excellent, nicely abstract Boris Godunov I had seen at the Liceu and decided that very likely, this was worth the possibly discomfort.

I’m not sure yet. I am currently in Act 2. I have seen bodies hanging from nooses (the opening visual, in fact), and people being shot with cap guns, and people shooting off their own cap guns for no apparent reason. Ivan Khovanskii, the rebellious leader of the Streltsy, is in full Soviet style army dress; but Vladimir Ognovenko has the presence to overcome any outfit. Dosifei, the charismatic Old Believer priest, is wearing a black military overcoat with a silver cross and questionable facial hair. Vladimir Vaneev, unfortunately, does not quite have the presence to carry that off, and neither does he have the vocal weight for the role; he has a fine, relatively light voice which doesn’t fill out Dosifei’s impressive vocal line. Robert Brubaker as Golitsyn looks very much like a cardinal in his red cassock; if this is intentional, it is beyond unhistorical, and if it is unintentional… well. They have put Elena Zaremba, as the Old Believer Marfa, in a black leather trenchcoat, but with a black headscarf as a nod to her convictions. She has to perform her fortune telling scene without a cauldron or any other prop, staring into the orchestra pit as if she could read the future in the brass section. Nobody looks particularly sure of themselves, with the exception of Ognovenko, who is barnstorming to just the right degree. He seems to be acting in his own version of the opera.

Of course I will write a more thorough, balanced response once I have seen the whole thing. But for now, I am disconcerted and rather unconvinced. Ognovenko aside, this production and its cast seems to lack focus; and with an opera on this scale, not to mention a production that obviously aims to challenge the spectator, having one charismatic and centred actor on stage is not nearly enough. The confrontation between Dosifei, Khovanskii and Golitsyn, which is unrolling right now, highlights this rather cruelly: what should be the clash of titans is unbalanced to such a degree that it is frustrating rather than compelling. This may be at least partly due to the (to my ear) unusually slow tempo; another, larger part is due to Vaneev, whose performance lacks vocal and physical substance. Dosifei should be Khovanskii’s equal when it comes to charisma, if not his superior; here, he seems rather bloodless. It may be that the dynamic of the production will change as the action evolves. However, since this trio – which contains all the tension of the opera and the historical drama at its heart – is limping along with such difficulty, this spectator remains to be convinced.

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