“Attila,” one of Verdi’s early opera scores that focus on heroic figures in history, was presented in the Margit Island Theatre on August 12. The production offered two debuts: the noted Canadian bass-baritone John Relyea assumed the title role, and on the podium, Hungary’s Martin Rajna, who was just recently appointed as the chief conductor of the Hungarian State Opera.
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The second operatic treat, presented at the Eiffel Art Studios on August 22, was Karol Szymanowsky’s “King Roger,” a lesser-known work premiered in Warsaw in 1926, which in my opinion deserves more attention. This opera was one of hundreds of events included in the 2023 Theatre Olympics in Budapest, and it was prepared and produced by the National Theatre Košice (Kassa), starring Polish baritone Michal Partyka in the title role and Croatian soprano Gabriela Hrzenjak as his wife Roxana. Director Anton Korenči and music director Peter Valentovič (with the Orchestra and Chorus of the National Theatre Košice) have created a jewel out of this unusual work, whose challenges are akin to other politically charged scores like Shostakovich’s “The Nose,” or Ligeti’s “La Grand Macabre.”
Both “Attila” and “King Roger” give perspective on what great leaders face in their personal and professional lives. Verdi’s operatic treatment (his 9th of 26 opera scores) of Attila’s strategic dilemmas in Europe in the mid-400s was a mix of facts and fiction, and mostly the latter. In this version, Attila is portrayed as a humane warrior, open to acceptance of others’ faiths and customs; also here, he marries the Italian Odabella, whose community accuses her of siding with “the Barbarian.” Its score is Bellini-esque, just around the time when Verdi’s vocal lines began to presage the verismo era.
Szymanowsky’s 1920 vision of the royal hero was a horse of a different color. The troubled King Roger is tormented by his own life’s inner struggles until a mythical man-creature (a Dionysus figure) arrives to stir up society’s social and moral order. Although an actual King Roger II existed in the Roman era, the opera’s time period (especially in Košice’s production) is purposely inexact because it’s heavily influenced by Szymanowsky’s extensive travels in Europe and particularly Sicily, where the ancient region’s mythology came alive for him, inspiring his own personal search for transcendence. He artfully superimposed an early 20th century musical and dramatic veil over a story that is actually a confrontational composite of Plato, Euripides, and even Nietzsche. This score is complex, surrealistic, often bi-tonal, and is reminiscent of Berg and Korngold, his contemporaries.
Attila’s attractions
The flight of an eagle (via the onstage video screen) opens the action that takes place on an opulently decorated mis-en-scène, set in Italian territories and employing costumery that resembled the Renaissance more than any time prior. Anachronisms aside, the main accounts of battles, jealousies and many conflicting ideological issues were all skillfully floated in classic bel canto lines: a wide vocal spectrum that’s highly decorated — typical of the 1830s.
Relyea’s imposing presence as the leader of the Huns reached the last row of the amphitheater with command, even in that character’s hour of doubt. His colleagues Szilvia Rálik, László Boldizsár, Haja Zsolt, and Gábor Géza all shone with dazzling technique in their respective roles. Only the ballet’s lackluster choreography felt superfluous. The visual designs for each act, especially the second act’s panoramic panels by János Madarász, were quite spectacular in both depth and atmosphere. In the pit for the first time conducting a Verdi opera, Rajna’s presence there was pivotal: his precision, energy, and command superbly maintained the dynamic momentum throughout.

Roger – credit: Joseph Marčinský
Roger’s refractions
With a headless angel statue placed in the middle of their splendid palace salon (strikingly similar to film sets of David Lynch), the King agonizes through his daily doldrums, and the Queen downs her daily dose of drugs. Despite the exultant chorus’ jubilant opening proclamation as a potent aperitif, the couple is unmoved and sullen – until their lives suddenly and dramatically change.
A glistening white-suited man (Shepherd) arrives, stating “I come from the smiling stars.” His supernatural presence, and his announcement that he is the messenger for a young and beautiful god, inspires Roxane to sing an alluring song, and dance in a libidinous manner. She decides to accept this stranger’s invitation to follow his flock and leave Roger, who remains in a state of confusion and anger. Is this glittery “shepherd” the Messiah of Free Love? Or just another Apollonian propagandist with phony promises? This becomes a threatening existential dilemma for the King.
The orchestral introduction to the second act portends ecstasy with a tinge of evil; Roxane’s singing lines, often without words, evoke mystery and seduction. Hrženjak’s beguiling soprano floated seamlessly from the depths to stratospheric heights. [This is a young singer to watch for.] Juraj Hollý as the Shepherd, and Partyka’s King Roger boldly embodied their demanding roles, as did Maksym Kutsenko as Edrisi, Roger’s physician. The large chorus (which included the Children’s Opera Chorus from the National Theatre Košice), played a role, musically and dramatically (everyone wore eyeglasses to create homogeneity) like a Greek chorus much of the time. And in a mute, walk-on role of the young and beautiful god the Shepherd had referred to, André Tatarka’s presence symbolized the erotic shadow that continually provoked Roger’s subconscious.
The set design by Ondrej Zachar was a glamorous Art Deco-inspired construction, with the orchestra on upstage risers, sitting underneath a sea of suspended metallic shields. This stage setup, cleverly packed into Eiffel’s limited space, beautifully served the drama’s needs: one stratagem was the use of the musicians’ stand lights to resemble glowing stars in the dark night. This suggested a magical and limitless horizon – or in the case of Roger, re-imagining a new way to live.