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Financial Times, January 15 2008 |
Andrew Clark |
Verdi: La traviata, Royal Opera House, 14 January 2008
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The Violetta for our time
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Once in a generation a prima donna takes
ownership of a role in a way none of her peers can do. Anna Netrebko has
achieved this as Violetta, and the proof is there for all to see and hear in
Covent Garden’s revival of La traviata. Netrebko, who has already triumphed
in the part in Vienna and Salzburg, does not redefine or reinvent it. She
simply is the Violetta for our age, able to cast her spell over a
performance by virtue of “period-perfect” looks, a voice that glides over
the many technical and musical hurdles Verdi throws in her path, and a
big-night temperament.
In spite of being neither a selfish nor self-serving performer, she does not
establish much sexual chemistry with her Alfredo, Jonas Kaufmann, and in the
third act she misses what Verdi referred to as “anima” (soul), widely and
rightly considered the sine qua non of a true Violetta and a quality
possessed by several less obviously endowed interpreters. But Netrebko is
otherwise such a package for the role that the entire theatre submits to her
spell.
This is relevant not just to her great solo scenas at the end of the first
act and the start of the third, but also to her ability to raise the whole
temperature and quality of performance going on around her, and the way her
pre-eminence puts the stagey opulence of Richard Eyre’s production into
proper perspective. This is the interpretation Eyre’s ultra-traditional
Traviata has been waiting for, and I doubt whether, since its opening night
with Solti and Gheorghiu 13 seasons ago, it has been received with such
rapture as it was on Monday. Netrebko’s is an old-fashioned triumph,
signalling the power of a singer to enthral by virtue of polish, charisma
and professional confidence.
Kaufmann matches the Russian soprano physically if not vocally: he lacks
a sufficiently liquid tone and the upper register is not wholly convincing.
He will doubtless loosen up as the run proceeds. Dmitri Hvorostovsky’s
Germont has already aged nicely – his silver mane cut short, his vocalism
distinguished by the sort of line that Verdi’s less-than-convincing
cabaletta needs and rarely receives. The comprimarios are good and Maurizio
Benini’s thoughtful, sensitive conducting affords much pleasure.
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