A fairy-tale home for an ogre of an opera

On April 2, this city celebrated the 200th birthday of Hans Christian Andersen with an extravaganza called “Once Upon a Time” that featured the likes of Tina Turner and Renee Fleming and was broadcast throughout Europe. Danish politicians were outraged at the tacky image of their country it projected. One member of Parliament likened the stadium show to a cheap, second-class copy of “Holiday on Ice.” The minister of culture has been called on the carpet.

Art in Copenhagen matters, even if some cheapening may be inevitable when it comes to a master storyteller beloved by children. Danes wanting to convey the true sophistication of their most famous writer can hardly legislate against Hans Christian Andersen wine (a story attached to every bottle), kitchenware or key chains, let alone ban Danny Kaye videos. Still, artistic fairy tales do exist in Copenhagen.

Where else these days would the richest man in town build a new opera house, sign it over to the government and not even demand that his name be attached to the building? The $440-million venue, which opened in January, was entirely financed by 91-year-old shipping magnate Maersk McKinney Moller and is to be named after Queen Margrethe II.

About all Moller expected for his money was the choice of Danish architect Henning Larsen, the use of horizontal metal bars across the glass facade (over Larsen’s objections) and an opening night “Aida.” The “Aida” was said to be unremarkable, but who cares? Royal Danish Opera is the luckiest opera company in the world.

And how has it celebrated its great good fortune? By commissioning “Kafka’s Trial,” an offensive, profoundly pessimistic opera that will receive the final performance of its first run Wednesday night. A kind of mean-spirited, foul-mouthed fairy tale about a whiny, sex-besotted, comic-book Kafka, it does, however, happen to contain stretches of very good music by Poul Ruders. That, I suppose, is Denmark for you as well.

The opera house is an airy, handsome building, with clean, modern lines. Located on the smaller of the two islands the city occupies, it faces the water, and the only direct access is a three-minute water-bus ride from central Copenhagen. It’s a charming approach, although the charm wears thin when you wait in the kind of cold and wind that prevailed before Saturday night’s performance of “Kafka’s Trial.”

Inside, the building is mostly a delight. Larsen had a point about the steel strips, because they interfere with an otherwise splendid view. But they do give the exterior a visual drama it would otherwise lack, despite one critic’s likening it to the grille of a 1955 Pontiac. The exciting Icelandic conceptual artist Olafur Eliasson contributed three crystal chandeliers, huge disco balls that throw off light with such brilliance that it is easy to forget about the view altogether.

Per Kirkeby made attractively moody large bronze reliefs for the lobby. Another noted Danish artist, Per Arnoldi, designed a red curtain so radiant against the dark wood in the traditionally horseshoe-shaped, 1,400-seat auditorium that some patrons may be in no hurry for it to rise. I almost wished it hadn’t Saturday. So first something about the composer. Ruders changes personas the way the rest of us change moods. In the ‘80s, he could bop like a Minimalist, but even then his pieces took interesting, unexpected twists and turns.

In the ‘90s, he grew grand, writing orchestral works that were large-scale and overblown, if full of striking sonic effects. Five years ago, Royal Danish Opera premiered his gloomy opera “The Handmaid’s Tale,” based on Margaret Atwood’s novel about a religious-right takeover of the U.S. government and its oppression of women.

Though it was well-received, that opera is a mess, due, in considerable part, to a libretto by Paul Bentley that explains everything in banal language. Ruders’ ominous score rises to moments of real eloquence, but it also fills time with what sounds like an indiscriminate piling-on of notes.

Bentley also wrote the libretto for “Kafka’s Trial,” which weaves Kafka’s life into his novel. It is an even bigger mess than “Handmaid’s Tale,” and Ruders is forced to do yet more larding-on of notes, this time for a nonstop, two-hour stretch and again with mixed results. A long prologue is an exchange of letters among Kafka and his fiancee, Felice Bauer, and his mistress, Greta Bloch. Turning Kafka into a Woody Allen-type caricature -- full of lust and self-loathing -- Bentley emphasizes the writer’s Jewishness. When Felice accepts Kafka’s proposal, his response is “Oy vey.” (It comes out “Oy vi” -- the libretto was written in English but translated into Danish.)

Everything freaks out Kafka. When not hiding under a desk or lifting someone’s skirt, he’s in bed. Not able to sort out his women, he drafts “The Trial,” in which the central character is accused of a crime he didn’t commit. But Kafka’s guilt-ridden, so he must be guilty. In the opera, the novel only reinforces his sexual and emotional inadequacies.

This operatic Kafka -- a pathetic loser, unlike the fascinatingly enigmatic real-life writer -- is ultimately condemned by both Felice and Greta. All his fears are confirmed, but he has no idea what has happened to him, or why or what to do about it. “Bottom line: Nobody knows what’s going on anywhere at any given time,” Ruders explained in an interview about the opera.

Since life’s all a big, bloody joke, Ruders turns Kafka into a comic character, as if a player in a burlesque. One second the music is manic; the next, Felice pours forth melting lyricism, only to be interrupted by something farcical or nasty or angry or crybaby-ish -- or a scream of terror.

The production, by Francisco Negrin (who directed Handel’s “Julius Caesar” for Los Angeles Opera in 2001), incorporates elements of farce. There is endless, stupid sex, done every which way, Las Vegas without the stagecraft. Everyone is a clown or a creep. What isn’t farce is nightmare, although it’s sometimes hard to tell the two apart. There is an orgy scene to music that parodies “Die Fledermaus.” Jewish angst is activated by klezmer strains in the pit.

Kafka keeps multiplying. By the end, there are six of him all squeezed into one bed. In the “Trial” section, the Interrogator has the head of a chicken and Joseph K.’s ineffectual lawyer has metamorphosed into an insect (get it?). Each time the chorus is wheeled in on bleachers, the singers have on a different set of outlandish costumes. Finally, Kafka becomes his own interrogator (with six Kafkas there is easily one to spare).

The good news is that the lead Kafka, Johnny van Hal, is tall and robust, so at least he doesn’t look like Woody Allen. Everyone else in the cast has two or more parts. As Felice (and Fraulein Burstner), Gisela Stille is prim on the outside but sings the most alluring, soaring music. Marianne Rorholm is the lusty Greta Bloch (and Frau Montag and Leni).

The conductor, Thomas Sondergard, spent much of his energy Saturday keeping the large orchestra under control and the sound from overwhelming the bright, lively acoustic of the intimate auditorium.

Meanwhile, Hans Christian Andersen -- whose bicentennial is being celebrated with symphonies, ballets, films, theater and exhibitions all over Copenhagen and the rest of Denmark (and the world) -- will have to wait until next season for his opera. Royal Danish Opera asked Elvis Costello to write it. The Danish Parliament lies in wait.