Carmen, the unlikely
by Ossama el Naggar
Paris, february 7 2026 - Why would a stage director unappreciated by the public or critics continue to be hired by opera companies? I have yet to meet an opera lover who has anything good to say about Calixto Bieito. Not a single production by the Spanish director has appealed to me, though some earlier ones were tolerable. But recent ones have been offensive, notably his Zelmira, at Pesaro’s Rossini Opera Festival (ROF) last August, and his Tristan und Isolde in Vienna, both of which I would pay to have extracted from memory. Not residing in the French capital, I was spared the first two installments of his Ring in the City of Light.
February is Bieito’s month in Paris, as Opéra Bastille is presenting two of his stagings, Siegfried and Carmen. I got to see both; Siegfried was by far the worst staging of Wagner’s opera that I have ever seen (and I have seen scores of productions of Siegfried). Though fundamentally flawed, Carmen (a production that has been circulating since 1999) had some positive elements. Bieito transposed the opera to Franco’s Spain. Judging fromMercè Paloma’s ugly costumes, the exact period was the early seventies or Franco’s last years. The main problem with Bieito’s setting that it was in a Spain that never existed; authoritarian and oppressive for sure, but chaotic, indiscriminately violent and overtly homoerotic, the latter adjectives are most unlikely.
Act I opened to a regiment raising the flag (“Sur la place chacun passe, chacun vient, chacun va ; drôles de gens que ces gens-là !”), while one particularly buff soldier runs in circles in his underpants while valiantly holding his rifle. Bieito’sfantasy is a stretch as such a soldier would have been severely punished in any autoritarian regime, let alone Franco’s. The poor man eventually collapses from exhaustion and his limp body is carried off. When Micaela arrives on the scene to inquire about Don José, the soldiers and officers (Moralès was Florent Mbia) are like wolves in heat who touch their own crotches, harass and manhandle the country girl. Likewise, sexually aroused soldiers sway their bodies in excitement watching the girls from the cigarette factory during their break. Barechested, buff military men were more prominent than Carmen herself throughout the first act.
French mezzo Stéphanie d’Oustrac, who has had a career in early music, was a strange choice for Carmen. A good actress, d’Oustrac does not have the vocal means for Carmen as her voice is far too light for the role, especially for the 2745-seat Opéra Bastille. D’Oustrac’s earlier career in baroque opera has helped shape an appealing diction, making her enunciation agreable, but this is insufficient. She tries to compensate for her small voice and light timbre by artificially darkening her voice, which becomes truly irritating. She portrays Carmen as self‑confident, but the portrait does not convince. Since her first appearance, from a telephone box, she utters the words of the famous Act I habanera,“Quand je vous aimerai ?Ma foi, je ne sais pas,” addressed to her interlocutor on the phone. This may be original or cute, but it is incoherent, as it is Carmen’s answer to the male chorus’ “sois gentille, au moins réponds-nouset dis-nous quel jour tu nous aimeras !”
Bieito makes Lillas Pastia (Michel B. Duperial) more important; he is the gang leader and even has a young daughter with Frasquita (Margarita Polonskaya). The gang is involved in prostitution, smuggling and other unsavoury activities. However, his tavern is no longer there and Act II takes place on the street. It opens toCarmen, Mercedes (Seray Pinar), Frasquita, LillasPastia,Dancaïre (Florent Karrer),Remendado (Loïc Félix) and Zuniga,officer of the guard and José’s superior (Vartan Gabrielian), getting out ofa large Mercedes-Benz, a symbol of wealth among the poor in 1970s Spain. It is clear that all three women are prostitutes, which changes the dynamic of Carmen, the proud and free seductress. Lillas Pastia provides garlands of Spanish flags to decorates his daughter’s tiny Christmas tree, an excessively ostentious act of patriotism. To compensate, Zuniga’s subordinateuses the Spanish flag to clean the car.
With Bieito concentrating on political innuendo rather than the story, Act II is totally muddled. The wonderful aria, “Les tringles des sistres tintaient,l” is inexplicably performed on the street, but D’Oustrac’s polished voice doesn’t do it justice. Oddly enough, Escamillo, the bullfighter, happens to be there too, when he encounters Carmen and company. Though he wore no impressive toreador uniform, Uruguayan bass-baritone Erwin Schrott was an effective Escamillo, exuding virility and reaching his aria’s lower notes effortlessly. Escamillo’s Toreador Song, “Votre toast, je peux vous le rendre,” which was well interpreted with excellent diction, elicited even more applause than Carmen’s habanera, and rightly so.
As for the marvellous quintet “Nous avons en tête une affaire” in which the contraband mission is proposed, it’s implausibly sung in a public place without any fear of authority (in a Fascist country!). Sadly, conductor Keri-Lynn Wilson, adequate in steering much of the opera in the right direction, made little of this musically avant-garde piece, with its amazing syncopation; it was performed as an afterthought, with no sizzle or even humour. Throughout the opera, one would have hoped for softer playing during the mezzo’s arias and scenes to help mask d’Oustrac’s limited vocal means. Alas, almost none was provided by Wilson.
This production did not use Guiraud’s sung recitatives, but rather the more frequently used spoken dialogues. With native speakers or a good language coach (after all this in Paris), this may be a valid choice though spoken dialogues definitely interrupt the dramatic flow. Unfortunately, as the dialogues were considerably cut, certain aspects of the story became confounding. Case in point, Escamillo leaves the scene without his delicious exchange with Carmen, in which she flirtatiously says among other alluring phrases: “Il est permis d'attendre, il est doux d'espérer.“ Thus, his seeking her out in Act III and his tryst with Carmen become a mystery.
D’Oustrac’s phrasing of “Tout doux, Monsieur, tout doux. Je vais danser en votre honneur”, was truly sensual and appropriate. The moment José becomes nervous on hearing the bugles signaling the retreat to the camp, she immediately turns demonic, a tired device resorted to by lazy directors. In response, Don José explains his passion in the Flower song, “La fleur que tu m’avais jetée”, which American tenor Russell Thomas delivers in a booming voice and with beautiful phrasing. Sadly, there was no final diminuendo in Don José’s signature aria. Having taken on heavier roles in the past couple of seasons, it may have been a wise decision not to attempt it. While upholding his virility, Thomas managed to show his tenderness in the Flower Song in his phrasing of “O Carmen, oui, te revoir!,” “j’étais une chose à toi” and “Carmen, je t’aime.”
Egyptian-born New Zealander Amina Edris wasa marvellous Micaëla. She livened up this often dull role, especially when juxtaposed with the overwhelming Carmen. Admired in 2023 in Toronto as Mimi in “La bohème” opposite her husband, Samoan tenor Pene Pati, Edris is an incandescent singer who can breathe life into Mimi and even the “good girl” of this opera. Edris portrayed a serious and reserved Micaëla, one who is determined to get her sweetheart. Facing the soldiers in Act I and the bandits in Act III, she handily stands her ground. Thanks to her ease in the upper register, beautiful phrasing, and natural acting, this was one lively and charming country girl. She exuded joy in her Act I duet with Don José, “Parle‑moi de ma mère,” and in Act III’s “Je dis que rien ne m’épouvante” she was luminous and moving.
Act III, which normally takes place in the mountains, was transposed to a car park, a perilous meeting place for bandits in a tightly-controlled Fascist country. Oddly enough, the parking lot in question looked like that of the corrida, home of the bullfight, which takes place in the last act. How else can one explain the huge effigy of a bull at the gate? The card trio was sadly far from solemn, a missed opportunity by all, but especially the conductor. This is one scene where Carmen needs her low notes - absent in d’Oustrac’s case.
Act IV had no sets, just a circle alluding to where Escamillo will butcher the bull - or is it where José will murder Carmen? At the opening of Act IV, there are no ambulating salespeople singing “A deux cuartos ! A deux cuartos !”; spectators take their place. In the final scene, both Russell and d’Oustrac underplayed the tension, which is preferable to overplaying. Given the French mezzo’s modest vocal means, the confrontation was rather underwhelming. Nonetheless, Thomas’ performance, both acting and singing, was dramatically convincing.
Other than an inadequate Carmen, this production disappoints as it is unconvincing. José is a “good” country boy from Navarra - a designation bestowed on José by the librettists - posted in Andalusia. What is the likelihood that such a young man would break his commitment to his fatherland, to the army in which he serves, to his mother and to his sweet innocent fiancée? Would he really throw it all away for a prostitute -as Carmen is clearly portrayed in this production- who lives from contraband and petty criminality? The answer is clearly no!Spain between Francoism, revolution, oppression, and anarchy, as invented by Bieito, fails to convince. As the characters and setting aren’t credible, the likelihood of being moved by the story is close to nil.