At the head of the late 19th-century Symbolist movement, poet Stéphane Mallarmé famously declared “To name an object is to suppress three-quarters of the pleasure of the poem.” This philosophy – whereby ambiguity should reign in literature, painting and, in the case of Claude Debussy, music – encourages open-ended interpretations and proscribes any form of certainty. No wonder Debussy’s Symbolist opera Pelléas et Mélisande has remained an enigma for performers and directors since its creation in 1902.
The new production by Canadian-Lebanese director and writer Wajdi Mouawad, which just opened at the Opéra Bastille, follows Mallarmé’s creed to a large extent. It resists the illustrative (though the videos by Stéphanie Jasmin sometimes mirror the text) and relies heavily on atmosphere, suggestion and ambiguity. It is very much the opposite of the Katie Mitchell version, which was restaged at the Festival d’Aix-en-Provence last summer with the same Pelléas, the ideally nimble and multi-faceted Huw Montague Rendall. Mitchell’s staging is grounded in cinematographic realism, emphasizing Mélisande’s confinement and victimization while denouncing Golaud’s physical and/or sexual abuse of family members.
Mitchell’s condemnation of Golaud is direct; Mouawad remains more open-ended. The only thing he condemns is “certainty,” which he says does not always equate with “truth” and is often at the root of violence.
Mouawad’s largely Canadian production team is made up of longstanding collaborators, including lighting designer Éric Champoux, whose use of an overall penumbra creates a premonition of doom. Feeble light barely penetrates the long shadows cast on the castle of Allemonde by generations of silence and suffering. In Geneviève’s words, “There are corners where one never sees the sun.” Even the brightest moments, such as the Scène de la Fontaine, Champoux only allows for a diffused glow.
Emmanuel Clolus’s stark yet porous set exists in an ever-shifting space between solid reality and an elusive dream world behind a curtain of threads, which evokes the opera’s most famous image – Mélisande’s hair. The curtain of threads, which the singers cross almost imperceptibly, forms a boundary between the seen and the unseen, the accessible and the unreachable.
Photo Credit: Benoîte Fanton / Opéra National de Paris
Huw Montague Rendall and Sabine Devieilhe, as Pelléas and Mélisande, in front of the beautiful projections of Québecoise artist Stéphanie Jasmin
Québecoise artist Stéphanie Jasmin’s poetic video sequences evoke a primeval forest and waterfalls. Sometimes overly illustrative, sometimes too close to Bill Viola’s famous videos of floating underwater figures, they are nevertheless central to providing clarity to the narrative.
Gordon Bintner embodies what Mouawad refers to as the “cycloptic” side of Golaud – his narrow, obsessive view that renders the ethereal world of Pelléas and Mélisande invisible to him. Bintner’s impressive physicality is enhanced by compensated heels, making him appear as a giant on stage. “Vous êtes un géant,” Mélisande exclaims in the first scene. His gargantuan traits underscore his dominance but also his isolation within the world of Allemonde.
One of the younger singers to take on the role of Golaud, Bintner is still exploring the psychological depths of the character, but he sings with remarkable vocal beauty and strength. In the 1990s, Belgian bass-baritone José van Dam, known for his subtlety, control and unmannered style set a new benchmark in the famous Claudio Abbado production and recording. Bintner, especially under Mouawad’s direction, combines this with a new vitality and physical intensity.
British baritone Huw Montague Rendall has performed Pelléas in multiple productions, and he is an exceptionally gifted singer and actor. His voice remains vibrant throughout, even in the higher range of the role, which often proves problematic for baritones. Sabine Devieilhe’s portrayal of Mélisande is ideal, her interpretation notable for its crystal-clear diction and tone.
Sophie Koch’s performance as Geneviève had moments of difficulty. The role, which requires an alto voice with lower resonance, did not align with Koch’s strengths as a mezzo-soprano, memorable in roles such as Charlotte in Werther or Kundry in Parsifal. Here, her phrasing lacked weight, and there were moments of instability in pitch. Jean Teitgen is regal as the sorrowful King Arkel.
Antonello Manacorda, who worked closely with Claudio Abbado, brings the same fluidity and atmosphere to the score that made Abbado’s 1991 Deutsche Grammophon recording so revolutionary. Manacorda maintains a balance between the orchestra and the voices, ensuring that the subtle textures of the music emerge without overwhelming the singers. His interpretation of the interludes captures the opera’s suspended, hypnotic quality, creating a seamless dialogue between sound and silence. His approach supports Mouawad’s Symbolist vision, allowing the music to serve as both an anchor and an enigma within the production.
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Denise Wendel-Poray is a Canadian/French writer, editor and curator holding degrees from the universities of Yale and McGill. Formerly a singer, she is author of books and essays on the relationship between art, theater and music.
