04 Jul 2010
London’s Manon: Diva and Divo Deliver
The Royal Opera's intriguingly staged Manon had all the trappings of success including a soprano at the top of her game, and a tenor on the brink of his fame.
At this start of the year, Classical Opera embarked upon an ambitious project. MOZART 250 will see the company devote part of its programme each season during the next 27 years to exploring the music by Mozart and his contemporaries which was being written and performed exactly 250 years previously.
The Concordia Foundation was founded in the early 1990s by international singer and broadcaster Gillian Humphreys, out of her ‘real concern for building bridges of friendship and excellence through music and the arts’.
An opera dealing with — or at least claiming to deal with — the events of 11 September 2001? I suppose it had to come, but that does not necessarily make it any more necessary.
On April 10, 2015, Arizona Opera ended its season with La Fille du Régiment at Phoenix Symphony Hall. A passionate Marie, Susannah Biller was a veritable energizer bunny onstage. Her voice is bright and flexible with a good bloom on top and a tiny bit of steel in it. Having created an exciting character, she sang with agility as well as passion.
This second revival of Patrice Caurier and Moshe Leiser’s 2005 production of Rossini’s Il Turco in Italia seems to have every going for it: excellent principals comprising experienced old-hands and exciting new voices, infinite gags and japes, and the visual éclat of Agostino Cavalca’s colour-bursting costumes and Christian Fenouillat’s sunny sets which evoke the style, glamour and ease of La Dolce Vita.
English Touring Opera’s 2015 Spring Tour is audacious and thought-provoking. Alongside La Bohème the company have programmed a revival of their acclaimed 2013 production of Donizetti’s The Siege of Calais (L’assedio di Calais) and the composer’s equally rare The Wild Man of the West Indies (Il furioso all’isola di San Domingo).
Mary Zimmerman’s still-fresh production is made fresher still by Shagimuratova’s glimmering voice, but the acting disappoints
When WNYC’s John Schaefer introduced Meredith Monk’s beloved Panda Chant II, which concluded the four-and-a-half hour Meredith Monk & Friends celebration at Carnegie’s Zankel Hall, he described it as “an expression of joy and musicality” before lamenting the fact that playing it on his radio show could never quite compete with a live performance.
This year’s concert of the Chicago Bach Project, under the aegis of the Soli Deo Gloria Music Foundation, was a presentation of the St. John Passion (BWV 245) at the Harris Theater in Millennium Park.
It is not an everyday opera. It is an opera that illuminates a larger verismo history.
On March 26, 2015, Los Angeles Opera presented Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro). The Ian Judge production featured jewel-colored box sets by Tim Goodchild that threw the voices out into the hall. Only for the finale did the set open up on to a garden that filled the whole stage and at the very end featured actual fireworks.
Gotham Chamber Opera’s latest project, The Tempest Songbook, continues to explore the possibilities of unconventional spaces and unconventional programs that the company has made its hallmark. The results were musically and theatrically thought-provoking, and left me wanting more.
Nixon in China is a three-act opera with a libretto by Alice Goodman and music by John Adams that was first seen at the Houston Grand Opera on October 22, 1987. It was the first of a notable line of operas by the composer.
It is thanks to Céline Ricci, mezzo-soprano and director of Ars Minerva, that we have been able to again hear Daniele Castrovillari’s exquisite melodies because she is the musician who has brought his 1662 opera La Cleopatra to life.
Lyric Opera of Chicago, in association with the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, has staged a production of Richard Wagner’s Tannhäuser with an estimable cast.
Puccini and his fellow verismo-ists are commonly associated with explosions of unbridled human passion and raw, violent pain, but in this revival (by Justin Way) of Moshe Leiser’s and Patrice Caurier’s 2003 production of Madame Butterfly, directorial understatement together with ravishing scenic beauty are shown to be more potent ways of enabling the sung voice to reveal the emotional depths of human tragedy.
Rarely, very rarely does a Tosca come around that you can get excited about. Sure, sometimes there is good singing, less often good conducting but rarely is there a mise en scène that goes beyond stock opera vocabulary.
The Nash Ensemble’s 50th Anniversary Celebrations at the Wigmore Hall were crowned by a recital that typifies the Nash’s visionary mission. Above, the dearly-loved founder, Amelia Freeman, a quietly revolutionary figure in her own way, who has immeasurably enriched the cultural life of this country.
On March 7, 2015, Arizona Opera presented Dan Rigazzi’s production of Die Zauberflöte in Tucson. Inspired by the works of René Magritte, designer John Pollard filled the stage with various sizes of picture frames, windows, and portals from which he leads us into Mozart and Schikaneder’s dream world.
There are some concert programmes which are not just wonderful in their execution but also delight and satisfy because of the ‘rightness’ of their composition. This Wigmore Hall recital by soprano Carolyn Sampson and three period-instrument experts of arias and instrumental pieces by Henry Purcell was one such occasion.
The Royal Opera's intriguingly staged Manon had all the trappings of success including a soprano at the top of her game, and a tenor on the brink of his fame.
For his world class account of the Chevalier, young Vittorio Grigolo was lavished with the sort of reception being afforded to World Cup soccer goals these days. And what’s more, he kept on scoring and scoring and scoring and scoring all night. My fine impression of Mr. Grigolo in Zurich’s Il Corsaro did not in any way prepare me for his ability to totally immerse himself in such a thrilling, impassioned performance. From his first two acts of unforced boyish, puppy dog sincerity through his maturation and final extra-musical cry of despair over his beloved’s corpse, there was no detail of the character’s conflicts that he did not beautifully, effortlessly encompass.
He also showed that his lovely lyric voice could fill a larger house like Covent Garden. While I still would hope that he carefully consider spending too much vocal capital on the bigger outbursts, there is no denying that they were exciting. Vittorio seems to have a very secure technique, good vocal health, and an uncanny sense of how to use his gifts to good musical ends. His sotto voce effects were wonderfully calibrated and had us leaning forward in our seats to catch every nuance. And he is movie star handsome, a PR director’s dream. The rowdy approval from the discerning London public is a good indicator that Mr. G’s musical future is assured. Indeed, he made a pretty damn good case for calling the piece Des Grieux.
Vittorio Grigolo as Chevalier Des Grieux and Anna Netrebko as Manon Lescaut
But it is, in fact, named for its heroine and here we were equally fortunate to have superstar Anna Netrebko as Manon. That she puts the ‘G’ in Glamor, and that her well known soprano is one of the most sleek and lustrous in the lirico-spinto Fach goes without saying. Ms. Netrebko is occasionally less acclaimed for her dramatic conviction and specificity. Not so here, for her multi-faceted embodiment of this complex woman, and the sustained arc of the character’s journey are easily the best performance I have ever experienced from Anna. And her French was notably improved (nay, ‘good’!) from the ‘Frussian’ she was intoning (albeit beautifully) on Vienna’s recent Carmen telecast.
She was utterly believable as the unforced, eager, impressionable young girl who stumbled into Act I, and she grew from that foundation with strength and conviction. Moreover, she and her leading man had an infectious chemistry that must have communicated to the last row of seats in the amphitheatre and several blocks beyond. Her singing showed off all the usual strengths: soaring top notes, even production, especially good legato, heartfelt coloring. She does miss a pitch by a hair here and there, mostly at the end of phrases in the lower middle, but this is as unpredictable and curious as it is infrequent. The celebrated exponent of the role, Beverly Sills often joked that the heroine is ‘the French Isolde.’ And so it is, requiring vocal stamina, style from girlish charm to fated desperation, and un-ebbing star quality to carry the long-ish evening. Ms. Netrebko’s fame and marketability may precede her, but she has emphatically delivered on her promise with this immensely satisfying portrayal.
Russell Braun was a vigorous, swaggering Lescaut, and although he deployed his pleasing baritone securely (and with excellent diction) I felt his hectoring might be tempered with a bit of restraint. As the Count des Grieux, Christof Fishesser had noble bearing and his rich bass made the most of every phrase. Christoph Mortagne’s Guillot was unusually fine, characterized by wit and vivacity, cleanly sung, and cliche-free. It was a pleasure to encounter the wonderful baritone William Shimmel again, this time as a solidly voiced Brétigny. I don’t always pay much attention to the trio of coquettes (who I usually find as interchangeable as the Pointer Sisters), but on this occasion we were treated to distinctive performances by Louise Innes (Rosette), and two Jette Parker Young Artists: Kai Rüütel (Rosette) and especially the very promising Simona Mihai (Pousette). These three young ladies made vibrant contributions all evening, and particularly brightened the Casino scene.
Kai Rüütel as Rosette and Simona Mihai as Poussette
The gifted director Laurent Pelly deployed his usual arsenal of theatrical inventions and infused this Manon with more humor than usual,. This strategy paid off huge dividends when we got to the contrasting devastating emotional moments. Mr. Pelly is reliably a master of character development, resulting in every person on the stage (including choristers) being at all times engaged, committed to the moment, and buoyed by sub-text. His staging made excellent use of the various playing spaces, and it was executed to a fare-thee-well by the lively cast. I loved the men in tails, side-stepping across stage during the gavotte, like Fred Astaire’s group-courting their Ginger.
I was less taken with the look of the sets, although pleased overall with their functionality. Even when they seemingly doomed the action to unavoidably repetitive movement patterns, Laurent found a way to turn the limitations to an advantage. Never off-putting and well constructed, designer Chantal Thomas relied on spare-looking, angular lines for the most part. Amiens’ square was a white box of an affair with a long staircase to the top level surmounted by miniature boxy, shuttered and roofed ‘houses.’ Not much about it to convey the feel of the Belle Epoque. In fact, the look was quite at odds with the style of the aural goings-on. The director borrowed a staging trick from Birgit Nilsson who, approaching a high note that would scare normal sopranos motionless, would nail it and then run across the stage while holding it perfectly. On the last long held note of their duet, this Love Couple ran up the entire length of the stairs to escape off the upper platform, never faltering vocally. Ah, youth!
Act II was among the best overall settings of the night, with the garret perched atop a configuration of metal roofs on the stage floor, reached by an ‘L’ of a staircase broken by a landing. This was a very fine environment indeed for the plot’s requirements, which put Lescaut and the Chevalier in the room behind a closed door, with Manon and Brétigny on the lower level of the landing. Adieu, notre petite table is very effectively stage with the soprano opening the door to see the table in the far corner just as she begins, entering the room as she continues, and with meaningful moves gets back out the door to close it again with finality on ‘Adieu.’ This could be a Masters Class in staging an aria.
Russell Braun as Lescaut and Anna Netrebko as Manon Lescaut
The cement ramps of the Cours-La-Reine scene had little visual appeal, but were redeemed by lovely globed street lights and a pastel backdrop that included a hazy tease of a Ferris wheel. The design knockout of the night was arguably Anna’s dazzling — there is no other word for it — dazzling fur-trimmed pink gown. Indeed, the colorful, eye-pleasing costumes that Mr. Pelly designed with an assist from Jean-Jacques Delmotte saved the day as far as visual delights. Lionel Hoche devised rather predictable choreography for the ballet, well-performed by eight-count-’em-eight white tu-tu’d ballerinas (ballerini?). The girls seemed to be having much more fun squealing and being pursued by the tipsy, horny revelers at scene’s end.
With the St. Sulpice scene, designer and director devised the most completely realized bit of Massenet all evening. Rows of wooden chairs find the congregation of women facing the altar off left, that is when they are not rubber-necking to catch a glimpse of that hot young Father Vittorio lurking behind them. Down right, hidden by a divider is the seminarian’s bed and simple study. By the time Manon enters in a white satin gown and methodically lures him to his fate, we are back to horizontal mode faster than you can say N’est-ce plus ma main. She lustily tears open the top of his cassock baring his torso, and the two of them fumble their way through foreplay in (*gasp*) church, before the curtain falls not a moment too soon! Not since Sherrill Milnes tore open his robe in the Met Thais have so many binocs been raised in hasty unison. If there is ever a sexier opera scene than this, it will end up on X-Tube. (The moody, apt lighting design is courtesy of Joël Adam.)
As we then see-sawed our way scenically back to the angled platforms, the skewed perspective, the flat uni-set color (this time dark green) of the Hôtel de Transylvanie with its gambling tables that rolled on and off from the wings, I wondered if I was missing some sort of intentional alternating design pattern, one all blunt angles, one more realistic. Save one fun effect of wheeling on a table with Guillot seated on the end of it, the scene was competent but colorless (always excepting the attire). This was compensated for in large measure by the final scene, a beautiful, golden-beige open space flanked by receding bannisters on either side suggesting a desolate beach or quay more than the road to Le Havre. The street lamps on stage right recall the happier events of the Cours-la-Reine. It is with this final encounter that Pelly delivers his most heartfelt work with an inevitability about the final pairing and sinking and kissing and expiring that I will number among the tenderest extended moments ever communicated on an opera stage. Goose bumps. Tears. All the buttons were pushed. Bravi, tutti.
In the pit, Antonio Pappano’s conducting at first seemed dry, with a prelude of precision but not much joy. Maestro Pappano is a no fuss, no muss guy, and after a quick acknowledgment of the audience, he plunges right into the proceedings. And I mean, right in. Maybe allowing just a moment for the orchestra to focus on his face rather than his back would prep them a bit more for the bubbling opening bars. This was quickly remedied, and in short order everything was percolating along in festive Gallic fashion, but when the same music opened Act III, there was a noticeable difference in the style and elan from this fine group of musicians. Throughout the night, Pappano displayed total command, and accommodated and supported his well-rehearsed cast of singers.