…though it’s titled Selma Jezkova, after the central character of the Lars von Trier film.
The story has the key operatic element – a tragic heroine – and a Nordic noir brutality that’s quite ideal for the often-fearless Royal Danish Opera (one of the co-commissioners) and modernist composer Poul Ruders, who has taken on difficult subjects such as The Handmaid’s Tale. I resisted seeing the Dancer in the Dark film before viewing the just-released DVD (Dacapo) of last September’s world-premiere production. Any opera must stand on its own.
Besides, those who seek it out on DVD – as well as the July 29 performance at the Lincoln Center Festival – aren’t those who couldn’t get enough of what is often described as a soul-wrenching film. Or those with fond memories of Bjork’s performance as the single mother who shoots her landlord when he tries to steal the money she has saved for medical treatment of her son’s failing eyesight. The main draw is Ruders: Living composers don’t get any more important.
Compact, intermissionless and with a 70-minute running time, the opera boils its story down to essentials, so much that it assumes audiences will have the right sympathies walking in. Encountering it cold, I didn’t love the piece but was definitely engaged by its almost ritualistic enactment of a morality tale.
It begins at the mother’s funeral in which her son pulls her corpse out of the coffin and then (in the ultimate grief fantasy) sees her come back to life – but not really, since the story is being re-experienced as a flashback. The church seen in the opening scene is always visible in the background. When the landlord appears, his clothes are already stained with the gunshot wounds she will soon inflict. Such is the difference between story telling in Puccini’s time versus our post-Brechtian age: In a good Puccini performance, Butterfly might not stab herself (or so we hope), but in Selma Jezkova, belief is never suspended. We never forget where this is headed. It’s Sophie’s Choice with pre-ordained decisions – and better pace.
It’s an issue opera. When put on trial for her landlord’s murder, Selma fails to defend herself, and is concerned only that her savings be preserved for her son’s treatment. The dilemma is this: Does her son need a mother more than he needs eyesight? I would ask if this has to be an either/or proposition. She would argue that it is: The son’s condition is congenital and has to be addressed immediately. She’s beyond hope. Her eyesight is nearly gone. Thus, Selma is all but groomed by fate for tragedy. The only counterpoint is her love of the carefree netherworld of Broadway musicals. Clearly, she is not the target audience for Poul Ruders’ opera.
Ruders writes tough, memorable music, as witnessed by the succession of fine recordings on the Bridge label. His unflinching, unresolvable dissonances in this through-composed score are well suited to the tormented inner states of the characters. As always, Ruders’ music requires extended digestion time. On first exposure, the one scene of unquestionable brilliance is the landlord’s death. He demands her life savings because his wife wants new sofas and he simply can’t say no to her.
He threatens her with a gun. They struggle, but he’s the one who is shot. As he begs her to finish the job – this is his deliverance from debt, impending foreclosure and fraught marriage – each word is spelled out in an isolated note, separated by brief silence and punctuated by a chord of similar duration from the orchestra. Time suddenly becomes measured, deliberate and stretched, as in moments of extreme anxiety.
The original cast under conductor Michael Schønwandt arrives at Lincoln Center mostly intact – most importantly Ylva Kihlberg as Selma. Her voice has strong reserves of power and she squints endearingly at the outside world. Too bad that the mean, nasty court prosecutor is a singer with a fey manner and lots of makeup. Well, that’s retro.
🙂