Campra, Le Carnaval de Venise – Besançon

André Campra is too often seen as a mere link between Lully and Rameau. Yet in the twenty or so lyric scores in his catalogue, the composer from Aix-en-Provence developed a deeply original style that obviously owes much to Lully, but is also infused with Cavalli and Scarlatti. Even more than with Charpentier, we can hear the influence of the Italian manner. Although operas by Rameau – and to a lesser extent by Lully – are regularly performed today, performances of works by Campra are still rare, especially in the stage version. In recent years, there has only been an Idoménée in Lille in 2021, Fêtes vénitiennes at the Opéra-Comique (as well as in Caen and Toulouse) in 2015 and a Tancrède in Avignon and Versailles in 2014.

So we can only praise the project of the co[opéra]tive, which brings together several French theatrical and operatic institutions, to stage Campra’s Le Carnaval de Venise, which, if I am not mistaken, has not been performed since 1975 in Aix-en-Provence. Even if the opera-ballet form is somewhat disconcerting today, the title of the work is bound to attract audiences. Set during the carnival in Venice, François Regnard’s libretto presents the plot of an Italian comedy: Léonore and Isabelle are in love with the same man, Léandre. Léandre chooses Isabelle, and Léonore has only to turn to Rodolphe, who is in love with Isabelle, to take revenge and have the man who rejects her and prefers another killed. Once her order has been carried out and Léandre murdered, Léonore regrets and rejects Rodolphe, like Racine’s Hermione. But the poor man has in fact chosen the wrong victim: Léandre, who is very much alive, resurfaces and offers Isabelle the chance to flee Venice to find the perfect love away from their enemies.

This commedia dell’arte plot is punctuated by delightfully inventive musical, danced and sung entertainments featuring musicians, masks and gondoliers. The great originality of the work is that the fourth act is an opera within an opera: a performance of Orfeo nell’inferi, in Italian, in which Campra carefully pastiche the ultramontane style, with its vocalizing arias, recitatives and daring harmonies. There is also a mise en abyme in the opera’s prologue: in a theatre where a performance is being prepared, Minerva appears to help the Ordonnateur complete the preparations before the performance begins.

For their first opera production, visual artists and directors Clédat & Petitpierre offer a colourful interpretation of the work. The costumes, created by them and of stunning beauty, are a joyful gallery of finds: Minerva’s gold lamé breastplate, pop-style harlequin and harlequin outfits, a headdress in the shape of a gondola, and large black gowns hemmed with flames for the infernal act… The set is more minimalist, at least from the stalls, where it is hard to make out the movements of the wooden shapes – some of them reminiscent of Venetian bridges – moved around the stage as the scenes unfold.

At the start of the show, the audience is greeted by five mocking beetles that have escaped from a Tiepolo drawing. However, their presence is somewhat underused in the rest of the show. Sometimes spectators of the action, curled up in a corner, sometimes responsible for the singers’ movements on the stage, they are most notable in two moments: before the interval, when one of them ironises about the length of the music, and after the interview between Léonore and Rodolphe, deliciously parodied by two of them after the singers have left. In any case, their role is better understood in the second half of the show, where their low-key energy, almost languid and playful, is a delightful counterweight to the agitation of the main characters.

On the other hand, the singers’ direction remains rather lax: most of the characters are reduced to disembodied figures, sketching out Baroque gestures that do not seem to be fully embraced by all the performers. In fact, it’s not until there are a few stage gags that the show really catches the audience’s attention: A giant acorn descending from the catwalk to conceal one of the singers, a large plastic knife thrown on the fly, a bloody axe behind the back of one of the dummies, Orfeo’s truculent stage act, the infernal shadows moving across the stage as if they were levitating… All this ends up filling the audience with wonder and winning them over beyond the plastic beauty of the universe presented, by giving the whole thing a fantastical and poetic dimension.

Camille Delaforge’s musical direction is just as whimsical and poetic. With a smaller number of musicians than the Académie Royale de Musique, where the work was first performed, or the Concert Spirituel in Hervé Niquet’s recording, the conductor brings out all the charms of a score that is not short of them. We can count on her Ensemble Il Caravaggio to deliver a colourful, dense and vibrant sound, full of character and relief. The dances, which play a central role in the work, are carried off with renewed enthusiasm by all the instrumentalists, especially the inspired percussionist, who plays the castanets and tambourine with communicative energy.

In the role of Léandre, we discover the young bass (or baritone) Sergio Villegas Galvain, very attractive and lively on stage, with a charming timbre and a voice with a natural, homogeneous delivery, lacking only a little variety in colouring. As Isabelle, Victoire Bunel is fully captivating, as much for her ease on stage as for the delicacy of her phrasing and the freshness of her timbre. Anna Reinhold displays her exceptional vocal qualities, with her quivering timbre and the carnal way she picks out words, but the roles of Léonore and Euridice do not quite seem to match her tessitura, since they make her struggle in the upper register, where intonation problems are frequent.

David Tricou makes short work of the role of Orfeo, which he pulls off brilliantly in a comic vein, while retaining a confounding stylistic integrity. His dense, colourful countertenor voice is equally marvellous in the rest of his performances, in which he imbues both poetry and vigour. Guilhem Worms gives the roles of Ordonnateur, Rodolphe and Pluto the same blend of freshness and nobility, thanks to a supple, solidly conducted bass voice. Finally, Mathieu Gourlet is an energetic Carnaval.

Among the members of the Studio Il Caravaggio, all of whom are excellent, Apolline Raï-Westphal’s assured Minerva, Léo Guillou-Keredan’s all-too-brief esclavon and, above all, Jordan Mouaissia’s delicate musicality are particularly noteworthy, as he captivates in one of the score’s most brilliant moments, the trio ‘Luci belle, dormite’, a clear homage to Rossi’s Orfeo.

This highly enjoyable show should become even more coherent on stage as it embarks on an extensive tour: this Carnival of Venice can be enjoyed on 30 and 31 January in Compiègne, on 5 and 6 February in Grenoble, on 12 and 13 February in Sénart, on 1 and 2 March in Tourcoing, on 6 March in Châteauroux, on 14 March in Brest, on 19, 20, 22 and 23 March in Rennes, on 27 and 28 March in Quimper and on 5 and 6 April in Nantes. It’s great to see projects like these!