Unable to take my eyes off what is happening on stage, I feel for a place in the darkened room. Technical rehearsal started some time ago. OUR “Medea” from Luigi Cherubiniher main international co-production National Opera (ELS) with the Metropolitan Opera (MET) of New York, Opera Canada and the Lyric Opera of Chicago, it will premiere in Athens on April 25 under the musical direction of Philippe Auguin. Direction and set design signed by Sir David McVicar, 57, already successful and known for his work in Opera.

It was this production that “opened” the season at the Met in September. The ELLS dedication to the 100th anniversary of the birth of Maria Callas begins with it. For the musical world, Medea, based on the tragedy of Euripides, is an opera identified with the voice of Calla, who sensationally performed the central part for the first time in 1953 as part of the Florence May Festival. But for Greece it is something more: a myth. Interpretation of Calla in the historical production of the Greco-Greek National Theater at the Ancient Theater of Epidaurus in 1961 directed by Alexis Minotis, and the sets and costumes by Yiannis Tsaruchis are a constant reference for contemporary Greek culture.

In the course of Act I, soprano Anna Pirozzi enters the stage in a long black dress. Medea, the queen, a woman in love, secretly arrives in Corinth shortly before the bride’s dinner and realizes that her life is falling apart. The marriage of Jason to Glauki, the daughter of King Creon of Corinth, is being prepared, and while the royal court yearns for triumph, despair and madness begin to burn the soul of Medea. A long table is set for a banquet, and candlesticks illuminate the stage with 40 flames, and Medea gradually plunges into darkness. When Pirozzi sings to Giorgio Beruzzi-Jason the main aria from the play “Dei tuoi figli la madre” (“Mother of your children”), which was uniquely and heartbreakingly interpreted by Callas, conductor Philip Oggen and the production team, they applaud. her warmth.

As Medea, an Italian coloratura dramatic soprano, she makes her debut in this production, and her decision to take on the famously difficult role and the piece’s great past is both an honor and a challenge. “You have to have someone who can sing it. If you have, you do. If not, then no. It’s so simple,” conductor Carlo Rizzi told the New York Times, referring to the complexity of the Medea, which he conducted for the Met.

Impressive landscapes

International co-production of the National Opera with the Metropolitan Opera of New York, the Canadian Opera and the Lyric Opera of Chicago.

The opening of the stage in the hall of Stavros Niarchos ELLS has an opening of 16 meters, and the impressive scenery is even wider, leaving not a millimeter uncovered. As the high golden gates of the palace close, Medea, aloof, kneels on mud, dry leaves and earth, all the color of rusty metal. As the gate opens, she sees Jason, the nobles, the white-robed bride-to-be, beaming with happiness and smugness as a huge 30-foot tilting mirror fills the space with their image and presses down on her. “The most important element of the scenery is the mirror. He helps create all the magic of the show,” says set designer Hannah Postleveit, who worked closely with director and set designer David McVicar on this production. She is a very dynamic girl, a member of this multinational team of a new generation of professionals working in the lyric theater. “The mirror is a commanding, oppressive presence in Corinth, reflecting every inch of the scene through the sliding doors.

In this mirror we create beautiful scenes such as the wedding of Glaukis and Jason with the impressive costumes of Dui (ss. Liti). We also create scenes of destruction with raging flames and storms thanks to the projections of Kathy (née Tucker),” adds the set designer.

Thus, the mirror reflects the world of Corinth and what happens in its gilded walls. “It reflects the vanity of the city and its inhabitants, their moral judgment and greed,” explains Postleveit. “The space under the stage, the world of Medea, is free from this cruelty. Giant golden sliding doors serve one main purpose: to keep people like her out. The setting focuses on the gap between the rich world of Corinth and the harsh desert where Medea dwells.”

The grand wedding scene is truly magnificent, an aesthetic feast for the eyes as Glauka’s long bridal veil spreads across the colorful luxurious carpets, forming a diagonal white line in the mirror. Dressed in white, Glauca becomes queen, and dressed in black, Medea kneels humbly outside the city walls. “David (the elder McVicar) wanted Medea to be the opposite of Glaucus when she first appears at the banquet dinner. Is she a bride in black or a grieving widow? She is a traveller. She is definitely different. I don’t think Medea is evil. I think she’s injured and therefore dangerous. I think it’s a force of nature. And she’s alone,” says costume designer Dui Litti. The costumes are inspired by France in the late 18th century, the Revolution, the Terror and the Directory period. What creative possibilities did this directorial idea open up for her? “The opera itself sits between the classical and romantic periods of music, and David wanted that to be reflected in the design,” Litti replies. “We worked on sets and costumes at the same time, complementing each other. The colonial society we depict is reflected in a shabby mirror, crumbling walls and the color of fabrics expressing a decadent and (morally?) bankrupt society, as well as overflowing with silhouettes in the clothes of the time, which indirectly refer to classical Greek forms.

Prominent Versions

I ask both creators—set designer and costume designer—whether one of the many versions of the Medea they’ve seen, past and present, cinematographic-opera-theatrical performances of the myth stands out. “When I started working on the project with Sir David McVicar, he introduced me to the 1969 film with Maria Callas,” says Hannah Postleveit. “What really struck me about the film was the way Medea treated her children. At the end, it was very touching to see how she treats them with such care right before they were killed. He bathes and lulls them right before grabbing the knife.”

The myth, viewed from a different point of view, carries a similar charge to Dui Liti. Lars von Trier’s Medea (1988), based on a screenplay by Carl Dreyer, was one of the most important adaptations we saw during development,” he says. “For me, the emotional austerity, the vivid images of Medea walking alone through the desert landscape, and the almost invisible but unbearable murder of her children are unforgettable.”