The Cunning Little Vixen, Glyndebourne Festival Opera | Opera reviews, news & interviews
The Cunning Little Vixen, Glyndebourne Festival Opera
Meeting of animal and human worlds has the right earthiness in Melly Still's production
Glyndebourne nature, it seems, runs along as smoothly as the much discussed new wind turbine on the hill. Within the theatre, though, all is flux: director Melly Still and Vladimir Jurowski, conducting an incandescent London Philharmonic Orchestra, show just how flexible it's possible to be with the viciousness and the vivacity in Janáček's kaleidoscope of birth, copulation, death and a redemption of sorts in celebration of the natural order.
What the composer challengingly called "a merry thing with a sad end" is not, as some past productions have played it, an animal fable for children. Vixen Sharp Ears is taken away from her natural habitat by the gruff Forester, creates murderous mayhem at his lodge, mates, breeds and dies of unnecessary bravado facing the barrel of a poacher's gun; all this can be comprehended and even accepted by kids. They're less likely to be impressed by ageing humans grappling with illusions and disillusionment - a downward spiral from which the Forester, unlike his village pals, eventually escapes by going back to nature.
At Glyndebourne there is no disappointment in the shift of mood from natural life around the central tree of Tom Pye's magical designs to grumblings down the pub. Jurowski paces his diaphanous orchestra perfectly from a light and airy start, woodwind glinting through leafy strings, to the surges of rapture for the Vixen's dreams of girlhood and an even more passionate rhapsody - what Janáček meant by it, who knows, but it's gorgeous - for the apparently disgruntled Forester once his catch has got away. The belated unleashing of the composer's more baleful sounds in his eerie writing for lower brass is chillingly realised as poacher Harasta (William Dazeley) stalks the forest at the beginning of the eventful last act.
Rightly, the showiest energy belongs to the vulpine members of the cast. Lucy Crowe's restless Vixen is a wild child quick to assert her independence. The lustrous stops this gifted lyric soprano is able to pull out in a half-animal, half-human kind of courtship, where the earthiness is in the text and a deeper love-music glows in the orchestra, find their match in Emma Bell's ardent bohemian Fox. The Forester of veteran Sergei Leiferkus (pictured right) makes a different journey from brusque appropriation of nature to a mellow sense of reconciliation with it. Leiferkus can still rise to the lyric challenge of the great final scene in which his character perhaps learns to face death (his ultimate rest beneath the big tree is ambiguous, as it should be).
His sorry companions, doubled in the animal world as Janáček somewhat randomly decided they should be, are Mischa Schelomianski's lugubrious Priest and the Schoolmaster of Adrian Thompson, a model of clarity in tragicomic suffering. Terynka, the red-haired object of his affections with whom the Vixen is confused more plausibly than usual in this production, puts in an appearance towards the end when she marries Harasta and gets a new fox muff as a special present.
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