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Alban BergsWozzeckis an opera of entropy.
Scenes are brief, warmth in short supply, and a rigidly militaristic world has grown brittle with indifference.
Doesnt the world always seem like a projection of an addled imagination?
Isnt it constantly driving fragile minds to murderous confusion?
Theres nothing dated about logic and principle bleeding into lunacy.
Familiar, almost cozy corners keep popping up in Sabine Theunissens set, like encampments in a collapsed building.
She didnt mean it as a compliment, but Berg might have been pleased.
Its as if the action takes place on the pages of Gods sketchbook for the apocalypse.
Kentridge has a tendency to cram the visual field with imagery that moves faster than the eye can assimilate.
His artwork can muddle plot and compete with music.
We see into the hyperactive jumble of his mind, otherwise disguised by the characters dogged plod.
Good singing, though, is plentiful.
Is there a disconnect there, between voice and character?
She might even have survived that one.
