Knights At the Opera

The big selling feature at this year's Verona Arena – other than the Arena itself – was that all five productions are under the directorial guidance of Franco Zeffirelli. There was a time when Zeffirelli was an inspired and inspiring director-designer. His Romeo and Juliet at the Old Vic with a young Judi Dench was a revelation which he later transferred to the screen with great success; the Covent Garden Lucia di Lammamoor with Joan Sutherland helped launch her international career as the high priestess of bel canto; Falstaff at the Met under Leonard Bernstein (the first Zia Zeff production I ever saw) was a bloody wonder; and of course Tosca with Callas was the stuff of legends. Sadly his recent work has become mostly tired retreads of past successes – pale imitations (his Falstaff this year in Roma immediately springs to mind) of his once ground breaking work. The Aida and Carmen at the Arena have been seen elsewhere - La Scala, the Met et al - and in all likelihood don't have much new to say. I did a quick search and found no record of his every having directed or designed Madama Butterfly or Il Trovatore other than at the Arena. It appears that this year's Turandot is a “new” production though the designs are highly reminiscent of the Met version only wider.

Unfortunately Zia Zeff has been involved in some unfortunate incidents lately that suggest he has succumbed to GOMS – Grumpy Old Man Syndrome. Shouting matches with journalists, bitter exchanges with opera house managers, insulting comments about singers and general nasty bitching about the good old days and the wonders of everything ever created by Zeff, have done much to destroy the reputation he once had. It has also coloured many peoples reactions to what he now presents, my own included.

A right click will "enbiggen" this shot of Zia Zeff's set for Il Trovatore - it certainly filled the Arena stage and despite various levels Di Luna's cavalry negotiated it with ease. The singers perhaps a little less so.

I approached Saturday night's Il Trovatore cynically wondering how he was going to fit his trademark hordes of extras, small children, animals and bare-chested muscle men into Verdi's gloom and doom revenge tragedy. Well I saw no small children and no pectorals were revealed – though surely the Anvil Chorus would have been a great opportunity for sweaty oiled torsos – but of animals and extras we had plenty. Manrico rode in on a horse to save Leonora from the Convent that appeared to house 100 candle bearing nuns accompanied by a dozen or more hooded members of the Inquisition (???) carrying Good Friday procession statues. They were all set to receive her into an order whose chapel (the centre tower opened up to much applause) rivaled Toledo for gold and religious glitz. Somehow or other a group of Spanish dancers were able to court both the patronage of the gypsies and Di Luna – I guess when you're an artist during a civil war you go were the money is. This meant that we got a bit of the mandatory ballet music that Verdi wrote for Paris but only enough to give the punters ample opportunity to take plenty of flash pictures – more about that later. At first I found myself smirking at some of the extraneous touches but ended up thinking – hell this is Verona, this is the Arena – we came here for the spectacle as much as the singing. And spectacle we got but sadly there appeared to be little in the way of stage direction for the principals – it was pretty much stand, clutch breast, fall to your knees (particularly poor Leonora who I sincerely hope had knee pads), arms raised, throat open 19th century posing. Sure the situations in Trovatore are pretty melodramatic and unmotivated but I seemed to recall a Tito Copiobanco staging at the Paris Opera that made it all seem pretty damned dramatic.

Someone once said that all you really need for Trovatore are five great singers (okay they said four but if you don't have a really good Ferrando that opening scene goes pretty flat). And, not wanting to sound like a few bloggers I know who are locked in the past, there was a time when we got that not just for Trovatore but all of the Verdi cannon. Last evening there were no great singers but at least one of them was getting pretty damn close by the end of the evening.

He didn't quite strike fear in our hearts with his recounting of the burning of the gypsy crone but Giorgio Giuseppini started the evening well as Ferrando. The chorus gave amble support and power to all those well-known important choral passages that pepper the work.

Marcello Alvarez (Manrico) is a singer that I have some problem with – I have never forgiven him for the ridiculous incident of the “arranged” and totally undeserved encore in Tosca a few years back in Roma, I know its silly to hold a grudge but that's me. I've always found him to be from the “Sing out, Luigi” school of tenors so was greatly surprised to hear what was a reasonably subtle and nuanced performance until his big moment. I'm not sure what happened during Di quella pira but he came acroppers at the end. That spectacular moment we all wait for as the tenor takes centre stage, arms, legs and lungs open wide and lets blast! It may not be what Verdi wanted but its what we've come to expect. And it just didn't happen.

The other disappointment of the evening was Marianne Cornetti's Azucena. It is a role she has sung elsewhere with some success but I founded it underpowered. Her Stride la vampa lacked any sense of drama or doom. Her acting was unconvincing – I've seen better gypsy crone impersonations by a few of the beggars on the streets of Roma. And she seemed embarrassed by the one piece of “innovative” staging Zeff gave her – Azucena's stabs herself at the finale – and it went for naught.

There are currently no photos available of the Arena production however here's a shot by Cory Weaver of Sondra Radvanosvky and Dmitri Hvorostovsky in the San Francisco Opera production.

Dmitri Hvorostovsky has a great head of hair and he certainly looked handsome in his doublet, hose and armour – one questions Leonora's taste in men in rejecting his advances but chaqu'un as they say. Though he did a respectable job of Il balen and he has been singing it frequently I honestly feel that Di Luna is not his role. That sound of burnished bronze I recall from Verdi baritones of the past was missing though when challenged by Sondra Radvanovsky in Mira, d'acerbe lagrime in Act 4 he caught fire vocally and dramatically.

The star of the evening was Radvanovsky's Leonora. She may not have all the technique needed for Tacea la notte but as the evening progressed her Leonora gained vocal depth so by the time we came to D'amor sull'ali rosee she was in top form. No strain, no stridency – just pure unadulterated music making at its best. To my ears her's was the performance of the sort of spinto I grew up listening to and she rightly earned the cheers and bravi of the crowd.

Marco Armiliato has been making a name for himself as a conductor over the past few years both in Europe and in New York. Though he brought no new insights into the work he showed a firm grasp of the Verdian style and is one of those conductors who works with the singers to bring out the drama in the music.

There had been a bit of a to-do in the press about amplification being used at the Arena at Zia Zeff's insistence. If there was indeed any amplification I wasn't aware of it – in fact from my seat in the centre platea the sound was muted and it took a while for these old ears to adjust. Though they did hear very clearly the lady behind me singing along – not quite sotto voce – with the better known numbers.

Though it wasn't a great evening of opera – as I have often said these things come along very seldom – as an introduction to the spectacle of the Arena it was a satisfying evening. The atmosphere, the venue, the organization (yes here in my beloved Italy), the spectacle all make it something unique and special. I wonder why I'd left it for three years to make the pilgrimage.

One comment though – I would not want to have any form of epilepsy that was triggered by flashing lights. The constant barrage of camera flashes – though announcements are made that they are forbidden – was like viewing much of the performance by lightening. Very unpleasant, disturbing and stupidly selfish of the people taking photos – surely they have learned that at that distance their bloody flashes do SFA! Though Laurent's theory is that most of them don't know how to turn the flash off on their newly bought expensive digital toys. And more maddening the attendants did nothing to stop it. One of these days I would love to see a performance grind to a halt and the offenders turfed out. Or better yet someone beside me takes a flash photo and I have the nerve to grab their camera throw it to the floor and kick it under the seat in front! There I feel better for having said it already.

And here's a short video taken before the performance and during the intermission. The Anvil Chorus being sung by the Robert Shaw Chorale under Renato Cellini.



10 agosto - San Lorenzo

Tutti Il Mondo E Burla*

*All the world's a joke ..." so ends one of the greatest of operas: Verdi's Falstaff. Written at the end of his life it is a work of great joy, laughter and a touch of melancholy. As the aging Falstaff is let in on the joke that has been played on him, he, his cronies and the rest of the residents of Windsor, remind us that in the end we are all the butt of a joke and the best thing to do is laugh at it all.

On Saturday night at the opening of Teatro dell'Opera's season it was the opera going public who seemed to be the butt of a not very funny joke. The first sign of trouble was the multiple cast lists: in eight performances there are 4 Falstaffs, 3 Alices, 3 Fords, 3 Nannettas, 2 Fentons and 2 Mistress Quicklys plus two conductors sharing the podium. And none of the cast remains the same for more than 2 of the performances. Now above all Falstaff is an ensemble opera - except for two rather lovely, and slightly intrusive arias and a great monologue it is mostly a work of ensembles and small ariettas. It depends on close interaction between the singers, a great deal of subtlety from a conductor and the sure touch of a director. All three were missing on Saturday night.

Act 1, Scene 2 - The garden of the Ford household as pictured by Franco Zeffirelli still a lovely if now slightly coarser stage picture.

This was billed as a "new" production by Franco Zeffirelli, the once respected director-designer who has lately become the butt of not a few jokes himself because of some frankly outrageous behavior. This production was "new" back in 1964 when I saw and was enchanted by it at the Old Metropolitan Opera. I remember it as a wonder of beautiful design and witty staging that seemed to wed perfectly with the miraculous score. The designs have changed little - though what were once stands of hollyhocks in the Ford's garden have turned into some sort of day glow flowers that had been overfed MiracleGro - and are still lovely to look at. However what is not acceptable are the 10 and 15 minutes intervals between scenes that it takes to change them. Falstaff may be the work of an old man but it demands quicksilver in the performing. And the Zeffirelli staging has coarsened along with the designs. I recall Luigi Alva as Fenton nestled in the crux of the Great Oak singing his aria bathed in moonlight - here the fine young American tenor Taylor Stayton just wandered aimlessly in a cloud of stage fog. And for the most part the singers were going through the motions listlessly and mechanically. I will borrow a word from Laurent who, though he had not seen that 1964 production, had the feeling that the whole thing had been "reheated".

Act 2, Scene 2 - Again a lovely design but the 10-15 minutes waits between scene spoiled the momentum of a work that should move like quicksilver.

One of the glories of that 1964 production was the conducting of Leonard Bernstein and another the remarkable ensemble cast. Though Asher Fisch has shown himself to be a fine conductor in several venues he has come to Falstaff a little too early in his career. This is a score that demands a fine balance between stage and pit that was missing on Saturday night. Often the singers were swamped by the orchestra and Arrigo Boito's brilliant text, so integral in this opera, was inaudible. There were also problems with coordination between stage and pit during the finale of Act 1 and the wayward horns had some problem with their key passages in Ford's jealousy monologue.

Renato Bruson has sung the role of Falstaff for almost 30 years including a memorable performance under Guilini.
Photo: Rome Opera - Falsini

It gives me little or no pleasure to write this next paragraph as I have the greatest respect for this singer and what he has achieved. Back in 1982 Renato Bruson sang a wonderful Sir John under Carlo Maria Guilini and he has sung it many times since. It is a role that he once inhabited and could rightfully claim as his own but at 74 he no longer has the power to make the big moments memorable and was often inaudible. L'Onore! Lardri!, Va vecchio John and Quand'ero paggio went for very little and he honestly had some difficulty with the stage movements. Only in the scene outside the tavern as the drenched Falstaff bemoans his sorry state did his Fat Knight take flight. Perhaps it is now time for Bruson to allow us to hold on to our memories of his past performances and gracefully retire from the stage.

Carlos Alvarez was a fine in not particularly individual Ford shining briefly in the Jealousy monologue and Stayton was a mellifluous Fenton both in his aria and in the duets and ensembles, he is a young singer to watch. Mario Bolognesi, Patrizio Saudelli and Carlo di Cristoforo gave generalized portrayals of Caius, Bardolfo and Pistola.

Top: Act 2, Scene 1 - Sir John and the disguised Master Ford meet in the Garter Inn.
Bottom: Act 3, Scene 2 - The arrival of Nannetta as the Fairy Queen in Windsor Forest.
Photos: Rome Opera - Falsini.

Of the quartet of women the two lower voices were the most satisfactory. Francesca Franci did what could be done with Mistress Page and Elisabetta Fiorillo sang with good humour if not all the required deep velvet of Quicklys of the past. Myrtò Papatanasiu appears to be a Rome favorite these days and she has sung both a fine Nedda and I understand a very well-received Violetta here in the past year however she was out of her depth as Alice. Her voice was almost lost in the nero Cacciator narrative and it did not soar over the Gaie comari di Windsor ensemble. I felt she would have been happier cast as Nannetta. Lauro Giordano's Nannetta sang a lovely Sul fil d'un suffio esesio but prior to that her voice had been thin sounding and at one point noticeably off pitch.

The wonder of the evening was Verdi and his collaboration with Boito: Falstaff is a masterpiece. It is an opera made up of small miracles and the big miracle was that even with a tired production and less than inspired conducting and singing the genius of this remarkable work still shone through.

26 gennaio - Santi Timoteo e Tito

E Avanti a lui tremava tutti Roma!*

*And before him all Rome trembled! - Tosca over the dead body of Scarpia

Well all Rome wasn't exactly trembling a week ago Sunday past (January 20th)but the Teatro dell'Opera had to be moving a bit with all the clapping, stomping and carrying on during the curtain calls at the end of Tosca - why even the orchestra stayed behind to join in the ovation. And when a frail looking Franco Zeffirelli came out, leaning heavily on conductor Gianluigi Gelmetti, the foundations had to have given a few shakes.

So was it really all that great an evening? Well yes... and no. Let's just say it was an evening of marvelous inconsistencies. As I mentioned before as a designer Zeffirelli is a traditionalist - if the libretto says Act I - Church of Sant'Andrea delle Valle that's what we get.

Teatro dell'Opera di Roma - Tosca
Set Design by Franco Zeffirelli Act 1 - Church of Sant'Andrea delle Valle

And as a director he is remarkably faithful to the libretto, if Puccini writes music for a Te Deum and Illica and Giacosa want a procession then we get a procession to end all processions - Swiss Guards, Confraturnities, Priests, Cardinals et al.

Teatro dell'Opera di Roma - Tosca
Act 1 - Te Deum finale

There were the Zeffirelli trademarks - extras wandering through the Church, children, a stripped to the waist muscle fuck in the last act,an elevator scenery change, naturalistic action mixed with outright operatic playing to the audience. It may not have all been logical but after some of the Regie nonsense seen here over the past few months - pax the dreadful Neapolitanized Merry Widow and the Smurf-infested Mose in Egitto- it was good to see a director who'd read the libretto and listened to the music.

As for the music making Gelmetti led a taut performance that burned with a sense of drama until "E lucevan le stelle" in Act 3 when all drama left the stage, but more about that later. Though its was a Sunday matinee we had the first cast from opening night: Martina Serafin, Marcelo Alvarez and Renato Bruson. The veteran baritone Bruson, 71 years old according to Wikipedia, was sounding a little thread-bare and now lacks the dark tones to create a really terrifying Scarpia. And if dramatically his Scarpia seemed an imitation of Tito Gobbi's, it should be best remembered that most of Zeffirelli's direction for Act 2 derives from the Callas-Gobbi 1964 production.

Reports of Serafin's Strauss (Johann Jr and Richard) and Wagner had not prepared me for the Latin-intensity of her performance. She was a many-coloured Tosca - almost child-like in her love-play with Cavaradossi in Act 1, very much the grand singer use to theatre in her over-reaction to the painting and truly frightening and frightened in her Act 2 scenes with Bruson. Her Vissi d'arte was a bewildered cry from the heart not just a big soprano aria. Marceo Alvarez, her Cavaradossi, is a big handsome bear of a man with a thrilling voice if no great ability as an actor. He handled the first act by-play with Serafin in a charming way - one could almost believe he would have hustled her into the Angelotti chapel for a quickie if it hadn't been occupied. His Vittoria! Vittoria! was thrilling without being show-stopping because it turns out he was saving the big guns for that Act 3 aria.

And stop the show he did. Now I must admit the aria was beautifully sung but the audience reaction seemed a bit over the top. Cries of bravo, a prolongued ovation and calls of bis (encore) rained down upon the kneeling figure of the about-to-die Cavaradossi - at which point he looked up with a big smile, acknowledged the ovation and turned to conductor Gelmetti with palms outstretched and a little-boy look of pleading on his face. He mimed "not for me maestro but for them," Gelmetti shrugged, Alvarez (forgetting he was playing Mario Cavaradossi) ran off-stage to ... okay it with Zeffirelli or stage management? get a drink of water? blow his nose?... who knows. But he returned all smiles and nodding threw himself into position and did it all over again. After that point Serafin, the excellent Spoletto (Claudio Barbieri) and the crackshot firing squad could do little to revive the dramatic tension - though the chase and leap from the parapet did have a certain excitement.

But at that point the real drama was being reserved for the curtain calls.

Just in case you'd like to see/hear what the carry on was all about Teatro dell'Opera has posted an edited video of the first night encore here. And my friend Parsi has a complete audio here.

(All photos are courtesy of Teatro dell'Opera di Roma)

30 gennaio - Santa Giacinta

Lines, Lines Everywhere's There's Lines

We have our box at the opera this year but unfortunately it doesn't include the season's opening production - Tosca directed by Franco Zeffirelli. Zio Franco is still a big draw around these parts - even if recent pronouncements he's made in the papers sound like he may be, how shall we say, losing it just a bit. We want to see this "new" Zio Franco production even if it is a rehash of the Callas 1964 one from Covent Garden or the Met's elevator mad one, just to see real solid sets and not steeply sloped floors with sticky out bits. Guaranteed with Zio Franco if the libretto says Act I - Church of Sant'Andrea delle Valle you'll get the Church of Sant'Andrea delle Valle.

So when tickets went on sale for the season this morning I headed down to Piazza Beniamino Gigli to get us some seats.

The Box Office opened at 1000 I arrived at 1130 and joined this crowd:

And received this slip of paper from a kindly gentleman ensconced in the corner:
He wasn't a member of the Opera House staff - just an opera lover who was going to make damned sure everyone got their turn based on when they arrived. And wonder of wonders it was working except they were just calling number 85 and 86 when he handed me mine.

I figured it would be a long wait so left to do a bit of window shopping and book buying. I returned an hour later and they had just called number 106. An hour after that and they were up to number 162. In conversation with the man who had number 446 we decided we'd be lucky to get to the box office window by tomorrow. In the meantime I had been back and forth to Termini hoping to meet our friend Jack when he arrived on the airport train.

He called to say his flight had arrived late, he had waited an hour to get his bag and he was in the line up for train tickets. An hour later he called to say he had just got his ticket and would be on the next train. The final trip to the Opera House indicated that they were "Now Serving Number 187."

In the meantime I thought I'd buy the stamps I need for my Residence Permit at the Station Post Office while I was waiting. And surprise I ran into another line up.

It just seemed to be a day for line ups. I didn't get my tickets for Tosca nor the stamps for my Permit but I did manage to pick Jack up so at least something was accomplished. Mind you we had to line up for 10 minutes for a cab.

03 gennaio - Santa Genoveffa