Otello, Metropolitan Opera live cinema relay, 27th October 2012

Wonderful costumes by Peter J. Hall, excellent sets by Michael Yeargan, all beautifully lit by Duane Schuler help bring this Elijah Moshinsky production to life, along with deeply expressive music from the orchestra under the direction of Semyon Bychkov.

Fleming as Desdemona, all images MetOpera/ Ken Howard

The star of the show was Renée Fleming as Desdemona, always beautiful and coming through in Act IV with a hugely sympathetic delivery of the Willow Song, showing emotion and bemused gentleness. Hers was a great performance, matched vocally by Johan Botha as Otello, but his characterisation was too one-dimensional, an angry man more suited to something like Rossini’s Otello that is not based on Shakespeare, rather than Verdi’s, which is. Hugely angry too was Falk Struckmann’s Iago, well expressed facially and in his menacing stage presence. His forceful singing carried great conviction, particularly in his marvellous delivery of the credo from Act II, though over all a little more subtlety would not have come amiss.

Iago, Cassio, and the handkerchief

Otello and Desdemona

Cassio was superbly sung and acted by young American Michael Fabiano, Desdemona’s attendant Emilia was sympathetically portrayed by Renée Tatum, and James Morris made a strong ambassador from Venice, showing fine gravitas. This was the second Moshinsky Otello I have seen in the past few months, the other being a different production in July at Covent Garden, and it serves to confirm this director’s superb sense of theatre.

As usual during these Met cinema screenings there were intermission features, and this time interviews were conducted by Sondra Radvanovsky. Rather oddly on this occasion one of the main singers was omitted — where was Falk Struckmann? He may well have been more interesting to hear from than Johan Botha, who came over in this interview as somewhat inarticulate, while Renée Fleming was her usual lovely self, and Michael Fabiano came over as delightfully ingenuous.

La Bohème with Calleja and Giannattasio, Royal Opera, Covent Garden, May 2012

This production by John Copley, first staged in 1974, has been revived twenty-four times so far — not surprising since it just gets everything right. So indeed did Joseph Calleja as Rodolfo, bringing real depth and lyricism to the role.

From the very start Calleja exhibited a catching youthful energy, and after taking Mimi’s cold hand in his and launching into Che gelida manina he hit a wonderful high point when he sings of her pretty eyes as two thieves stealing his jewels (Talor dal mio forzieri …). Suddenly this is no longer some bohemian inhabitant of Paris but Rodolfo the poet, a thaumaturge of romantic invention whose soft notes floated like birds on the wing.

At the Café Momus, all images ROH/Hoban

In Acts I and II, Calleja sang everyone else off the stage, but following the first interval, Carmen Giannattasio as Mimi warmed up after a nervous start. She was making her debut in the role at Covent Garden, and finally hit the mark in her Act III duet with Marcello when she seeks him out at the inn. By Act IV she had become a fine match for Calleja, and in her curtain call she bent down to kiss the stage.

The other bohemians all did well, with Fabio Capitanucci engaging as Marcello the painter, Thomas Oliemans attractive as Schaunard the musician, and Matthew Rose singing a fine bass as Colline the philosopher, who sells his coat to help poor consumptive Mimi. Nuccia Focile sang Musetta with rather heavy vibrato, and her stage presence failed to match the sparkle needed for her big role in Act II. Conducting by Semyon Bychkov was restrained at the start, but things warmed up musically later, and I loved the drawn-out silence just before Mimi dies in Act IV.

Act III: early morning outside the inn

That final act pitches merriment against tragedy as the four bohemians clown around before Musetta and Mimi arrive, and when Matthew Rose used a bat to hit the bread rolls for six, the audience applauded spontaneously. All great fun, but when Colline goes off to sell his coat, and Rodolfo and Mimi are left alone, Calleja and Giannattasio sang beautifully together, recalling the time they first met. When Colline returns, and Rodolfo suddenly realises something is amiss, Calleja’s distraught cries brought the house down. This is a Rodolfo not to be missed.

Finally after the curtain calls, Tony Hall came on stage with a fiftieth birthday cake for the director John Copley, celebrating a half century of brilliant work with the Royal Opera.

Performances with this cast continue until May 17 when it will be shown live on Big Screens throughout the country — for performance details click here.

Tannhäuser, Royal Opera, Covent Garden, December 2010

When the Paris Opera invited Wagner to produce a new version of Tannhäuser they asked him to insert the customary ballet in Act II, but he refused. Instead he expanded the Venusberg music to include a ballet in Act I, and the result was pandemonium. The aristocrats of the Jockey Club, accustomed to leaving their dining tables after the interval to view their favourite dancers, disrupted the production with cat-calls and dog whistles until Wagner was permitted to withdraw it after three performances.

Tannhäuser in the Venusberg, all photos by Clive Barda

What the choreography in Paris was like, I don’t know, but here in Tim Albery’s new production the choreography by Jasmin Vardimon worked well. It involved a long table with smartly dressed young men and women displaying enormous physical energy, and partially stripping off one another’s clothes towards the end of the scene. When the first part of Act I is over and Tannhäuser has abandoned his beloved Venus, the curtain closes across a proscenium arch on stage — this is a second proscenium arch, identical to the one at the front of Royal Opera House auditorium. It reappears in Act II, lying on the ground in a broken form, with the curtain a mere reddish rag on the floor. I wondered what the point was — is this to be the setting for the song contest at the Wartburg? Only when it reappeared in Act III, utterly broken into pieces of driftwood, did I see this as a metaphor for the Venusberg in Tannhäuser’s unconscious mind.

Elisabeth and the broken proscenium arch in Act II

Before Tannhäuser reappears from his pilgrimage to Rome in Act III, his old friend Wolfram stands on a piece of this driftwood bridging a chasm on stage, and after seeing a portent of death he launches into O du mein holder Abendstern (O you my precious evening-star). The evening star is of course the planet Venus, but how different is this celestial Venus to Tannhäuser’s Venus of earthly rapture. As different of course as the chaste Elisabeth to the lascivious Venus, well sung here by two different performers, Eva-Maria Westbroek and Michaela Schuster. Wolfram’s unassuming love for Elisabeth was convincingly portrayed by Christian Gerhaher, a remarkable baritone who has studied philosophy and is a qualified physician. He sang as if this were a lieder recital, filling the auditorium with beautiful sound. Tannhäuser himself was boldly and strongly sung by Johan Botha, whose ample frame suits the role of one who has taken his fill of earthly delights. Yet in Act I he sings that despite wandering in far distant lands, he never found rest nor peace (ich nimmer Rast noch Ruhe fand), and it came over with real feeling. This is the story of a man who succumbs to worldly delights yet cannot sate his desire for a deeper satisfaction, and cannot seem to redeem himself. His journey to Rome is a metaphor for his attempt to do so, but it only succeeds when Elisabeth is dead and he finally gives up the effort, resigning himself to his apparent fate.

Wolfram and the dying Elisabeth

Wagner used Christianity as the backdrop for this drama, and the miracle of the Pope’s staff yielding new shoots is a metaphor for the miracle of redemption. Other tales of this nature use other methods of redeeming the lost soul — Wagner’s story is not essentially Christian. Tannhäuser is simply a great opera, and Semyon Bychkov conducted brilliantly, with the musicians playing superbly and the brass going off-stage at one point to play horns from a balcony on the side. Musically it was terrific, and even though I thought the broken proscenium arch of Act II detracted rather than added to an understanding of the song contest, I felt by the end that it had its place in the overall scheme. When I commented on Act II to a friend in the second interval he wittily riposted, “I always think Act II is a good time for dinner”. This wonderful bon motnotwithstanding, here was five hours of excellence, not to be missed.

Performances continue until January 2^nd — for more details click here.

Don Carlo, Royal Opera, September 2009

Imagine a Christian Taliban in Spain, putting men, women and children in Flanders — all heretics — to the sword. Add to this the Spanish King Philip II taking as his new wife the French princess betrothed to, and loved by, his son Don Carlos, and you have the background to Schiller’s drama, made into such a wonderful opera by Verdi. Thankfully this was the original five act version, where Act I shows Carlo and Elizabeth de Valois meeting and realising they are in love with one another, before she is purloined by the king.

The performance at the dress rehearsal was absolutely terrific, and Semyon Bychkov as conductor gave the music a dramatic intensity I’ve never heard equalled. Of course the singers helped enormously, and this was a dream cast. Jonas Kaufmann as Carlo, and Marina Poplavskaya as Elizabeth, sang and acted their parts to perfection, and with Simon Keenlyside as Carlo’s friend Rodrigo, the Marquis of Posa, and Ferruccio Furlanetto as Philip II we could not ask for better — they were wonderful! Philip II’s soliloquy at the start of Act IV was brilliantly done, and John Tomlinson in the relatively small part of the Grand Inquisitor was absolutely riveting with his commanding presence and sightless eyes. As Princess Eboli we had Marianne Cornetti, who sang beautifully, but why is it that Eboli always seems to be dumpy and frumpy, when in real life she was considered one of the most attractive women in Spain. I rarely comment on the chorus, but they were superb, and the actors also did a fine job. In the auto da fé scene I particularly liked the spoken demands to the heretics that they pray forgiveness and embrace the true faith before being burned to death — this was surely an innovation since the original production by Nicholas Hytner last year.

That wonderful production, which I wrote about in my blog of June 2008, has a raw power that suits sixteenth century Spain, and shows the burning of the heretics, suddenly lit behind a screen. It portrays the king as an old man, but that is partly due to Schiller and Verdi — in fact he was still in his late thirties, but why let history spoil a good story? I love the way the depth of the stage at Covent Garden is used to give a feeling of space and power, and my only quibble is right at the very end. The ghost of Charles V appeared in human form looking simply like another character in the plot, rather than a spirit materialising from the darkness, and the magical intensity of the scene was suddenly lost.

Lohengrin, Royal Opera, April 2009

This excellent production by Elijah Moshinsky uses a bare stage with gloriously elaborate movable designs and wonderful costumes by John Napier, subtly lit by Oliver Fenwick. It has deservedly been in the opera house repertoire since 1977 — longer than almost any other production — and the present revival was conducted with great clarity by Semyon Bychkov, amply showing the light and shade of Wagner’s music.

As to the singers, Johan Botha’s Heldentenor voice gave us a superbly sung Lohengrin, and his stage presence showed gravitas but little charisma. Edith Haller was a beautifully voiced Elsa, though she struggled in the final act towards the end of a long evening — this was an uncut version of the opera. They were both very well complemented by the wonderful singing of Petra Lang as the evil Ortrud, Gerd Grochowski (replacing Falk Struckmann) as the fatally weak Telramund, and Kwangchul Youn as King Henry. Both Petra Lang and Gerd Grochowski inhabited their roles in a particularly convincing way, not only while singing but also in their silences.

Of Wagner’s ten operas in the standard repertoire I think of this as my least favourite, but the combination of an excellent production by Elijah Moshinsky, fine conducting from Semyon Bychkov, and terrific singing from the principals and the chorus made this the best Lohengrin I remember seeing.