Thaïs (review)

What does Thaïs (1894, revised 1897) have to offer besides the Méditation ? Judging from the DVD issued by Arthaus in association with the Teatro Regio, Massenet’s comédie lyrique bubbles with so much emotive drama that it should be an enigma to everyone why it fails to hold the repertoire. The libretto—adapted by Louis Gallet from Anatole France’s controversial novel (Thaïs, 1890), which in turn derives from a tenth-century legend—retells the parable of celibacy overpowering—and being itself overpowered by—the temptations of the flesh in quirky, “chiastic” fashion: the courtesan Thaïs dies a nun, while the shepherd of her soul, Athanaël, falls desperately in love. The moral lesson, ambiguous as it must be, is left to the spectator.

Stefano Poda, the director, choreographer, and designer of this Thäis for Turin, did not give in to the seduction of displacing the story to modernity, in spite of its contemporary attractions. But neither did he retain the setting in fourth-century Egypt. Rather, Poda’s Thaïs is timeless, postmodern, and above all esthetic, combining form, movement, and color with such cohesion that the singers and dancers fuse into one scenic body. The result perhaps lacks the psychological individuality expected from operatic characters, yet instead offers the one memorable image after the other—including eerie processions of cenobites and nuns (remember Meyerbeer’s Robert le Diable). Each such tableau is skillfully demarcated by a modulation in scenery and light, while recurrent symbols (such as crosses-annex-swords, black versus white dresses, and sculptural fragments) provide the necessary unity and parallelisms. One flaw is the excessive monumentality of the set framing Act II, tableau 1: a wall of sculpted eyes, ears, and breasts that undoes the intimacy of Thaïs’ encounter with Athanaël completely (“Je suis seul enfin”?); another is Poda’s feeble variation on tai chi for the Méditation and other ballets.

The cast is consistent, with the Georgian baritone Lado Ataneli (what’s in a name?) commanding the ranks as the black monk Athanaël. Barbara Frittoli is a credible Thaïs, although missing is the sensuality and fragility of Renée Fleming’s performance on the Decca recording (2000). Less forgivable is Frittoli’s hazy French diction, but luckily, the DVD is equipped with a choice of subtitles (English, German, French, Spanish, Italian, and Japanese). Alessandro Liberatore would be up to the task of incarnating Thaïs’ suitor Nicias if it wasn’t for the excessive vibrato constantly blurring his timbre. Praiseworthy, on the other hand, are the choruses prepared by Roberto Gabbiani, and the duets sung in the ‘Alexandrie’ tableau and ‘Charmeuse’ divertissement by Eleonora Buratto (Crobyle) and Ketevan Kemoklidze (Myrtale). Gianandrea Noseda’s conducting, finally, does full justice to the exotic, almost Debussyan qualities of Massenet’s musical imagination.

This DVD was originally captured for television by Rai. It represents the performance very well, offering sound in either PCM stereo or Dolby Surround 5.1. Perhaps video producer Tiziano Mancini should have chosen his camera positions more thoughtfully: at certain times, gaping openings (découvertes in Belle Époque stage jargon) and other scenic secrets are revealed. But consider the grandeur of Poda’s staging, add two hours of thrilling music, and you’re in for a treat.