Photo: Björn Hickmann

Even in our operatic age of non-stop rediscoveries, it remains exciting to attend the performance of a previously long-forgotten, recently unearthed work, and doubly so to see it brought to life on the stage rather than just in a concert hall. The Oper Dortmund’s staging of Clémence de Grandval’s 1892 heroic epic Mazeppa, rescued from obscurity by Palazzetto Bru Zane, provided just such an occasion.

De Grandval’s opera marked the third collaboration between the German house and Bru Zane, following their 2021 production of Ernest Guiraud’s Frédégonde (posthumously completed by Paul Dukas and Camille Saint-Saëns) and the 2024 staging of La Montagne noire (by de Grandval’s fellow compositrice Augusta Holmès). If the Dortmund outing was no grand homecoming for Mazeppa, an opera that could only appear at regional houses but never made it to Paris during de Grandval’s lifetime, its staging was nevertheless a testament both to Dortmund’s daring and diversity of programming, and to Bru Zane’s success in cultivating fruitful artistic relationships. The dernière of this run could do both companies proud, letting the considerable musical qualities of de Grandval’s work and the prowess of the Dortmund house forces shine aplenty.

Indeed, most of the cast measured quite favorably against the starry lineup of the Bru Zane recording. (Regarding sheer vocal production, that is – the question of French diction was quite different.) In the title role, Mandla Mndebele cut a wholly convincingly heroic figure, showing off a noble, sonorous baritone that cut through the ensembles with ease, and softened to a charmingly gentle-toned Quelle paisible nuit in Act III. As Matréna, Anna Sohn, a veteran of Dortmund’s previous Bru Zane coproductions, was a revelation: her soprano’s timbre is sweet and luminous, yet with striking power and intensity, lending a steely backbone to Matréna’s somewhat clichéd figure. It fit well with the similarly headstrong scenic portrayal of the role, so striking a performance that it made for a strong argument for retitling the opera Matréna instead. Sungho Kim’s steely-edged tenor was sufficiently ardent as Iskra, though a little more stylistic finesse to his fearless singing, and a less overenthusiastic stage presence would have been welcome. Artyom Wasnetsov’s Kotchoubey was more commanding in physical than vocal stature, while Denis Velev’s Archimandrite, more hippie than patriarch, was suitably authoritative and, in line with the staging, rather slimy a religious leader. The Theater Dortmund’s Opera Chorus sang and acted with enthusiastic, unwavering commitment in a work that commandeers their forces at considerable length, their memorable Act IV anathema against Mazeppa delivered with blood-curling intensity.

Photo: Björn Hickmann

In the pit, leading the Dortmund Philharmonic Orchestra, General Music Director Jordan de Souza’s robust reading leaned wholeheartedly into the score’s epic proportions, tending towards a slightly angular phrasing. De Souza relished in the grandiosity of the crowd scenes the most, drawing a bright, forward sound from the brass and vibrant playing from the strings, creating a fittingly monumental grand opéra soundscape (complete with the colorful, spirited rendition of the Act IV ballet). But there was plenty of more finely spun, lyrical playing, too, notably from the woodwinds’ beautiful contributions during the Act II Matréna/Iskra duet and in the beguiling cor anglais solo of Act III, fully realizing its rare moment of quiet, enchanting grace.

That despite its musical values, the evening was not an unmitigated triumph was perhaps inevitable: de Grandval’s music is a sweeping, sumptuous, and unquestionably well-constructed example of late French Romanticism, but the same cannot be said of Charles Grandmougin and Georges Hartmann’s libretto. The story begins at the end of Mazeppa’s famous ride: the exhausted warrior is found and rescued by Matréna, daughter of the Ukrainian warlord Kotchoubey. From this rather Wälsungesque meeting, a largely predictable story of love, jealousy, and intrigue spins out. Mazeppa, eager to punish his former tormentors, joins Kotchoubey’s expedition against Poland, and the Ukrainians elect him as their new leader. This honor is seen as a grievous slight by Iskra, Mazeppa’s soon-to-be rival in warring and in love. Frustrated by Mazeppa’s glory, Iskra accuses him of conspiring with the Swedes against Ukrainian freedom, and though Mazeppa defends himself, Kotchoubey becomes convinced of his guilt. Matters come to a head at Mazeppa and Matréna’s wedding festivities, where the bride first has to discover that her father has been imprisoned and condemned to death by her husband, then sees Mazeppa’s fall from grace as Iskra arrives with the Tsar’s order of exile. The opera ends on the Ukrainian steppes, with Matréna driven to madness by grief, and Mazeppa suffocating in his misery.

Unfortunately, this high-octane drama is opaque and abrupt in its development. Mazeppa’s alliance with the Swedes emerges as an accusation prompted by Iskra’s jealousy, an accusation that’s retroactively validated only by a passing mention of Swedish soldiers at Mazeppa’s wedding. Whether Mazeppa is a ruthless politician or merely an unfortunate subject to the ever-changing whims of la peuple (as ready to dethrone their beloved leader at a perceived slight as they were to raise him up), then, is a character-defining question here, and one that the libretto never quite answers. The trouble is that Martin G. Berger’s production seemed to find it difficult to decide one way or the other, too.

In Berger’s reading, Mazeppa tells the story of people’s yearning for a strong, heroic leader, and their susceptibility for glittering self-representations which mask nefarious personalities. Before Mazeppa would first appear wounded and in dire need of help, he makes his debut on a movie screen (shown by Kotchoubey to his people during the overture) as a white-knight-in-shining-armor superhero (Alexander Djurkov Hotter’s costume design mixes contemporary dress with sci-fi elements to excellent results). The awed people need little prodding to elect the same man who miraculously appears in their midst as their leader, their trust quickly growing into deifying adoration. The libretto’s fast-paced, episodic structure bends well to the Marvel movie treatment that Berger subjects the story to, with title cards appearing throughout the performance, sectioning the opera off into distinct thematic episodes filled with grand reveals, betrayals, and tragic backstory montages (incredibly clichéd, but effectively accomplished by Vincent Stefan). But while the form fit well, the content proved an issue.

The superhero story started to hopelessly stumble in Act 3: here, Mazeppa’s (supposed) betrayal was turned into a shocking revelation that his heroic acts are just a hoax, engineered by and with the same man who appears in the first movie montage as his supervillain nemesis – fantasy and real life maliciously blurred as a means for mass manipulation. Though Mazeppa’s rapid rise, corruption by power, and inevitable fall from public favor (with Iskra immediately taking his place as a new, rapturously hailed hero) would alone have made for a compelling account of populism, this additional twist boggled the narrative with little payoff. Mazeppa’s heel turn fit ill into the storytelling when his initially desolate state and his hesitation to accept leadership were played entirely too earnestly. More frustratingly, the actual goals of Mazeppa and his puppeteer were never explained – why they manipulate the people, strive for power, or lead a nation to war is unclear.

It’s also difficult to see why Matréna remained enamored with the man whom she unquestionably knew to be a complete phony, or why Mazeppa (in a jarring turn) felt the need to extract a vow of faithfulness at gunpoint from the woman who, minutes beforehand, had sworn love to him knowing he’s a fraud. (I was also surprised that more is not made of Kotchoubey’s position of providing the “opiate of the masses” type entertainment at the beginning in form of the Mazeppa movie.)

That the production got boggled down in its own ideas is all the more unfortunate, as Berger proved a very able director in other areas. Characters were clearly drawn and the acting by and large inspired and believable. Berger also rose admirably to the challenge of dealing with the chorus, not only moving them effectively around the stage (a skill not every director can boast of), but creating striking tableaus through clever blocking – aided in no small part by Sarah-Katharina Karl’s plain but remarkably effective stage design (a looming, giant black staircase) and Kevin Schröter’s atmospheric, dramatic lighting. The image of the dark stage bathed in blood-red light, with the wounded, tattered chorus strewn over the stairs, skulls covering their faces as they sing the glory of their warring chief, is one to stay long in memory: not a novel idea, but one communicated in an unquestionably gripping manner. There, perhaps, lay the spirit of the evening: offering not an epochal achievement but, like the work, one that’s nevertheless worthy of attention.