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Classicalsource.com, 16
September 2009 |
Richard Nicholson |
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The Royal Opera – Don Carlo [Kaufmann, Keenlyside,
Furlanetto, Bychkov]
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Photo: ©
Robbie Jack/Corbis |
This production is already taking on the
appearance of a classic as early as its first revival. A great deal of
artistic, particularly musical endeavour has been invested , which for a
successful performance of Verdi’s “Don Carlo” arguably needs more than the
four greatest singers in the world as stipulated by Caruso for “Il
trovatore”: five or six if you include the Grand Inquisitor would be nearer
the mark, not to mention the substantial role of the chorus and the fact
that, as a French grand opera, scenic spectacle and a wide variety of
musical styles have to be embraced and it is clear the heights to which the
Royal Opera is aspiring; no routine repertory opera this.
This is only the third production of this great but enigmatic work in fifty
years at Covent Garden. The legendary 1958 staging marked the centenary of
the present house and represented a collaboration between the
designer/director Luchino Visconti and the equally fastidious conductor
Carlo Maria Giulini. It was regularly revived for over forty years, by which
time the original trompe l’oeil sets had long lost their freshness. The 1996
Luc Bondy staging using the French text, originally displayed at the
Châtelet in Paris, was minimalist in scenic terms and that great
bass-baritone José van Dam was miscast as Philippe.
This revival of Nicholas Hytner’s production benefited from an outstanding
cast, even if a degree or two short of the highest level. Most
significantly, the switch to a more reliable exponent of the title role made
the relationships at the heart of the work more absorbing and not
sidetracked by vocal anxieties. The main attraction among the 2008 cast was
Rolando Villazón, who could be counted on to bring pathos to the role. He,
as is well known, has been going through a period of shaky vocal health,
with cancellations and spells of convalescence. A broadcast from the initial
run shows a portrayal of maximum intensity, with tone swollen by emotional
energy transmitted through vocal equipment perilously weak for it to bear,
something which tenor-watchers had feared and predicted since he came upon
the scene.
His successor Jonas Kaufmann has had a career roughly contemporary with
Villazón’s but has appeared to own a more robust instrument which allowed
him to sing within his resources. A couple of rusty high notes in his Act
One aria could easily be excused; an exquisite use of mezza voce announced
the singer had engaged with the sensibility of the character. For the heroic
declamation of the Act Three public scene he found sufficient weight of tone
to hold his own against his raging father, while the long, high lamenting
lines of the trio earlier in the Act rang out in powerful confirmation that
he realised a turning point had been reached in his life. He retained plenty
of stamina for the farewell duet at San Yuste.
Another newcomer to the production is the American Marianne Cornetti. The
original Eboli, Sonia Ganassi, basically a Rossini mezzo, though nimble
enough in the ‘Veil Song’, was stretched by the heavy dramatic writing
elsewhere. Heavy, dramatic mezzos are currently in short supply but Cornetti
is of the right sort, an Azucena and an Amneris. She was comfortable at both
extremes of the range in the ‘Veil Song’, which was a little restrained
vocally. Her jealous fury on discovering that Carlos’s affections lay
elsewhere was delivered in tone as impenetrable as teak. Conversely, her
remorse before the Queen was movingly conveyed and she offered a rip-roaring
‘O don fatale’. Marina Poplavskaya is a most promising lyrico-spinto soprano
with a glowing ruby-red middle and a hauntingly expressive chest register.
If her top notes do not yet always burst into flame she is probably right to
develop that sort of vocal excitement slowly.
Arguably Posa was the character for whom Verdi wrote his least progressive
music in the opera. Though the duet with King Philip in the Second Act
embodies the flexible form of evolving dialogue unconstrained by formal
rules that is characteristic of the mature Verdi, Posa has three other
solos, an elegant romanza in the monastery garden scene and two, one after
the other, in his death scene which are conventional. The big duet with
Carlo famously ends with a crude C major passage in thirds and sixths which
has long been held as a black mark against the composer, at least outside
Italy. I did not feel that the role particularly suits Simon Keenlyside, who
has made a distinguished career mostly in parts which are physically active
and in bold characterisations. Here he has to portray a resigned figure in
the prison scene, even if he did achieve the feat of singing most of ‘Io
morro’ lying with one cheek on the stage floor!
The central theme of the opera, to which the love interest is really
subordinate, is the battle between church and state. Ferruccio Furlanetto
dominated every scene except one in which he appears as King Philip. He
wants control and asserts it most obviously in his cruel dismissal of the
Queen’s lady-in-waiting. Even during his wife’s farewell to her he can be
seen casting sideways glances in her direction, looking for confirmation of
his suspicions about her. In the auto-da-fé scene his response to Carlos’s
appeals is withering. The cry of “Insensato” had me cowering in fright. His
colossal bass voice was firmly focused and his enunciation of the text
consistently lucid. I do not remember Christoff, Ghiaurov or Ramey producing
greater torrents of sound than this. The scene with Posa had found him
stalking the Marquis, getting right in his face when accused of resembling
Nero but the first signs of insecurity were present as his confided his
fears to him. The great aria, for which Semyon Bychkov set tempos noticeably
faster than usual, came from a nervy man rather than from a tragic figure
and only the final utterances were forcefully sung, The king’s weakness was
underlined by the following duet with the Grand Inquisitor, which he began
meekly kneeling. Then, when the Inquisitor went on the attack Furlanetto’s
tyrant was left completely trounced. He even met his match for vocal power
in this inspired piece of casting: The thunder of John Tomlinson’s Wotan
voice only faltered on a very few cloudy high notes.
The third bass role of the Monk was sung by Robert Lloyd in a voice
imperceptibly changed from his heyday. Whether this was a living human being
on his final appearance or an apparition was unclear. Pumeza Matshikiza was
a chirpy Tebaldo, prominent in every scene in which she appeared, while the
clean sound of tenor Robert Anthony Gardiner contains promise of a career in
the lyric repertoire to come. He and Eri Nakamura, a bell-like Voice from
Heaven, are members of the Jette Parker Young Artists Scheme. The Flemish
deputies made a positive effect vocally as well as dramatically.
Bychkov’s conducting matched that of his predecessor Antonio Pappano. His
handling of the orchestral commentary which Verdi writes, especially for the
duets in which the work abounds, was telling. The dramatic moments were
thrillingly done yet there was subtlety also. In the introduction to the
first scene of Act Three statements of the theme of Carlos’s opening aria
overlap; his encouragement of each group of players to produce a distinctive
colour in these sequences was a memorable moment in the performance. The
Chorus excelled itself to an exceptionally high level of vocal standard and
musicianship, which Choral Director Roberto Balsadonna is nurturing and
managing admirably. These singers’ ability to move smartly into position
before attacking their music impeccably was particularly noticeable in the
auto-da-fé scene, where the mob had to be corralled against the side wall at
the appearance of the monarch.
Nicholas Hytner’s production avoids the excesses of a ‘concept’ staging and
characterisations are incisively drawn. The central portrayal of Don Carlos
as immature is established in the first scene. He initially approaches
Elisabetta, then withdraws bashfully. They indulge in a playful chase with
the portrait. Yet there is an erotic daring about him, as he edges closer to
her off the two tree-stumps on which they are seated. It comes as no
surprise when his libido overflows in the Act Two duet. He stalks her; even
when the physical approach is repulsed he crawls over the ground, attempting
to trap her train. In the garden scene, expecting her arrival for an
assignation, he lies supine in an overtly sexual pose. I was perturbed by
his treatment of Posa’s visit to Carlos in jail, however: they pawed each
other in a way which suggested that the two men had more than a platonic
friendship. Can this have been intentional? Hytner’s handling of all such
encounters is responsive to the rhythms of the musical development and his
blocking of choral groups such as the ladies-in-waiting during the ‘Veil
Song’ thoughtful. The one big mistake is to add sound effects to the scene
in the square in Valladolid. The crowd’s shouts of enthusiasm drowned out
the stage band (its co-ordination with the orchestra in the pit was
extremely well-disciplined) while gratuitously abusing the heretics, each of
whom was offered the opportunity to repent by a supernumerary priest not
envisioned by the work’s creators.
Bob Crowley’s scenery has elements that are clearly symbolic, such as the
portcullis wall which descends repeatedly, cutting off Carlos and
emphasising his isolation. Mark Henderson’s lighting is less contentious,
the shafts of light piercing the gloom of the monastery highly evocative, as
is the lighting of Philip’s study, which left us wondering what might be
there in the murky depths of that large space.
While appreciating that The Royal Opera wanted to choose a complete version
of this score as approved by Verdi, rather than creating its own jigsaw of
the best bits from miscellaneous versions, I would have liked to see the
1866 introduction to Act One (cut before the première the following year),
in which the hardship suffered by the peasantry and Elisabetta’s compassion
are more strongly drawn (and in fine music), unlike the perfunctory
treatment they receive in the shortened version. The quiet ending of Act
Five with monks chanting which Verdi originally wrote also seems to me
preferable. As it stands, however, this is a triumph. |
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