Perhaps one day we shall see and hear the ideal Lulu. In recent years Europe has become acquainted with Lulu the cute sex-kitten and Lulu the hardnecked man-eater. Finding the middle ground – where innocence and vulnerability complement the parasitical and exploitative side of her nature – has proved elusive. That is part of Lulu’s fascination. Catherine Malfitano’s debut in the role at the Bavarian State Opera in Munich suggests she has the potential to present the most rounded portrait yet – but she is kitted out in a staging by Jean-Pierre Ponnelle that cheapens the act.
Miss Malfitano makes the most of her well-proportioned figure at the start, swooping down a circus rope like a svelte lion-tamer’s assistant; and throughout the evening – in a succession of flattering wigs and chic gowns – she knows how to turn on the body language when it counts.
The fringe, the pouting lips and those wide, fetching eyes suggest the spoil child as much as the pierrot, but there is above all something unremittingly vulgar about her appearance and behaviour in the opening scenes that suggests equally well the revue artiste or call-girl. Her colours throughout are red and red. On these terms it is tempting to regard Lulu merely as a high-class whore who turns into a low-class whore.
Musically, Miss Malfitano’s performance shows more variety and intelligence. The voice is not as big as Karan Armstrong’s, but it is big enough. It is also more beautiful, consistent and accurate. She handled the role’s coloratura demands confidently, and her tonal sweetness helped to lift the lid on the swelling lyricism of the score.
In this, the orchestra was a willing accomplice. The conductor was Friedrich Cerha, who has been much praised for his realization of the full three-act edition of Lulu. Rarely can Berg’s score have sounded so lush, so undifferentiated or so slow: there was little trenchancy or psychological insight. What we heard was the colour and tenderness, the dreamy luminosity of slow-motion strings, the sheer beauty of music that sounded not at such odds with tradition after all: in some senses a revelation, but not a reading for the theatre.
Nor, contrary to expectation, did Ponnelle grasp all the dramatic possibilities. The chase in the first scene was a non-event; the knockabout humour of Act II was a letdown; Ponnelle’s imagination seemed to mark time in the first part of Act III, and the streak of unfurling back-curtains when Jack the Ripper strikes – identical to the Act II finale of Ponnelle’s Tristan production at Bayreuth – illustrated how easily he makes a cliche of his own work.
Like Gotz Friedrich’s production, the setting was updated to the 1930s (with stylish costumes by Pet Halmen) and we were treated to the unnecessary sight of Dr Schon’s fiancee. The set throughout was a semi-circular metal structure four floors high, each comprising a row of swing doors and connected by spiral stairs at the side: versatile enough to act as a giant jigsaw of Lulu’s portrait or a seedy London tenement. The black-and-white film which Berg calls for in the Act II interlude easily justified itself.
The cast was quite good. A more dramatic tenor than Jacque Trussel was needed for Alwa. Alfred Kuhn’s Rodrigo was a bald-headed brute of a wrestler. Hans Hotter and Astrid Varnay sang affectionate cameos. Brigitte Fassbaender’s Geschwitz was not given the profile she deserved. Franz Mazura sang Dr Schon with much of his old steadiness and authority. He did not have the right bourgeois-managerial composure at the start, but the scary surrender to Lulu’s emotional tentacles was superbly drawn.