19 May 2014
The Met’s ‘La Cenerentola’ a winning ensemble of music and comedy
The company bids a smiling farewell to its 2013-14 HD simulcast season with Rossini’s comic masterpiece
Bruckner, Bruckner, wherever one goes; From Salzburg to London, he is with us, he is with us indeed, and will be next week too. (I shall even be given the Third Symphony another try, on my birthday: the things I do for Daniel Barenboim ) Still, at least it seems to mean that fewer unnecessary Mahler-as-showpiece performances are being foisted upon us. Moreover, in this case, it was good, indeed great Bruckner, rather than one of the interminable number of ‘versions’ of interminable earlier works.
Thomas Larcher’s Second Symphony (written 2015-16) here received its United Kingdom premiere, its first performance having been given by the Vienna Philharmonic and Semyon Bychkov in June this year. A commission from the Austrian National Bank for its bicentenary, it is nevertheless not a celebratory work, instead commemorating those refugees who have met their deaths in the Mediterranean Sea, ‘expressing grief over those who have died and outrage at the misanthropy at home in Austria and elsewhere’.
One of the initiatives for the community at the Lucerne Festival is the ‘40 min’ series. A free concert given before the evening’s main event that ranges from chamber music to orchestral rehearsals.
The mysteries and myths surrounding Mozart’s Requiem Mass - left unfinished at his death and completed by his pupil, Franz Xaver Süssmayr - abide, reinvigorated and prolonged by Peter Shaffer’s play Amadeus as directed on film by Miloš Forman. The origins of the work’s commission and composition remain unknown but in our collective cultural and musical consciousness the Requiem has come to assume an autobiographical role: as if Mozart was composing a mass for his own presaged death.
I saw two operas consecutively at Oper Koln. First, the utterly bewildering Lucia di Lammermoor; then Thilo Reinhardt’s thrilling Tosca. His staging was pure operatic joy with some Hitchcockian provocations.
Bernard Haitink’s monumental Bruckner and Mahler performances with the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra (RCO) got me hooked on classical music. His legendary performance of Bruckner’s Symphony No. 8 in C-minor, where in the Finale loosened plaster fell from the Concertgebouw ceiling, is still recounted in Amsterdam.
Karita Mattila was born to sing Emilia Marty, the diva around whom revolves Leoš Janáček's The Makropulos Affair (Věc Makropulos). At Prom 45, she shone all the more because she was conducted by Jirí Belohlávek and performed alongside a superb cast from the National Theatre, Prague, probably the finest and most idiomatic exponents of this repertoire.
‘Two outrageous operas in one crazy evening,’ reads the bill. Hyperbole? Certainly not when the operas are two of Jacques Offenbach’s more off-the-wall bouffoneries and when the company is Opera della Luna whose artistic director, Jeff Clarke, is blessed with the comic imagination and theatrical nous to turn even the most vacuous trivia into a sharp and sassy riotous romp.
This performance of Britten's A Midsummer Night's Dream at Glyndebourne was so good that it was the highlight of the whole season, making the term ‘revival’ utterly irrelevant. Jakub Hrůša is always stimulating, but on this occasion, his conducting was so inspired that I found myself closing my eyes in order to concentrate on what he revealed in Britten's quirky but brilliant score. Eyes closed in this famous production by Peter Hall, first seen in 1981?
A staged piano recital and an opera as a concert. Pianist András Schiff accompanied the Salzburg Marionette Theater at the Mozarteum Grosser Saal and Anna Netrebko sang Manon Lescaut at the Grosses Festspielhaus.
On August 4, 2016, soprano Leah Crocetto and accompanist Tamara Sanikidze gave a recital at the Scottish Rite Center in Santa Fe New Mexico. A winner of the Metropolitan Opera Auditions and the BBC Cardiff Singer of the World Contest, this year Crocetto was singing Donna Anna in Santa Fe Opera’s excellent Don Giovanni.
On July 31, 2016, against the ethereal beauty of the main hall in the Scottish Rite Center, soprano Angela Meade and pianist Joe Illick gave a recital offering both opera and art songs ranging in origin from early nineteenth century Europe to mid twentieth century America. Many in the audience probably remembered Meade’s recent excellent portrayal of Norma at Los Angeles Opera.
When more is definitely more, and less would indeed be less. Two of the biggest names in Italian theater art collide in an eponymous theater.
It was the fifth Proms Chamber Music concert at Cadogan Hall this season, and we were celebrating Shakespeare’s 400th. And, given the extent and range of the composers and artists, and the diversity and profundity of the musical achievement inspired by the Bard, we could probably keep celebrating in this fashion ad infinitum.
Each August the bleak and leaky, 12,000 seat Arena Adriatica (home of the famed Pesaro basketball team) magically transforms itself into an improvised opera house that boasts the ultimate in opera chic — exemplary Rossini production standards for its now twelve hundred seats.
This highly enjoyable Prom, part of 2016’s ‘Proms at ’ mini-series, took as its guiding concept the reopening of London’s theatres following the Restoration, focusing in particular upon musical and dramatic responses to Shakespeare. Purcell, rightly, loomed large, with John Blow and Matthew Locke joining him. Receiving their Proms premieres were the excerpts from Timon of Athens and those from Locke’s The Tempest.
With all the bombast of the presidential campaigns rattling in our heads, with invectives being exchanged and measured discussion all but absent, how utterly lovely to retreat and relax into the harmonious soundscape and well-reasoned debate posed in Strauss’ Capriccio, on magnificent display at Santa Fe Opera.
When we entered the Crosby Theatre for Gounod’s Roméo et Juliette the stage was surprisingly dominated by a somber, semi-circular black mausoleum, many chambers inscribed with scrambled names of US Civil War era dead.
Molten passions were seething just below the icy Nordic exterior of Santa Fe Opera’s wholly masterful production of Barber’s Vanessa.
Farce is probably the most difficult of dramatic comedy sub-genres to put across. A farce got up in the stately robes of opera sets its presenters an even higher bar. Presenting an operatic farce on a notoriously chilly and cavernous auditorium is to risk catastrophe.
The company bids a smiling farewell to its 2013-14 HD simulcast season with Rossini’s comic masterpiece
In opera, as in sports, winning efforts are generated not so much by superstars as by good old fashioned teamwork. Such is the case with Rossini’s bel canto lyric masterpiece, La Cenerentola — an ensemble opera whose success depends more on the precise timing and execution of its rapid patter numbers than its flashy solo arias.
Credit superstars Joyce DiDonato and Juan Diego Floréz for filling the hall at Lincoln Center Saturday, not to mention thousands of theaters across the globe picking up the live feed from New York in this, the final HD simulcast of the season. But it was ultimately the chemistry among the seven principal singers that made the difference in this reprise of the company’s 1997 production. From start to finish, this Cenerentola was pure fun and entertainment.
The story, as adapted by librettist Jacopo Ferretti from the Charles Perrault tale, parallels the Cinderella legend but with several twists. Gone are the supernatural elements, the iconic glass slipper (it’s a bracelet here) and pumpkin-turned carriage. The fairy godmother is now philosopher Alidoro (Luca Pisaroni), advisor to the handsome Prince Charming (Don Ramiro, played by Juan Diego Floréz). The mean old stepmother is now the just-as-ornery stepfather, Don Magnifico (Alessandro Corbelli). Add to this confection the light and fluffy melodic invention of Rossini and you have an amiable listening experience likely to keep you smiling for some three and a half hours.
Like Mozart’s Cosi fan tutte, which the Met had simulcast just a few weeks ago, Rossini’s La Cenerentola stands out for its engaging vocal ensembles. Rossini plants a garden in which duets quickly sprout into trios — and before long, quartets, quintets and sextets. And for all its for coloratura-saturated solo arias both for mezzo-soprano and tenor, Cenerentola shines most brightly on these ensemble numbers.
DiDonato and company forged a delightful mix of characters whose timing and execution were remarkably precise. Among the highlights in this production were the brilliant first-act quintet Nel volto estatico, the exciting ensemble finale to Act 1 and the metronomic second act sextet,Questo è un nodo avviluppato. My personal favorite is the tongue-twisting Act 1 patter duet between Dandini and Ramiro, Zitto, zitto; piano, piano (which soon blossoms into an equally delightful quartet once the two sisters take stage). This effervescent number bubbles over with joy, and the speed and precision in both pitch and diction between Floréz and Spagnoli was, for me, the highlight of the production.
Cesare Lieve’s production team scored some hits — and misses. Among the things that went well were the never-ending comedic visuals, which somehow never grew stale. I especially enjoyed the ensemble finale to Act 1, as all seven principal characters prepare to seat themselves at a long dinner set carrying only six places and chairs — culminating in a continuous game of musical chairs. I also appreciated the staging of the slow, staccato-like sextetQuesto è un nodo avviluppato in Act 2 — where the prince uses a ribbon to tether the other five characters together in a “a tangled web” (“nodo avviluppato”), in-sync with the pulse of the music.
Perhaps the cleverest touch is when the two sisters, standing at opposite sides of the stage, serve a volley of angry commands at Cinderella — demanding that she retrieve their clothes and jewelry, while the chorus turns its head side-to-side like spectators at a tennis match.
Still, Lieve’s curious and annoying touches of surrealism in this production seemed rather out of place for a lighthearted comedy such as this. The expressionless faces pasted on the all-male chorus, each man standing stiffly at attention in a formal tie, dark suit and bowler hat — looked like clones of the creepy “Oddjob” character from the James Bond thriller, Goldfinger.
Juan Diego Floréz, who missed the beginning of the production run due to illness, was in top form Saturday. Hisleggiero tenor, light and crystal clear in even at the softest, most whisper-like moments, is perfectly suited to bel canto. Floréz’s flexible high register reaches the heavens with great ease of delivery, and his sustained his high C at the end of his virtuosic signature Act 2 aria Si, ritrovarla io guiro went on seemingly forever. (A clearly delighted audience would not permit the show to go on until Diego, breaking character, returned for a lengthy solo bow.)
Joyce DiDonato seemed to focus her efforts beyond the vocal acrobatics (which she had long ago mastered) and on to her character’s subdued sense of tenderness and joy. This was at once apparent when she first sets eyes on Prince Ramiro (dressed as a lowly servant) in the duet Un soave non so che. Here, DiDonato uses Rossini’s coloratura in this “love at first sight” moment not to flaunt her talents, but to evoke a sense of stunned bewilderment — a sexual awakening, perhaps, from her repressed life as the family outcast. DiDonato’s final aria of forgiveness (Non più mesta), sung standing in front of the magnificent wedding cake as she prepares to throw the bouquet over her shoulder, was as meaningful as it was handsome.
It’s difficult to avoid making comparisons in this role to another great artist, Elīna Garanča — who sang Angelina in the Met’s earlier HD simulcast of Cenerentola, in 2009. I love both mezzo sopranos pretty much equally, but there are noticeable differences between the voices. Garanča’s mezzo is darker and more pronounced than DiDonato, with rich alto colors. DiDonato, whose voice is brighter and leans more towards a lyric soprano than it does a mezzo, remains unsurpassed in the sheer flexibility of her coloraturas — which she delivers not with overt virtuosity but with a delicate sense of ease and comfort.
As the befuddled grouch, Don Magnifico, Italian baritone Alessandro Corbelli is a fine comedic actor who by his second act aria Sia qualunque delle figlie had thoroughly endeared himself to the listener. To this I’ll add that Corbelli’s rapid sixteenth-note patter in his arias Miei Rampolli Femminini and Sia qualunque delle figlie was truly “magnifico.” Still, I wished there had been more depth and resonance to his voice that might have allowed him to capture the necessary degree of affected pomposity. After all, this role calls for a basso buffo — and if you don’t think it matters I urge you to listen to a true bass, such as Paolo Montarsolo. Corbelli’s voice is simply too lean to carve a credible Magnifico.
Sporting a well-trimmed moustache and carrying an air of aristocracy that evokes the image of John Barrymore in the epic 1932 film Grand Hotel, Pietro Spagnoli crafts a convincing character of Dandini, valet to Prince Ramiro. Dandini, asked by the prince to exchange identities temporarily, relishes his royal look in tails and magnificent blue sash and plays up the masquerade to the extreme. When he first enters the Magnifico mansion, Spagnoli ceremoniously drops his cloak, scarf and gloves — standing patiently until the real prince, now disguised as the valet, reluctantly peels them off the floor.
Spagnoli turned up the volume on these affected mannerisms in the comic aria Come un’ape, as Dandini — presumably combing the town in search of a suitable mate — likens himself to a bee looking to pollinate the perfect flower. Spagnoli handled the coloraturas in this cavatina with great flexibility, and navigated the quickly moving 16th-notes in the concluding cabaletta with consummate ease.
Luca Pisaroni as Alidoro doesn’t get as much time onstage as the others, and that’s a shame. Pisaroni’s handsome baritone, nicely colored in its pedal tones (as was evident in his signature aria Là del ciel nell’arcano), reminded me of Samuel Ramey in his prime.
Maurizio Balò’s box set, which is well suited to the comedic elements of this production, projects the bruised image of Don Magnifico’s once-proud mansion that, like the family fortune, has fallen into a serious state of disrepair. The main prop on the set is a three-legged couch that shifts forward whenever anybody sits on it — a continuous source of belly laughs throughout the show. Mostly, though, the set acts as a backdrop for the continuous sight-gags on the part of cantankerous sisters Clorinda (Rachelle Durkin) and Tisbe (Patricia Risley).
The dueling siblings drew laughs every 10 seconds or so, as they constantly battled one another competing for the attention of the rich and handsome prince. And make no mistake about it, competition was fierce. (At times I thought I was watching the final two contestants duke it out on the ABC Television reality series, The Bachelor.) Durkin and Risley also excelled in the rapid parlando numbers, such as in the quartet Zitto, zitto; piano, piano, where the pair’s sixteenth-note patter came off cleanly and accurately. I was especially impressed with Durkin, whose looks and comedic mannerisms bear strong resemblance to those of Carol Burnett. Durkin’s voice is quite lovely, as well — as could be heard in the second-act ensemble Donna sciocca! Alma di fango.
Conductor Fabio Luisi’s tempos were uniformly quick and sprightly, capturing the energy and sheer joy of Rossini’s whimsical writing. The daring tempos led to some flashy moments in the ubiquitous patter sections, particularly during the second act finale. The Met Opera Orchestra was up to task, keeping the music light and crisp, and showing the way for the singers in the sharply dotted eight-note figures that permeate the score. The wind section was especially delightful in its alert articulations and tonguing passages, which I suspect are designed to mimic the singers’ patter. The nicely executed second act orchestral storm scene (and all good Rossini operas have a storm scene) afforded the listener a welcome moment of serious drama along an otherwise sea of fluff.
During the Overture, as the cameras panned the pit, simulcast audiences could read the white tags pinned on each player that read “Met Orchestra Musicians, Local 802 AFM” — an obvious act of solidarity on the eve of what promises to be a very contentious contract bargaining session this summer with Peter Gelb’s management team.
Not to be outdone by the orchestra, the Met Opera Chorus in its first entrance managed the heavily dotted rhythms alertly and with razor-sharp precision in O figlie amabali, as the prince’s courtiers announce to the sisters that the prince will soon be calling upon them.
This performance, special in so many ways, was even more so because of DiDonato’s announcement that she is hanging up mop, apron and bracelet for good. And indeed, her final performance as Angelina proved a fitting farewell to a role she had done — and so remarkably well — for the past 17 years.
How fortunate, too, that a worldwide audience was there to witness the send off.
This review first appeared at CNY Café Momus. It is reprinted with the permission of the author.