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Reviewed by:
  • War and Peace
  • Roger Pines (bio)
War and Peace. Sergey Prokofiev

War and Peace has been a "problem child" in the theater for decades, but no more: the Opéra National de Paris has gotten it right. I did not see this production in the theater, but on the small screen it is seemingly the performance of a lifetime. In my two "live" experiences of Prokofiev's monumental work, I have both times been overwhelmed by the first half but frustrated by the episodic nature of the second. In this Paris staging everything flows beautifully, the result being absolute consistency and coherence. The elements are all there for success: an extraordinarily talented cast, a dedicated and knowledgeable conductor, and a brilliant production team.

The conductor, Gary Bertini, and director, Francesca Zambello, have streamlined the work considerably. The overture included by Gergiev in his Philips recording with the Kirov has been omitted, and there are many cuts in the War act (I feel some regret over just one of those: Pierre's lines to Denisov about Natasha, just before the final chorus). In addition, the "Epigraph" chorus—the Russian people proclaiming themselves a match for the invaders—has been [End Page 745] placed at the end of act 1 rather than at the beginning of the work, making for a much more vigorous and musically satisfying conclusion to the Peace act.

The production must surely be the peak to date of Zambello's extraordinarily varied operatic career. She has always been brilliant in large-scale works, and it comes as no surprise to witness the excellent use she makes of the chorus, whether they are playing aristocrats, peasants, or soldiers; groupings and movement (to which choreographer Dennis Sayers has contributed mightily) are always inventive, and a "stand and deliver" style is used only when absolutely appropriate. Zambello shows in the Peace act, as well as in Andrei's death scene, that she also excels in the most intimate dialogues. The exceptionally committed performances she has drawn from all concerned are characterized by acting of refreshing spontaneity, intelligence, and detail.

It is hard to know where to begin in praising this cast, but certainly Nathan Gunn stands out as the tragic Prince Andrei Bolkonsky. The American baritone reveals in an onscreen interview that this is his first Russian role, but he commands every element of it. While reveling in the soaring romantic lines in which the role abounds, Gunn also embodies the gallant nobleman, enraptured first by Natasha's voice and then (in meeting her at the ball) by the girl herself. Painfully moving are the dignity, expressiveness, and floating vocalism of the death scene, much of which Gunn sings on his back on a cot, looking harrowingly battle-scarred. There and everywhere else he delivers his taxing music with extraordinary beauty and individuality of voice. Of course, it also helps greatly that he is in appearance a man for whom any Natasha would fall for head over heels.

Physically Gunn is ideally matched with his wide-eyed Natasha, Olga Guryakova (the two are unforgettably beautiful together in the ballroom scene, dancing the lengthy waltz with admirable ease). The soprano—who looks exactly right with her sylphlike figure, heart-shaped face, and flowing hair—gives a portrayal that would have enchanted Tolstoy himself. It will doubtless gain many new admirers for Guryakova, one of Russia's most accomplished singers at the moment. Not one gesture or facial expression fails to project truthfulness and involvement in what is vocally and dramatically probably the toughest role for "full lyric" soprano in the entire Russian repertoire. Guryakova's vocalism is not flawless—there is some spread at the top under pressure—but she has complete confidence, no matter how angular her vocal line. The listener capitulates instantly to her distinctively warm timbre, as well as to her exquisitely soft tapering of phrases. The demanding monologue is put over with exciting expansiveness of tone and total understanding of Natasha's complex emotional state (frustration at the Bolkonskys' coldness, desperate impatience for Andrei's return). Here is a remarkably sensitive artist at work.

Normally Tolstoy's Pierre Bezukhov seems disappointingly underwritten by Prokofiev, but so...

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