Manon

One century and a quarter after its premiere, Manon (1884) continues to hold the stage, inspiring scores of sopranos to reenact the innocent maiden's metamorphosis into femme fatale. Speaking to this enduring success is the recent release of no fewer than three DVDs (on Virgin, Deutsche Grammophon, and Arthaus) starring such celebrities as Natalie Dessay, Anna Netrebko, and Renée Fleming. By reissuing a classic production from the Opéra Bastille—it was premiered in June 1997, taped by France 2 in 2001, and first released by TDK in 2003—Arthaus perhaps played it safe, yet no opera fan will regret to have an audio-visual souvenir of Renée Fleming sharing the stage with Marcelo Álvarez (Des Grieux), Franck Ferrari (de Brétigny), and even the veteran Michel Sénéchal (Guillot de Morfontaine).

Musically speaking, the Arthaus Manon leaves little to be desired. Lopez-Cobos' conducting may lack the analytic precision of Barenboim's (on the DG version), still it is colorful throughout and in line with Massenet's delicate blend of opéracomique, grand opéra, and Wagnerism. The singing attains levels appropriate for the first stage of France, with Fleming delivering top renderings of "Adieu, notre petite table" (Act II) and "Je marche sur tous les chemins" (Act III, tableau 1), and Jean-Luc Chaignaud nailing the one highlight after the other with his piqué interpretation of Lescaut. Álvarez' performance is disappointing, though, for while the Argentinean tenor is blessed with a physiognomy akin to Des Grieux' creator, Talazon, his vocal qualities lag far behind, for example, Rolando Villazón's (on Virgin and DG).

Singing Manon is one matter, staging it proves another. The mixture of frivolous spectacle and heart-throbbing drama in Meilhac and Gille's libretto calls for a dizzying alternation of lavish tableaux (the "Hôtellerie," "Promenade de Cours-la-Reine," and "Hôtel Transsylvanie"), and solitary scenes (the "Appartement de Des Grieux," "Saint-Sulpice" church, and "Route au Havre"). Deflo and Orlandi appear to have elaborated on this utter discrepancy by combining dark, abstract architectures with brightly colored historic costumes, early dancing, and such anecdotal details as acrobats, commedia dell'arte characters, and Baroque dancers. Little in Orlandi's minimal galleries reminds us of the luxurious salons dear to the Belle Époque, but neither are we saddled with the unified background so endemic to contemporary production budgets. Quite the contrary: the continuous vacillations of Orlandi's sets—do we really need to see the stage shift every ten or so minutes?—can make one long for more unified, less gimmicky backgrounds. All the more odd, and contrasting in this respect, is the static frontality of the singers' direction, as if Deflo intended to read Manon back into its historical milieu, the Regency. Manon, for instance, is staged as an eighteenth-century prima donna, courting the Parisian "home crowd" with a showy performance that lacks the fourth-wall sophistication of, for example, Vincent Patterson's recent staging for the Los Angeles Opera. In short, the Arthaus Manon will no doubt provide meat and drink to the home video spectator, but die-hard Massenet fans may wish to complement this version with an alternative that hinges more on drama.