From Seen and Heard International
By: Bernard Jacobson

Seattle Opera, soloists, cond. Riccardo Frizza, dir. Peter Kazaras, set designer Donald Eastman, costume designer Anna Björnsdotter, lighting designer Connie Yun, Marion Oliver McCaw Hall, Seattle, 27 & 28.2.2010 (BJ)

There are opera productions that are faithful to the spirit of the work, yet tell us nothing about it that we didn’t already know. Then there are those, regrettably often these days, that rank the directorial quest for “originality” before anything composer and librettist may have had in mind. Peter Kazaras’s genius (a word I do not use lightly) is to employ genuinely original–even seemingly outrageous–ideas to set the true message of an opera before us in a new and utterly arresting light.

On a couple of occasions in the past, the conceptions he brought to bear in his productions for Seattle Opera’s Young Artists Program (of which he is artistic director) have aroused my scepticism in advance and ended–in a L’Enfant et les sortilèges set in a railroad station, and again in a Midsummer Night’s Dream set in an English boarding school–by convincing me completely.

After being transferred to the main stage from the small theater where the Young Artists first presented it three years ago, what this brilliant Falstaff did, most radically but not only by means of an inspired “pre-show show,” was to lay the scope of Verdi’s last opera bare by eradicating the distinctions that can too easily obscure it: the distinction between before, during, and after, or act and intermission; between on-stage and offstage; between us the audience and them the performers; between play-acting and reality. Throughout, imagination trumped literalism–witness the assemblage of chairs that served as Herne’s Oak in the last act. One tiny but contributory touch: the besom Falstaff waved to chase his venal followers away in Act One reappeared in the intermission when a stagehand swept the stage with it.. Meanwhile, a production-crew member traversed the scene, consulting her notes, which further helped the cause of dramatic seamlessness.

Coming into the theater, if we were lucky or wise enough to arrive early, we found a set, designed by Donald Eastman and masterfully lit by Connie Yun, evocative of the Globe Theatre, where Shakespeare’s plays were first seen. Here, in full view amid a variety of utilitarian furnishings, the singers are preparing for their roles, putting on their costumes (by Anna Björnsdotter) to the accompaniment of an unexpected sound-track in today’s pop styles. They exchange greetings and embraces, take photographs, send messages on cell phones. The company’s general director, Speight Jenkins, strolls across the stage with his dog to welcome his artists. And three hours later, when, for the opera’s denouement in that vertiginous final fugue, the characters all started taking their costumes off again, to stand revealed as the motley crew of ordinary personages we had seen at the start, the point of Kazaras’s conception stood triumphantly revealed. I was forcibly reminded of that touching moment towards the end of Laurence Olivier’s Henry V film when the scene reverted from Agincourt to the Globe, and the actors shed their movie make-up, and Kate stood revealed, not as a graceful French princess, but as a gauchely grinning boy player.

I hope the individual singers will forgive me for relegating them to secondary discussion, but really this is a compliment, for in the performance that followed, everything we saw and heard triumphantly served Verdi’s, his librettist Boito’s, and their translator Kazaras’s vision, assisted by spectacular orchestral playing under Riccardo Frizza’s baton and a customarily fine contribution in the last act by Beth Kirchhoff’s chorus.
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From Seen and Heard International
By: Bernard Jacobson

Soloists, Metropolitan Opera chorus and orchestra , cond. Riccardo Muti, dir. Pierre Audi, set and costume designers Miuccia Prada, Herzog & de Meuron, lighting designer Jean Kalman, Metropolitan Opera, New York, 23.2.2010 (BJ)

Under the baton of Riccardo Muti, making his long-overdue debut at the house to a reception of vociferous and richly deserved ovations, Verdi’s Attila received its premiere performance at the Metropolitan Oratorio in February. Oops! I mean the Metropolitan Opera, but you would not have thought so, given the perversely statuesque and undramatic nature of the production.

When I first heard that Pierre Audi was going to be responsible for the staging I was immediately worried. The Lebanese-born director is a man of impressive intellect. He has done invaluable work in raising the profile of the Netherlands Opera, but the actual productions of his that I have seen there have tended to place directorial “originality” well above the demands of the opera being directed. (The earliest I have ever walked out of a production was at his Così fan tutte, after an overture embellished with a naked woman reclining on a chaise longue. I am as partial as anyone to the sight of a naked woman, but there is a time and a place for everything.)

Audi’s Attila, by contrast, is blessedly free from adventitious vulgarity. On the other hand, it demolished the impact of an early but by no means negligible Verdi opera by presenting it almost in the manner of an oratorio. The set consisted, in the prologue, of an array of debris, huge blocks of broken masonry, supposedly to represent the remains of the sacked city of Aquileia. After this, there was just one set representing “the forest”: a proscenium-high depiction of lush vegetation. A couple of holes were punched in this, relatively high above the stage, to provide the characters with a locale for their arias; in one of them, someone had thoughtfully placed what looked like a piano stool so that Ezio, the Roman general, didn’t have to stand all through his big scene. Every now and then, first with the debris and then with the forest, the main set would rise, providing a featureless slot at the bottom to accommodate the chorus. Its members, roughly a hundred of them, were marshaled in three rows, just as on a concert platform, and were dressed in a variety of schmattas–Miuccia Prada schmattas admittedly, but schmattas nevertheless.

To the extent that it was possible, Muti and his forces rescued the opera with a musical performance of fantastic beauty, virtuosity, élan, and refinement. The Met orchestra can rarely have played with such stylistic aptness, ravishing tone, and pinpoint ensemble. The choral singing was as excellent as the choral acting was non-existent. There is no need to discuss the solo singers’ dramatic achievements, since they were given no opportunity to act or to interact. But this was a cast of phenomenal vocal power and artistry.
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Giordano, Andrea Chenier

From Seen and Heard International
By: José M Irurzun
Soloists, Orquesta Sinfónica de Madrid. Coro Intermezzo.Conductor: Víctor Pablo Pérez. Teatro Real de Madrid. 18/19.2.2010 (JMI)

Production Picture © Javier del Real

Among the ten operas by Umberto Giordano, Andrea Chenier is number one in the popularity stakes but it’s one of those curious things that while Chenier always had the appreciation of opera-goers, musicologists have never showed it much enthusiasm. With precious few exceptions this is something of a pattern in Verismo. The major exception is Puccini whose attachment to so-called Verismo is more than debatable.

Andrea Chenier’s following among opera-lovers has not been matched by interest from artistic directors. Take Madrid for example: Chenier has not put in an appearance in the last 25 years. In this regard it is interesting to read the Giancarlo del Monaco interview in the programme, where he talks of his experience in the 1950s at La Scala with a double cast: Mario del Monaco and Maria Callas, on the one hand, and Franco Corelli with Renata Tebaldi, on the other. “Tal dei tempi è il costume ” (Carlo Gerard dixit).

The production comes from the Opéra National de Paris, where it was premiered last December. Giancarlo del Monaco’s reading stays absolutely faithful to the libretto which specifies perfectly where and when the action takes place. The sets are spectacular in the scene in the Countess’s mansion. They show a very rich Rococo salon with a small theatre at the back of the stage. The trial scene is truly spectacular. There are excellent costumes, especially in the first scene with hosts and guests suitably bewigged. Lighting is a good complement to the production.

Everything compares favourably with what happened a few days back with Un Ballo in Maschera in Bilbao, where the production took a similar line but to lesser effect. The stage direction of Giancarlo del Monaco is quite good with an excellent sense of mass movement and very good attention to detail.

It was interesting to see the killing of Bersi by Il Incredibile on stage at the end of Act II, or the old Madelon and her grandson walking with the mob in the same act. It’s a brilliant production, and the audience was obviously pleased. Its biggest drawback is that the change of sets demands very long intermissions. Andrea Chenier has about two hours of music but the evening ran to three hours and 15 minutes. According to my information this was not the case at Paris Bastille.
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