(Photo: Diana Alvarez)
“Carmen” was the most-performed opera in 2024, and I think for one simple reason: audiences absolutely love it. Yes, Bizet’s masterpiece has undeniable artistic merit, and if one looks closely, there’s a decent amount of depth to it. But the truth is, “Carmen” is just fun. I mean, a gypsy, a soldier, and a torero who are immersed in a world of fiestas, with raptures of love, fights, dance, and passion in every sense. And, they are accompanied by the famous “Habanera” and “Toreador” songs, three big choruses, and an audience that starts clapping at some point. What more could one ask for?
Counting On “Carmen”
Although “Carmen” is something of a commercial “safe bet” for an opera house, staging it is no easy task. With so many regulars having already seen it, there’s always the tough decision about how it should be presented. One option is the classic, time-tested approach, which focuses on the opera’s original script. It maintains Carmen as the centre of attention with her lavish red dress, singing with passion and a particular skill to act seductively, accompanied by Don José, the tender tenor pulled between duty and desire. Alongside Escamillo, a pompous bass-baritone with a deep, rich voice, and Micaëla, a delicate and timid high-pitched soprano. All within a stage design that is simple enough to ensure the focus remains on the leads, allowing the audience to fully absorb the drama.
Then, of course, there’s the far more difficult option: to take risks, be bold, and reinvent “Carmen” entirely. However, what no one wants is to be caught in the middle—neither staying true to the original nor fully reinventing it. And, if you think about it, those who do end up in that awkward spot are almost always under the spell of trying to “modernize” the work, which is precisely what happened to the Slovak National Opera production of “Carmen” (2025).
The director, Lubor Cukr, opted for a production that dressed his cast in a bizarre mix of neon t-shirts, denim shorts, knee-high socks, and pink sunglasses, with a stage design that took place in a modern-day Parisian café (Act two and three). Never seen before, the smugglers Dancaïre and Remendado made real crêpes, which they fed to Escamillo, who nearly choked, struggling to swallow a ridiculous amount of most likely way-too-hot batter. Oh, and there were balloons and confetti poppers. Then, the setting changed to what I can only guess was meant to resemble the interior of a house with candlelight and long white tablecloths, something strange given that in this last act, a bullfight is supposed to be happening somewhere, bringing with it a fiesta spirit—of which there simply was no sign.
It is clear that the intention was to present a novel take on “Carmen,” but something must have gone wrong along the way because the result was a flat, confusing, and, at times, almost absurd staging of the opera. The worst of it all was the treating of the libretto as something meaningless. It often felt that one story was being sung while an entirely different one was being acted. I wonder if this production simply assumed that the audience neither understands French, reads the surtitles, nor cares about the dialogues, believing instead that we merely hear sounds without grasping their meaning, allowing them to stage whatever they please.
Production Details
Jana Kurucová’s performance as Carmen was, unfortunately, unremarkable. Her singing lacked the agility to convey passion and emotion where the opera demands it. She struggled with diction; understanding a single word she sang was nearly impossible; at times, it felt as if she were merely humming. And no, the French language is not to blame—she couldn’t even articulate “Tralalalala…” in “Mon officier, c’était une querelle.” As for her acting, there was clear effort on her part, but it was evident that she struggled to embody a sensual Carmen. The choreography didn’t help her case, for it relied on exaggerated, awkwardly sexualish movements that felt misplaced and overdrawn, undermining the character’s presence on stage.
Aleš Briscein’s portrayal of Don José wasn’t good either; his singing struggled with the lowest notes, particularly in “La fleur que tu m’avais jetée,” and had just as much trouble with the highest in the same aria. There was no stamina in his voice or his acting; he sounded and looked exhausted. Don José falls in love not once but twice: deeply with Carmen and fleetingly with Micaëla. He navigates an internal moral struggle that gradually pushes him toward madness. In other words, the role demands strong acting skills, something that Briscein was far from delivering. Throughout the night, there wasn’t a single drop of emotion on his part.
As for Escamillo, or the torero, baritone Csaba Kotlár took the opportunity of his increasingly minimised co-singers to make the opera his own. But, of course, that is not how the story is designed; the focus should be on Carmen, Don José, and finally, him, not the other way around. When a character that is not intended for such takes too much protagonism, confusion reigns—which was precisely what happened here. At some point, the story got lost in a series of random events with no actual flow between them, alongside an ever-more-dominant Escamillo. However, Kotlár was not going to downgrade—which is understandable. His confidence and presence on stage was impressive. His acting was natural, and his voice was consistent, although aching for improvement in vocal power. Regardless, he is definitely someone to look out for in the future.
Then, there’s Micaëla, interpreted by lyric soprano Lenka Máčiková. She played the role adequately. Her singing was warm and technically solid. Her acting was convincing, particularly in demonstrating anguish. Not so much when expressing love, though—to be fair, Don José gave her little to work with. As a final noteworthy mention, young bass Ivan Lyvch delivered an extraordinary performance as Zuniga.
More Production Details
It would be naive to compare the Slovak National Opera with, say, the Danube jet-set of Vienna and Budapest, let alone to the major players like the ROH, which have far greater access to resources of all kinds. Still, a well-executed production of a famous opera doesn’t depend on an extravagant stage design, a star-studded cast, or a groundbreaking concept. Instead, it comes down to understanding the core of the story: the personality and fundamental traits of the characters, the essential emotions being conveyed, and, ultimately, the non-negotiable details. When these elements are appropriately identified and fully comprehended, staging the work becomes a far more natural process, allowing the production to focus on preserving what truly matters while discarding what is irrelevant. This is what is being judged and critiqued here.
Take, for instance, Carmen’s seductive personality. This is a fundamental trait on which the opera depends. As mentioned, it presented a struggle to Jana Kurucová, who couldn’t convey this through physical, provocative movements. However, upon reflecting on the nature of seduction, one can easily identify that it can also be transmitted through voice, stage presence and a powerful gaze. This perfectly viable alternative bears the same results, though it demands a different staging. Knowing that you have a more subtly seductive Carmen, the choreography must adapt and grant her protagonism. But, the contrary happened in the Slovak theatre; the director ignored the acting limits of his lead and forced her into a choreography that diminished her. As if that wasn’t enough, she was repeatedly placed in the middle of a crowd, disappearing rather than commanding attention.
Following the same idea of focusing on the essential components of the work, one often-overlooked detail is the cassia flower—as was the case in this performance. In Act one, Carmen must throw it in a way that is impossible to miss. The audience needs to notice the flower not only because it symbolises Carmen’s grip on Don José but also because it is referenced 13 times throughout the script—in other words, it matters. How is the audience supposed to understand Don José’s “La fleur que tu m’avais jetée,” literally known as “The Flower Song,” if the flower went unnoticed or was never thrown at all?
It is no mistake to try and present a work in a novel way, even if it fails. What is indeed a mistake is to disregard, ignore, or worse, not notice the fundamental components that made it successful in the first place. A well-executed, faithful to the original staging of an opera will always be judged positively. It reassures the audience that the opera house remains reliable, professional, and committed to quality.
