War and Peace

Last week saw the opening of Rita McAllister’s revision of Prokofiev’s War and Peace into its original, intended format. The story goes that Soviet meddling left the opera bastardised and less human: tonight, we are told, the integrity of the initial vision will be reclaimed. However, McAllister’s venture only serves to highlight the lengths to which the work was already fouled with its contemporary political climate. In composing this propaganda-flushed opera, Prokofiev has sacked and pillaged the essence of a truly great text for the sake of a transient political ideal.

The libretto deliberately exploits singular aspects of Tolstoy’s magnificently three-dimensional characters as banners for his dull patriotism. It's Pierre that hurts the most: robbed of his bestiality, alcoholism and burning rage, he is raised instead as a cartoon paradigm of selflessness. The character of Kutuzov is similarly updated, appearing not as the battered Atlas of Russian reason but rather a smug, self-satisfied prig, warming his hands on the effortless annihilation of his enemies.

There were two moments in particular where the changes became unbearable: the perversion of Pierre’s bumbling attempt at assassination into an act of high tragic heroism, and the final chorus’ slow, disgusting laughter at the fate of the French forces. Tolstoy’s sensitive investigation of humanity’s infinite complexity is frequently replaced by action-movie style sequences.

Aside from these fundamental and inescapable differences, the opera faces difficulties in its layout. Originally conceived as a sequence over a number of nights, the piece was ruthlessly downsized. The steady pace and personal immersion of the original is lost, and the libretto instead peppers itself with references to events that quickly become meaningless; the fact that we only meet Prince Andrei twice before his final duet with Natasha robs one of the most touching moments in literature of its vital emotional resonance.

The music isn’t bad, but the organisation of musical ideas is difficult. The themes of the title are teased apart into separate acts: 'Peace', lyrical passages full of strings; and 'War', dramatic passages full of brass.

There was some fine singing from Maria Kozlova and Michel de Souza, and the idea for the set was sensitive and intelligent. Not enough, of course, to compensate for this horrific adaptation. Perhaps of interest to students of political history, but definitely not great art.