Opera’s megastars are out in force at the most prestigious
continental festivals, in Salzburg, Baden-Baden and Berlin, where
top conductors — this year, Christian Thielemann, Simon Rattle and
Daniel Barenboim — lord it for 10 days in front of Europe’s most
affluent audiences.
A top-price ticket for the German
“hunkentenor” Jonas Kaufmann’s double debut in Cavalleria Rusticana
(Rustic Chivalry, by Pietro Mascagni) and Pagliacci (Clowns, by
Ruggero Leoncavallo) comes in at a cool €420 (£305) in Salzburg. In
Baden-Baden, Rattle’s Der Rosenkavalier, with his wife, Magdalena
Kozena, in the title role, and Anja Harteros — arguably the most
sought-after, if sometimes elusive, soprano in the world today — as
Richard Strauss’s wistful Marschallin, is a relative bargain at £70
less.
These deluxe festivals may reinforce — unfairly — a
widespread view of opera as elitist, but they sometimes hit their
stated target of artistic excellence. In Salzburg, the Easter
Festival’s retiring intendant, Peter Alward, has scored a coup by
casting Kaufmann in both the Cav and Pag tenor leads, and showcasing
him advantageously in one of the world’s most singer-unfriendly
auditoriums, the Grosses Festspielhaus.
Philipp Stölzl’s
spectacular staging makes ingenious use of the Festspielhaus’s
“Cinemascope” stage, yet achieves remarkable intimacy by dividing a
massive framework into six smaller chambers on two levels, and using
cameras and video projections to show the characters in close-up.
Thus, in Mascagni’s melodrama of adulterous passion and omerta
retribution, Turiddu’s affair with a married woman, implicit in the
opera, can be made explicit here: Kaufmann sings his morning song to
Annalisa Stroppa’s luscious-looking Lola across the rooftops to her
open window. And at the murderous denouement, we can see Alfio — in
the imposing form and voice of Ambrogio Maestri — wiping blood from
his knife outside the church while the dying Turiddu, clutching his
wounds, crawls towards the altar inside.
Although the big
chorus scenes teem with Zeffirellian detail, the look of this Cav is
very much steamy, black-and-white, postwar Cinecitta. The only
significant departure from the libretto is the suggestion that
Santuzza is living (in sin?) with Turiddu under the disapproving eye
of his fearsome mother — a vintage cameo performance from Stefania
Toczyska, a noted Carmen and Azucena in the 1980s, in still
penetrating voice — and that they have a 10-year-old son.
Even if Stölzl’s Pagliacci staging is not quite as fresh or
innovative, it properly offers a complete contrast: a riot of colour
as a huge fairground, rather than just a makeshift touring theatre,
is constructed before our eyes. Here, the six compartments are used
to offer scenes from different perspectives, so we can watch the
commedia dell’arte play with centre-stage seats while being able to
see the reactions of the on-stage audience viewing the theatre at an
angle.
Kaufmann’s Canio perhaps lacks the decibels of a
Caruso, Del Monaco or Corelli, and, as always, one hears grumbles
about his lack of authentic Italianita in such a role — to which I
respond, “Pah!” — but he creates an entirely original character, one
barely recognisable as the same person singing Turiddu, and is not
afraid to show an unsympathetic side early on, when he slaps a
naughty child. He conveys the brooding, pent-up fury of the
homicidally jealous husband as convincingly as any singer I have
heard, and nails the money notes with ringing éclat.
His
co-stars — Maria Agresta, a slightly blowsy Nedda; Dimitri
Platanias, a stentorian, if too cuddly, Tonio; Alessio Arduini, a
handsome but not vocally seductive Silvio; and Tansel Akzeybek, a
characterful Beppe — are not in his league, but he doesn’t
grandstand over them. Kaufmann may be the world’s outstanding opera
tenor, but he’s also an intelligent ensemble player. His double act
here is a personal triumph. Although primarily renowned for their
Wagner and Richard Strauss, Thielemann’s Staatskapelle wallowed in
Mascagni’s sumptuous earworm melodies and gave us a Cav intermezzo
of Karajanesque “Wagnerismo” expansiveness.
Alward emerges
from his six-year stint — during which he rescued the festival from
bankruptcy and pulled the Thielemann/Dresden rabbit out of a hat
when Rattle and his Berliners decamped to Baden-Baden — looking
bright and shiny. A golden end to a distinguished career in
classical music.