Opera Australia gives us a rocking Carmen for the post-#metoo era
- Written by The Conversation
The story of Carmen, in the 19th century opera by French composer George Bizet, is, at its simplest, the story of a developing tension between Carmen, a stereotypically racialised woman attempting to break free from society’s impositions and her already-written fate.
Anne-Louise Sark’s adaptation takes that conflict much further.
Carmen (Danielle de Niese at the performance I attended) is a gypsy who works in a cigarette factory. She catches the eye of Don José (Abraham Bretón), who obsessively falls in love with her.
Don José’s love for Carmen devolves into what today would be succinctly called “toxic”. In a post-#metoo era, where we are all attuned to anti-racism teachings, Sarks gives us a contrast between the antiquated words sung in French, and the conscious effort to make those words exist in our contemporary world.
This Carmen is defined by many degrees of contrast. This rocking feeling of contradiction keeps on growing until the climax in the very last act.
A toxic love
The opening act begins in a square of Seville. Marg Horwell’s design sees the stage strewn with fluorescent confetti spread all over the floor (as if the Sydney Mardi Gras parade had just ended), a chain link fence colourfully crowded with love locks and flashy ribbons, behind which peeks a monumental but austere cross typical of most squares in that part of Spain.
There, a teenage couple – sporting polyester track suits – alongside a pair of young lovers similarly attired, and a string of children discordantly dressed stay in the background while one of the khaki-wearing guards begins to sing an aria to the protagonist, “La Carmencita”, also known as Carmen.
The sensation of the contrast between this contemporary setting and Bizet’s original opera is deepened at the beginning of the second act at Lillas Pastia’s Tavern.
The stage is crowded by a neon-filled atmosphere composed of camp portrayals of the Virgin Our Lady of Guadalupe and pop art images of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.
The charm of the background is enhanced by the stellar performances of not only the two main protagonists, Carmen and Don José, but by an array of supporting characters that truly elevate this second bout of the action.
A string of smugglers are at the tavern of Lillas Pastias, plotting how to bring about their criminal deeds with the help of Carmen, her close friends (incredibly played by Helen Sherman and Jane Ede), and critically Don José, who has just joined them.
Blinded by this “toxic” love, Don José cannot help but to increase the dramatic tension when he realises Carmen is losing interest in him in favour of the famous bullfighter from Granada, Escamillo (Andrii Kymach).
The tension is fortified by the visual conflict between the irreverent religious décor and the ongoing action, consisting of an unruly mob drinking and dancing until the early hours of the morning.
By the end of this second act, there is another turn of the screw in the depiction of Don José’s progressive possessiveness of Carmen, who in parallel begins to assert ever more explicitly the signs of her indomitability.
Exploding tension
The plot picks up pace in the third act, set in the smugglers’ hideout.
There, an Othello-like Don José spirals down, green with jealousy, in the face of an increasingly distant Carmen. The more Don José wants her, the more Carmen is filled with desires of freedom from her possessive lover.
This tense dynamic explodes in the fourth act.
Set in a little cottage right outside a bullring in Seville, it is at this point obvious Carmen and the matador Escamillo are lovers – anticipating Don José’s fatal deed.
Although the audience must have expected Carmen’s death at the hands of the spirited Don José, witnessing the act of her killing on stage comes as more than just an awaited unpleasant surprise.
It works to anchor the conflict at the core of Sark’s adaptation.
For a flash moment, we are pushed to peek beyond the fiction. Don José strangles with his bare hands the actress playing Carmen, her arm hopelessly punching her aggressor, her legs writhing in despair. Such an instant from our sad reality shocks through the stage, breaking the fourth wall.
The theatricalisation of Carmen’s killing is also the realisation that male violence against women is anything but a fiction – least of all one left in the distant past.
Paradoxically, the quick lowering of the curtain and the much-deserved long applause that follows serves to cut short the impact of the “real” death of Carmen shown on stage.
Perhaps, for the next version, a new director will find a newer way to make Carmen’s reality last beyond the many pleasures of watching this multi-layered drama unfold.
Carmen is at the Sydney Opera House for Opera Australia until September 19, then playing in Melbourne.
Read more https://theconversation.com/opera-australia-gives-us-a-rocking-carmen-for-the-post-metoo-era-261103
