Seventeenth-century opera is so seldom performed that Opera Atelier’s latest production — Marc-Antoine Charpentier’s 1688 opera “David and Jonathan” — should be required viewing for anyone with even a passing interest in the art form.
The fact that this same production premiered to acclaim three years ago at the historic Royal Chapel of Versailles — and returns there after this brief run at Koerner Hall — only makes it more special, especially during Opera Atelier’s 40th-anniversary season.
Unless you’re a Baroque music specialist or biblical scholar, however, it’s best to temper your expectations going in. While the music, dance and design elements are full of raised-pinkie elegance, this French opera itself isn’t the clearest or most dramatically effective work — at least to restless, jaded 21st-century eyes and ears.
The narrative comes from the Old Testament story about Saul (David Witczak), King of Israel, his son, Jonathan (Mireille Asselin), and Jonathan’s beloved friend David (Colin Ainsworth), the same humble shepherd who defeated the giant Goliath years earlier.
Before the opera begins, Saul — jealous of the young men’s friendship, and worried that David will one day overthrow him — has caused David to flee and take refuge with Israel’s enemies, the Philistines.
A brilliant warrior, David is worried that living with the Philistines, led by King Achis (Christopher Dunham), will mean he’ll eventually have to fight the Israelites and endanger his friend Jonathan. And so he persuades Achis to negotiate a truce with Saul. But Joabel (Antonin Rondepierre), the hotheaded leader of the Philistine army, is having none of it and secretly tries to suggest to Saul that David’s bid for peace is actually a trick.
And so it goes. Rumour begets battle, which begets bloodshed, which begets lots of mournful, achingly beautiful singing.
If nothing else, this production of “David and Jonathan” will seduce you with its music, performed by conductor David Fallis and the Tafelmusik orchestra with vigour and sensitivity, and sung with commitment by the company.
The chorus is employed particularly well, heightening scenes of joy (like the famous Triumphant March in Act 1) and sadness. This production also features several remarkable dance sequences, choreographed by Jeannette Lajeunesse Zingg with stately, graceful precision.
It’s in these dance scenes that Michael Gianfrancesco’s sumptuous, richly textured costumes are displayed to their best effect. And they’re all set off by Gerard Gauci’s set, which includes detailed tapestries as well as majestic columns and a staircase. Kimberly Purtell’s Rembrandt-worthy lighting lends the stage picture a feeling of doomed inevitability.
The soloists are excellent, particularly Ainsworth, whose clarion tenor and strong stage presence make him a natural leader. Asselin has a clear, bright soprano that blends beautifully with his voice. Witczak and Dunham have resonant, richly characterful baritones, showcased in a couple of standout muscular duets. And mezzo Mireille Lebel is a knockout in her early scene as a witch with the very cool name of Pythonisse.
The libretto doesn’t do the work any favours, however. There’s no reunion duet for the titular characters, for instance, and we never get a good sense of what their friendship/love is based on. (Scholars disagree about whether the relationship was platonic or sexual.)
Marshall Pynkoski’s direction could help things out, but it’s hard to get one’s bearings, especially in the opera’s confusing first half. He has some performers rely on certain gestures — Witczak, for instance, stomps around forcefully, suggesting Saul’s angry restlessness, and Rondepierre often wields a sword, evoking his character’s eagerness to fight — but it’s still difficult to figure out what’s going on, even if you’ve read the synopsis.
Perhaps a different colour scheme for the Israelites and Philistines would make the contrast between the groups stronger.
Never mind. Opera has never been about airtight plots and logic. It’s best to let the music and pageantry of “David and Jonathan” wash over you. If you want more, as the French are fond of saying: “Tant pis.”
