Platee Jean-Paul Fouchecourt Thalie/Folie Annick Massis Thespis Paul Agnew Mercure Yann Beuron Jupiter Vincent Le Texier Junon Nora Gubisch Citheron/Satyr Laurent Naouri Momus Frank Leguerinel Conductor Marc Minkowski Director Laurent Pelly Choreography Laura Scozzi Orchestre et Choeurs des Musiciens du Louvre-Grenoble Laurent Pelly's production of Rameau's Platee is about as different from Mark Morris' as a reasonable production of the same work could be. A reasonable production of Platee of course is by definition totally crazy, and Laurent's is if anything even more exuberantly inventive than Morris', though perhaps less coherent over all. But again, you don't expect Rameau to be coherent. Platee is a brilliant sequence of parodic scenes and effects that take you on a roller coaster of enjoyable surprises. The only constant is that everything is wet, and the music includes frog and bird noises at every opportunity. The curtain rises, a few moments after the last member of the audience is shoe-horned into the Garnier stalls, on the Garnier stalls, almost, with red plush seats, gold mouldings and an audience being shovelled in and shunted around. Thespis, initially asleep in the front row, eventually drinks a lot more and sees a frog. When the main story begins, the frog remains, as do the seats, which become covered in slime and gradually get broken up. The initial coup reminds us that this satire is about people (us) as well as the gods -- we are looking at ourselves as Rameau distorts us more and more, into swamp beasties, Maenads and satyrs. Within the mirrored-theatre framework, anything goes. The swamp dwellers are green Rocky Horror-ish; the dancing satyrs and Maenads are very uncute Apaches, also all green; and the rest of the green act 3 chorus are an odd bunch in day dress, some in drag, reflecting the audience again. Clarine is punkish, Jupiter and Juno are disco purple and silver, and Mercure is all silver. Momus and Citheron wear suits, though Momus dons various wigs and a tutu. Amour wears underwear (as appropriate). The triumphant costume, though, was a supporting but integral part of the triumphant performance, Annick Massis as Folie. She wore an architectural-looking mid-eighteenth-century dress made of loose sheet music, and sang Folie's batty Italian arias both beautifully and comically from a spotlight downstage centre. She was deranged, sometimes almost Parkinsonian, but also intensely mannered and theatrical. The combination of outstanding bravura singing and extreme behaviour was disturbing, suggesting the close relationship between music and madness, or (in this context) Apollo and Bacchus. Jean-Paul Fouchecourt delivered a tour-de-force (again) as Platee, a detailed comic characterization of a vain, batty old nymph that managed to be just about sympathetic, but also sad. He, like Massis, managed to make the music both breathtakingly beautiful at times, but also absurd. Platee's first aria, a cod-pastoral praise of the swampy landscape as a place for love, was far more moving than anything serious in the genre could be. His voice has its croaky moments, but you can't really complain about that. I have to say, though, that Fouchecourt's acting performance in Morris' production, was even better, in spite of that incredible costume that hid all of his face except his jaw. This Platee was more complex and fermented, and less vulnerable -- when she was punched into the swamp at the end, it was a small comic gesture, not an act of cruelty as it might have been. The rest of the cast, and the chorus, provided excellent support. Yann Beuron was obnoxious as Hermes, and sang beautifully though he didn't always come over the orchestra. Nora Gubisch started out a bit curdled (I remember her as a rich contralto), but was good and scary with her shotgun. The orchestra under Marc Minkowski was outstanding, getting every drop of humour and pleasure out of the very odd juxtapositions of rhythm and texture.