Acht Fragen an .... Etienne Dupuis - Deutsche Oper Berlin
Eight questions for .... Etienne Dupuis
Etienne Dupuis takes the title role in RIGOLETTO, a man who is the butt of jokes and general mockery – and ends up bereft of everything he holds dear
No singing voice received the Verdi treatment like that of the baritone. What are the key features of a Verdi baritone?
First and foremost for Verdi was a singer’s capacity for expressing emotion. There was no shortage of performers who could sing to perfection, but only those who could convey true depth of feeling made an impression on the maestro. One such person was Rosina Penco, one of his favourite sopranos early in his career whom he met in the 1840s. The story goes that he was so taken by the intensity of her performance that he immediately set about casting her in every possible role he could. She was a mere 30 years old at the time, but the next time he observed her on stage, five years later, he was horrified. She was still a model of vocal perfection, but he found her performance lacked depth and her acting had lost its sheen. He never cast her again. So the perfect Verdi baritone is a man who can convey the psychological arc of a character’s story as authentically as possible.
What kind of psychological arc are we dealing with with Rigoletto?
Rigoletto goes from mean and malicious and mocking to being ultra-sensitive and vulnerable. The only person who means anything to him ends up dying in his arms. I can empathise with all those feelings.
You play a father who loses his daughter. What do you go through, expressing all that on stage?
I suffer along with Rigoletto, and not just as a father. Verdi’s very big on dramatic last words when one of his characters dies on stage. What have I got to tell my loved one in the moment of my passing? Or what words do I wail to the corpse who’s just breathed her last? They contain an element of disbelief, even denial. That’s universal.
To what extent is Rigoletto denying Gilda’s death?
In his mind he simply can’t accept that his daughter is dying in his arms. He calls out to her: »Don’t die, don’t die… or I can die with you!« About six months ago those words suddenly took on a much deeper meaning for me, because I was doing Rigoletto in Japan about a week after my dear friend Jodie Devos, the soprano, had died. There I was with Nadine Sierra as Gilda in my arms and my words were automatically directed at Jodie. In that moment you’re just in denial that a person who was living a few moments ago has gone. You keep talking to the person, because it’s beyond your comprehension.
How do you come down again after doing such an emotional scene?
It’s really hard – although I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s the only reason I’m still singing at my advanced age. I get to probe my own truth through the words that someone else wrote.
You’re in your prime as a singer and you’re thinking of chucking it in?
I love singing, but I’ve never spent a single second thinking: ooh, I’ve got such an amazing voice that I should keep singing till the day I drop. On stage I’m primarily drawing on stuff I’ve seen in the theatre. And the older I get, the more I shift in that direction. I’m quite open about being 45 years old and going through my midlife crisis. Not that I’m thinking of buying an expensive car or switching my wife for a younger woman. What I do want, though, is to be more of an actor, do a deeper dive, be it in film projects, drama, short videos on social media, whatever.
What’s the biggest challenge posed by the role of Rigoletto?
He’s typical of a Verdi protagonist: deep down there’s a massive contradiction going on. He treats other people like dirt, despite all the while yearning for something that he manages to deny everyone else. That’s what intrigues me about the character. Every time he pokes fun at someone, part of him’s thinking: if we weren’t so busy mocking each other, we might even be friends. This duality is evident in the music, too, from the anguished »Cortigiani«, his fiery outburst directed at the conspirators, to the »Piangi«, where I’m trying to console Gilda. And I hardly get a chance to draw breath. In fact it’s always touch and go whether I can do both scenes with the same level of fervour.
What are the signs that a singer gets that he’s ready for a role like this one?
I’m afraid you only come to the realisation after the fact.