Love in the Time of Faction

Charles Gounod’s Roméo et Juliette

Metropolitan Opera

January 28, 2017

Our pair of convalescent lovers
Photo credit: Met Opera

It was (again) one of those evenings when the stage manager appears at the front of the stage to a palpable gasp of despair from every corner of the house. “Diana Damrau is recovering from a cold [pregnant pause] and so is Vittorio Grigolo…” A ripple of shock swept through the audience: No! The announcement continued, “and so they will be singing anyway. Enjoy the performance.” Thank goodness these two lead singers are normally exceptionally strong, which meant that despite their various states of convalescence, they sounded great both individually and together. Since they often sing together, the chemistry between them is evident.

Grigolo strikes his Romèo pose
Photo credit: Met Opera

Tenor Vittorio Grigolo is one of the most thrilling super divos to grace the Met stage of late. As per his usual, he chewed up the scenery, or rather he climbed all over it. There was hardly a pillar or a platform or a column that he didn’t run and jump and ramp up on. He literally bounced off the sets embodying a romantic super-hero with a voice to match his exuberant physical prowess. That soaring quality that we look for in a great romantic tenor was definitely there, but his voice was deeper this time out, chestier than I remember it. Perhaps that was due to the cold and if so it had a pleasantly manlier side effect.

Grigolo chews up the scenery
Photo credit: Met Opera

Grigolo had several moving moments, however he really took me by storm, emotionally, when he bounded pensively across the stage toward Juliette’s balcony in Act II to cry out, L’amour, l’amour!… Ah! lève-toi soleil. Young love is at the center of the opera and this moment puts its earliest gushing red flush in words, sets it to music. Grigolo’s boyish Neapolitan charms were on full display. He’s also just a pleasure to watch, gigioneggiando hither, thither and yon.

Soprano Diana Damrau often strikes the figure of a stately dame on the operatic stage with an equally stellar vocal technique. She is a master. Somehow in order to play the star-crossed young lover Juliette, she came off as fully rejuvenated, fresh faced and bubbly. She threw herself into the role energetically and with spunk. Even her costumes look great and were very flattering of her figure. In one way or another every time she breezed across the stage a cloud of muslin and gauze floated in a flurry all around her. This Juliette was celestial also thanks to the aura of lightweight fabric that always accompanied her. Damrau’s singing was also top notch, despite the cold.

A grand dame rejuvenated
Photo credit: Met Opera

Juliette’s famous waltz in Act I, Je veux vivre, was self-assured, defiant and flirty at the same time. She intoned with exuberance the verses in which she muses on girding herself against the assaults of love in favor of living life on her own terms. Laisse-moi sommeiller / Et respirer la rose, / Respirer la rose / Avant de l’effeuiller (Let me sleep and smell the rose, before despoiling it). The imagery of savoring the rose, rather than seizing it, poses a subtle affront to the classic carpe diem trope that has so often been employed by young men to coax their ladies into love. Damrau’s body language very cleverly sent one message while her words communicated another.

Mezzo-soprano Virginie Verrez sang a charming if not naïf rendition of Stéphano’s one big aria in the second half of Act III. With its refrain of Gardez bien la belle!, her take had less of an edge of assault, and instead came off as more of an innocent, playful taunt. The contrast was nevertheless felt inasmuch as it serves to introduce the climactic duel that closes the act and ends in deaths on both sides of the factional divide.

Stunning Italianate sets update the action to 18th Century Verona
Photo credit: Met Opera

This is, of course, the time honored story about the tragic star-crossed lovers of Verona. It’s first iteration dates back to Matteo Bandello’s novella, which was probably written between 1531-1545 and which had already been widely translated and imitated. Placed among his early works, Shakespeare’s own version dates to the end of the 16th century, which then provides the basis for the 1867 opera by Charles Gounod with a libretto by Jules Barbier and Michel Carré.

At first encounter with the immaculately detailed sets designed by Michael Yeargin for Bartlett Sher’s new production, it would seem that the purists in the Met audience are finally getting what they always long for: a hyper-realistic period piece with all the fixings. And they really allow you to revel in the beauty of the scenery on stage. As you file into your seat the curtain is already up so you can feast your eyes on the beautifully detailed depiction of a very Veronese piazza with its palatial facades and abundant traces of Roman relics including a single column set up in the middle of the square.

Love in the time of factions
Photo credit: Met Opera

Once the show gets going, however, it becomes clear – primarily only through the costuming decisions made by Catherine Yuber – that the action has been set not in the early Italian Renaissance but rather it has been updated to the 18th century. The Capulets are dressed in coats and stockings that make them look more French, like the Bourbon monarchs who held power in Italy and elsewhere in this period, than like Italians of the time. The Montagues are dressed decidedly different. Romeo and his gang of hoodlums come off as belonging to some kind of rebel class of slightly later Jacobin revolutionaries sporting leather coats and frilly shirts unbuttoned (showing off hunky pectorals). But aren’t we supposed to still be in Italy? What does this production accomplish by setting the story of these two timeless lovers against the tensions of later (French?) political classes?

A world in which poetry and violence collide
Photo credit: Met Opera

The program notes tell us that the choice was to set the story in a “mythical Verona” that would represent “a beautiful but dangerous world where poetry or violence might erupt at any moment.” There was also some intended reference to Fellini’s Casanova but did not seem to fully work with the overall plot. While the sets may have been Italianate, the costumes were decidedly French. They seemed to pit the ancien régime off against a clan of Jacobin-looking revolutionaries, Capulets and Montagues, respectively.

The Met orchestra sounded terrific and from the moment that it launched into the big tragic chords of the overture to Gounod’s romantic masterpiece under the baton of Gianandrea Noseda, the turmoil and tumult rocking the world outside slowly faded away. Mind you it doesn’t turn out well for anybody involved. While in the play the tragedy leads to the reconciliation of the feuding families, Gounod’s version closes on the couple expiring together, which is a more definitive and dramatic ending, certainly more fitting for the operatic form.

– Lui & Lei

The couple expires and the story ends
Photo credit: Met Opera

A Benchwarmer’s Barber

Rossini’s Il barbiere di Siviglia

Metropolitan Opera

January 21, 2017

The Barber forever lurks in the Rossini repertory
Photo credit: Marty Sohl

In terms of expanding our Rossini horizons, this last year or so in opera has been a boon. Bare Opera brought us one of his earliest youthful works, La cambiale di matrimonio. The Met simultaneously presented his first big breakout success, L’italiana in Algeri, and his final masterwork, Guillaume Tell. Bel Canto at Caramoor bestowed Aureliano in Palmira upon us over the summer. La gazza ladra landed alongside the lake at Glimmerglass; and a most memorable Turco in Italia at Juilliard not too awfully long ago. Opera Philadelphia has Tancredi in store for us next month. After lavishing its racy take on Le Comte Ory on us last June, LoftOpera is about to tackle Otello, another masterful rarity.

So much of Rossini’s back catalog has been ransacked of late that the uber-canonical joys of Il barbiere di Siviglia begins to feel less like the monolithic central altarpiece in the temple of bel canto worship and more like a quaint relic, easily overlooked, far from the main stage languishing as a sideshow somewhere. However, when the likes of Peter Mattei is slated to sing it… now that’s an opportunity that’s hard to pass up. What else are we going to hear the golden-tones of the great Peter Mattei in this year at the Met if not this?

Mattei's absence unsettles us in our seats
Photo credit: Marty Sohl

Promptly taking our seats well in advance of the curtain, we were flummoxed to find that Peter Mattei had taken ill. What a bummer that little slip of paper in the program was! Our spirits sunk so low that we almost gathered our things and hit the road. But yet, something kept us there. We made a pact to sit through the first act and give the benchwarmers a chance. We vowed to decide whether to stay for the rest or not at intermission. So we settled back in. And, boy, are we glad we did.

Figaro's mobile bottega arrives bearing a surprise
Photo credit: Marty Sohl

The biggest disappointment of the evening turned into one of the greatest surprises. The sun began to shine again through our clouds of doom and gloom from the moment Edward Parks, Mattei’s substitute, was wheeled out on the roof of Figaro’s mobile bottega by his bevy of damigelle. To say Parks came out strong in his opening number, Largo al factotum, is an understatement. His round manly sound, reminiscent not of Mattei but of a more virile Erwin Schrott, instantly redeemed the evening. 

Edward Parks covers for Mattei

Parks has a handsome instrument and great stage presence. He is naturally playful and hunky. In fact he would make a perfect Don Giovanni. He’s more brutal in his attack on the notes than Mattei. He’s not as lyrical as the man we came to see and doesn’t savor the words in Mattei’s inimitable way, but it is, nevertheless, great to see a benchwarmer rise to the occasion and shine like this, considering the shoes he had to fill. Parks isn’t your average panchinaro. He is obviously a formidable talent in his own right. That’s why it’s always worth giving the back up a day in court. You never know what’s in store.

Soprano Pretty Yende is lighter and flightier than your typical Rosina. She has a way of eating up her musical line with killer agility and piercingly beautiful high notes. She expanded famous numbers like Io sono docile in her own unique virtuosic way, imbuing her tempos with more space and lengthening the time between her notes. It’s a treat to get a singer who really relishes the opportunities afforded by Rossini’s bel canto compositional style. Making the part her own, slowing certain passages down, taking extra rubato high notes, dishing out moments of pure vocal genius. She is one of the great singers at the Met at the moment. And tonight she was on fire.

Pretty Yende owned the orchestra as Rosina
Photo credit: Marty Sohl

Dottor Bartolo was replaced with panache by Maurizio Muraro. His booming bass-baritone resounded through the Met with forceful self-assurance. But he is old hat in this role at the Met, so we were less worried about his ability to so fully channel, body and soul, the spirit of the dirty old tutor. As ever, Muraro was a pleasure to watch in this role.

Often sung by an older mezzo, Karolina Pilou played a youthful Berta and really showed off her acting chops. She was always in character. I kept my eye on her through my binoculars every time she was on stage. She filled the space with her big voice, which is naturally graced with fluidity and agility. She also made her vocal presence forcefully felt in the ensembles, in which she really delivered.

Muraro is Bartolo, body and soul
Photo credit: Marty Sohl

The tenor, however, was the weak link. Dmitry Korchak came out a bit cold and only finally warmed up in the second half of the first act. He just wasn’t bright or sparkly or bubbly enough for this kind of repertoire, particularly if you’re sad to have missed a Camarena night of the run. He’s not unpleasant but he’s not exciting enough, which is what this kind of Rossini demands of its singers, at the intersection of bel canto and opera buffa.

Though we had both seen this production numerous times in the past, it was a pleasure to revisit it. It is full of clever touches from the ballet of doors to the giant anvil that drops in the Act I finale as the sextet drones on about an incudine sonora. Bartlett Sher’s direction is clear, imaginative, faithful to the mood of the piece and fluid.

When done right like this with great singers Rossini’s Barbiere is a sparkling opera. The kind of night out that leaves you feeling refreshed with your spirits lifted. And the score achieved its maximal frizzante flair under the baton of Maurizio Benini. The Met orchestra sounded tight, popping out Rossini’s staccato rhythms, classical guitar, harpsichord and all, and yet remained flexible enough to allow a stellar diva like Pretty Yende to spread her wings and take her own sweet time, from time to time. Despite the sorry absence of our much beloved Mattei, what’s not to love!

– Lui & Lei

 

The wool goes over the eyes of the unsuspecting victim
Photo credit: Marty Sohl

A Lackluster Season Opener

Verdi’s Otello

Met Season Opening Gala 2015

September 21, 2015

Desdemona puts up a fight against all odds.
Photo credit: Ken Howard

It was an unusual opening night. For a start there were no protesters picketing the Met (unlike the last couple of years). Then, the glamour level was relatively unimaginative. I was unable to spot any particularly spectacular gown or even a tiara, which is usually part of the fun at the gala. But more importantly the lack of fireworks and innovative ideas permeated the evening’s performance of Verdi’s Otello. While I am not crazy about this opera per se, I was looking forward to the start of the new season and was ready to be swept away by some clever and thought-provoking interpretation. Being a huge fan of two of the lead singers (Yoncheva and Lučić), I had pretty high expectations for this new production.

Otello emerges victorious.
Photo credit: Ken Howard

The opening was sensational: animations of a dark and stormy sea were projected onto a translucent scrim that covered the whole stage, producing an exciting and almost terrifying counterpoint to Verdi’s tempestuous score. This is one of my favorite passages in the opera that I have always found gripping from the very first notes. In Otello, Verdi dispenses with an overture of any kind and he thrusts the audience, in medias res, straight into what is actually Act II of his Shakespearean source material. As the scrim lifted to reveal the chorus watching Otello’s vessel brave the tempest, the stormy projections coupled with stroboscopic lightning and an ominous fog continued until Otello emerged victorious and made his way through the crowd. These effects worked so well that I hoped director Bartlett Sher would continue to employ the talents of the lighting design team throughout the opera, but sadly this was not the case.

Drink, drink, drink with me!
Photo credit: Ken Howard

It turned out to be a very minimalist production, with sets comprised essentially of transparent double walls with some vaguely nineteenth-century faux-neo-classical architectural features that were pushed around in different formations, creating a public square, a palace interior, a maze of hallways and so on. These walls allowed for fluid scene changes and some cool effects such as showing characters lurking behind them (Otello spying on Cassio), towering from their tops (Iago orchestrating the Cassio-Desdemona encounter) or being trapped inside them (Otello as a defeated leone (lion) at the end of Act III). The use of lighting design was very minimal with the plastic walls changing color at some crucial moments (red, when Otello’s demise is made clear) and some constellation appearing in the sky at the end. Otherwise, however, the sets were dark and empty (aside from some extremely basic bedroom furniture in the final act) and really did not give the eye much to work with nor their predominant negative dark space was put to any good use.

A dark and stormy Otello.
Photo credit: Ken Howard

For most of the first couple of acts, an ominous projection of an enormous sea continued to roll its tempestuous waves in the background over, above and beyond the walls. The subtle impression was that of being on a small island buffeted by the wind and the ever-changing sea. The opening of Act III brought this reading home. While the orchestra intoned the first passages of the act, the scrim was back and on it we saw projected an animation of similar neo-classical palace walls slowly dissolve under the influence of the same stormy sea, as though they were made of sand. The world our Otello inhabits is a tenuous one and is being dissolved by dark forces. While the concept behind the walls was interesting, it was really not enough to carry the show and all-in-all felt incomplete, almost as if the production had run out of money in the middle of the process.

Did the stark simplicity of the production have something to do with the infamous negotiations with the Met unions? Interestingly, in a recent interview Mr. Gelb boasted of having cut corners right down to the buttons on the costumes in order to bring this new production in under budget. Whatever the reason, the costumes were by no means exciting or interesting. The idea was to move the action to the time the opera was composed, so late 1800s. This meant generic nineteenth-century garb with men in stark military suits and women in puffy gowns, with the only touch of color being Desdemona’s red dress in the third act. This blandness coupled with the dark and bare sets did not really help to keep the visuals engaging or add much to the overall interpretation. There was some fuss in the press about this Otello not wearing the traditional blackface make-up but to me that was the least of the issues. 

Iago manipulates Cassio.
Photo credit: Ken Howard

My favorite Verdian baritone Željko Lučić stole the show as Iago. His legato phrasings and his Italian articulation were as impressive as ever and he rendered the character with a diabolical mellifluousness that was hypnotizing and highly seductive. Lučić’s sound is handsome and melodic yet very manly and here displayed a spectrum of expressivity that truly blew me away. Most striking was how the Serbian baritone’s singing perfectly rendered the duality between the true Iago (violent, ambitious, manipulative) and the fake Iago (supportive, sensitive, loyal). The range of characterization displayed by Lučić in this role was most impressive and truly made him the undisputed star of the evening.

Otello succumbs to Iago.
Photo credit: Ken Howard

I also find the character of the villain the most complex and nuanced as rendered in this opera as he is ultimately its evil propelling force. Verdi and his librettist Boito truly gave Iago some spectacular lines and music – think of the chilling and terrifying manifesto Credo in un Dio crudel, where Iago fully acknowledges and embraces his deviousness as ingrained in being human, mocking the righteous man as un istrion beffardo (a mocking actor) while his truth is sono scellerato perche’ son uomo / e sento il fango originario in me (I am a wretch because I am a man, / and I feel within me the primeval slime.)  

Another favorite singer of ours, the rising Bulgarian soprano Sonya Yoncheva did not deceive and indeed rose to the challenge of being the leading lady on the Met’s opening night. Who knew that subbing for Kurzak in Rigoletto two years ago would have led her here so quickly and so brilliantly? Yoncheva embodied the most lyrical and unblemished Desdemona. Her sound is just gorgeously plush and unbelievably pure and her dramatic acting convincing. Every single note uttered by Yoncheva exuded an accurate and emotionally charged interpretation: she was the young bride reminiscing how she fell in love; the earnest friend advocating on Cassio’s behalf; the confused and wronged victim when Otello unleashes his jealous rage; and finally, tragically aware of her imminent death, the pious and strong woman accepting her fate when her husband murders her.

Desdemona shines, Otello lacks luster.
Photo credit: Ken Howard

Latvian tenor Aleksandrs Antonenko as Otello was an expected disappointment. I’ve heard him before in Norma and Carmen and was never a fan of his. Though technically accurate and powerful enough, Antonenko’s voice just lacks warmth, it’s not particularly handsome or full and I find it just plain unpleasant to the ear in the higher register, when it sounds borderline strident. Acting-wise his Otello did not have much nuance and his maximum expression of desperation was often to just throw himself on the ground and lay there while other singers fussed around him. Probably the fault of Sher and his empty sets but still it was odd to watch. In the last act, Antonenko worked better, probably because Otello’s singing there is mostly in the lower register and there was some actual furniture around for him to work with. Beyond poor production choices, however, when the tenor in the title role is so disappointing the perception of the whole opera is just irreparably tainted.

An ominous sky over a foreboding sea.
Photo credit: Ken Howard

The Met orchestra sounded amazing under the baton of young and energetic conductor Yannick Nézet-Séguin. Rarely I have felt the score to be the real protagonist of an opera as tonight. My favorite moments of the performance (after Lučić) were several purely orchestral passages that really emphasized narrative shifts. Notwithstanding some peaks of musical excellence, though, all-in-all this was an underwhelming opening night that left me lukewarm. Here’s hoping that the season can only improve from here on in.

– Lei & Lui

Otello forces his love into submission.
Photo credit: Ken Howard