Review: JENŮFA, Royal Ballet And Opera

It’s a mistake to dismiss Claus Guth’s production of Janacek’s Jenůfa as symbolically overwrought and interminably grey. Look closer and you’ll discover dualities and colour under beguiling appearance.

Pregnant and abandoned by her lover Števa, Jenůfa’s stepmother Kostelnička, commits to an unthinkable decision: sacrificing Jenůfa’s infant baby to save her reputation. Love and violence are entangled until indistinguishable. In the second act Jenůfa tucks herself into a metal cage made of upturned bed frames. Trapped by the claustrophobic confines of motherhood and the paranoid shame of a child born out of wedlock, but viewed from another angle her makeshift enclosure shelters and protects her from the rigid morality of her village community.

Guth’s monochrome production is not so much set in a physical place but within Jenůfa’s tormented psyche. Faceless townspeople clad in black menacingly orbit her from the shadows of Michael Levine’s set. Surrealist elements emerge as if they have crawled out from within the production’s dark subconscious: A human-sized crow stalks the stage, either a portentous omen of death or another creature longing to spread its wings and find freedom.

Corinne Winters’ Jenůfa grounds the revival in aching humanity, tenderly ramping up her silky vocals as desperation takes hold. But the production’s strength lies in the complexity and fortitude of its supporting roles. Karita Mattila’s Kostelnička is the real driving force, filling the space with pulsating torment as she blurs the line between affection and cruelty. Nicky Spencer’s Laca finds potent consolation in his narrative redemption, rakish bravado blossoming into stern maturity as eventual Jenůfa’s lover, robust vocals helming his ossifying physicality.

Expectations are running particularly high for conductor Jakub Hrůša. He does not disappoint playfully drawing out the earthy vivacity of the score’s folk inspiration but deftly undercutting it with punchy dramatic efficiency. The real emotion sparks from the score’s rich tonality – Janacek torments us, offering fleeting glimpses of summer light during Jenůfa and Laca’s wedding, only to swallow it in the icy wind of the narrative’s nasty conclusion. You get the sense that Hrůša is holding back from exploring the grimy depth with full force. Perhaps he is warming up, getting a feel for the space before he takes the reigns as Music Director in Autumn.

Jenůfa plays at Royal Ballet and Opera until 1 February

Photo Credits: Camilla Greenwell

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