Harteros, Anja


BoccanegraGiuseppe Verdi - Simon Boccanegra

Teatro alla Scala, Milan 2010 | Daniel Barenboim, Federico Tiezzi, Plácido Domingo, Ferruccio Furlanetto , Massimo Cavalletti, Ernesto Panariello, Anja Harteros, Fabio Sartori, Antonello Ceron, Alisa Zinovjeva | Arthaus

Coming just before the mature final works, Verdi’s Simon Boccanegra – along with Un Ballo in Maschera, Les Vêpres Siciliennes, La Forza del Destino and Don Carlos – occupy a strange but fascinating hinterland in the career of the composer. Each of the operas, influenced by Verdi’s political involvement in the Risorgimento for the reunification of Italy during the period, are very much concerned with the exercise of power, but they all rely on typically operatic conventions of bel canto and French Grand Opéra in their use of personal tragedies and unlikely twists of fate to highlight the human feelings and weaknesses that lie behind their historical dramas. Written in 1859, but revised by the composer in 1881, Piave’s libretto given an uncredited reworking by Arrigo Boito, Simon Boccanegra is consequently one of the more interesting works from this period, certainly from a musical standpoint. Aware of the flaws in the earlier version of the opera, Verdi can be seen to be striving in its revised form to take it away from the aria/cabaletta conventions towards the more fluid form of music-drama and expression of character that would come to fruition in Otello.

In many ways, the central relationship that defines the tone and the nature of the drama in Simon Boccanegra – a father-daughter relationship that is common in Verdi’s work – is similar to the one played-out in Rigoletto. The mother is dead (in the case of Simon Boccanegra, the wife happening to be one of the daughters of Jocopo Fiesco, the head of a rival Genoa family), and Simon must necessarily keep his relationship with his daughter secret. The difficulties of the political situation, and a desire to keep his daughter (who has been lost only to be conveniently rediscovered 25 years after the opera’s prologue in the house of his rival) out of the complicated political affairs, and some over-protectiveness on his part with regards to her choice of men, affect Boccanegra’s judgements and open up those weak points at a time of vulnerability during his reign as Doge. This kind of situation leads to an old-fashioned but quite literally blood-and-thunder conclusion in Rigoletto, which is the most masterful of Verdi’s work in this style, but while the plot twists and conclusions are no less dramatic in Simon Boccanegra, the musical treatment – certainly in the revised version of the opera at least – is less reliant on convention and closer to the purer and personal mature Verdi style that is deeper, intricate and more nuanced in characterisation.

Boccanegra
It’s perhaps with this in mind that the 2010 production of Simon Boccanegra from La Scala in Milan adopts a kind of hybrid form of traditional staging with some modernist touches that, like the opera’s own make-up, don’t blend together entirely successfully, but are no less fascinating for how they throw their contradictory elements into relief. There’s nothing too jarring or experimental in Federico Tiezzi staging – this is La Scala after all – nothing that distracts from the essential directness of the drama or Barenboim’s conducting of the powerful musical accompaniment that drives it relentlessly forward to a gradually building tragic conclusion that, like Don Carlo, has a sense of the Shakespearean grandeur that the composer was working towards. The staging is perfect in terms of giving a sense of historical 14th century period, the costumes beautifully designed with eye-catching colour schemes that make the divisions between the rival factions clear, the stage itself uncluttered – as Verdi himself specified – evoking mood, character and location as much through the lighting as any props. There are one or two more modern touches of stage technique however – descending trees onto the stage in Act II, a sea of blocks that suggests seismic activity and a huge reproduction of Casper David Friedrich’s Das Eismeer – that suggest that this shouldn’t be taken simple as a straightforward historical drama, but as one that has greater conceptual meaning with regards to the questions of the nature of power and the place of human relationships within it.

This style of presentation works perfectly with the imperfection of the opera itself and the contradictions inherent within these concepts. It would be less than satisfying however if the opera itself didn’t have the kind of casting that it really needs to carry them off and, fortunately, that’s where the real strength of this particular production lies. With the likes of Plácido Domingo, Ferruccio Furlanetto and Anja Harteros this opera could hardly be in safer hands. Domingo, of course, isn’t the true baritone that is required for the role, but he had all the necessary qualities and experience – as he approached his 70th birthday – to take on the challenge of two significant Verdi baritone roles in 2010 (and it’s probably no coincidence that the other was that complementary character of Rigoletto). His tone of voice, so dramatically attuned, brings a great deal of that necessary flawed humanity to the role of Boccanegra. Ferruccio Furlanetto is of course one of the great Verdi basses of our time and it’s particularly wonderful to watch two such fine performers and voices complement each other so well in this rival roles. Their Act III ‘Piango, perché me parla’ is absolutely stunning. Harteros sings Maria/Amelia well – as you would expect – but I didn’t get the same sense of father/daughter chemistry that existed when Domingo was paired with Marina Poplavskaya for the Covent Garden production of this opera the same year.

Boccanegra

This is a fine, marvellously looking production then, meticulously directed and conducted to bring out the full conceptual nature of the staging and the abstraction of the opera’s music, but it’s the human interpretation that is perhaps the most vital aspect of Simon Boccanegra. It’s not just experience that is required either on the part of the singers, but rather the ability of Domingo, Furlanetto and Harteros to inhabit their characters and give them a deeply human sense of expression through their delivery that ultimately lifts this production above being merely a faithful and appropriate treatment to one that explores the intriguing potential of the opera, with all its fascinating flaws and contradictions.

The Blu-ray release from Arthaus presents the production exceptionally well, with a clear, sharp full-HD image, and two sound mixes in LPCM stereo and DTS HD-Master Audio 5.1 that are superbly detailed and toned. There are no extra features on the disc, and only a brief essay on the opera and the production in the enclosed booklet. A synopsis to explain the historical context of the opera’s setting would have been useful, but I imagine you can find that on line somewhere if necessary. Region-free, BD25, 1080i, subtitles are in Italian, English, German, French, Spanish and Korean.

Carlo

Giuseppe Verdi - Don Carlo

Bayerische Staatsoper, Munich 2012 | Asher Fisch, Jürgen Rose, René Pape, Jonas Kaufmann, Boaz Daniel, Eric Halfvarson, Steven Humes, Anja Harteros, Anna Smirnova, Laura Tatulescu, Francesco Petrozzi, Evgeniya Sotnikova, Tim Kuypers, Goran Juric, Levente Molnár, Christian Rieger, Christoph Stephinger, Rüdiger Trebes | Live Internet Streaming - 22 January 2012

It’s become popular of late, even more so with the recent 150th anniversary of the reunification of Italy, to view Verdi’s operas less in the historical period of their setting than in the time and the politics of their composition. Dealing with power, religion, the rule of fear and the merciless suppression of revolutionary elements that threaten the prevailing authorities, Don Carlos in particular fits in very well with the complexity of the political situation during the Risorgimento, but then it was undoubtedly meant to. If this production of Verdi’s magnificent 1867 Five-Act Grand Opera for the Bayerische Staatsoper in Munich doesn’t make overt reference to the Italian political situation of the time, it at least fully draws out those elements that Verdi, a prominent figure in the Risorgimento, raises in relation to the exercise of power.

At the time of the opera’s composition in 1866, the unification of Italy was still underway but unresolved with regard to the position of the Papal State in the new nation, and it wouldn’t be until 1871 that Rome finally became part of the new Italy and its capital. The writing of the opera coincides also with the Papal Syllabus of Errors 1864 that resolutely set the Catholic church in opposition to those revolutionary ideals of freedom of speech and religious tolerance, and there is consequently a strong anticlerical stance in Don Carlo that also reflects Verdi’s complex relationship with the Church. The Bayerische Staatsoper production, broadcast live on the internet on the 22nd January 2012, uses the more commonly performed Italian version of the opera that was originally written in French, and judging from the lack of prelude and extended prison scene, it would appear to be the original rather than the revised version of the opera. The production focuses less on the romantic element of the story at the centre of the opera between Don Carlos and Elisabeth – their unexpected love for each other at an arranged marriage of political convenience cruelly dashed by the decision of Carlo’s father Philip II to marry Elisabeth himself – and instead places emphasis on the unjust wielding of power by an old conservative establishment and the denial of liberty that this represents.

Carlo
The staging, if it is rather stark and dimly lit throughout, reflects Carlo’s deep despair at the turn of events which seems to be less to do with romantic inclinations here than a deeper personal crisis at being rendered powerless to control his own destiny by higher powers, one that he attempts to restore through his subsequent throwing himself into the affairs of the Flemish struggle. Stark it may be, but two elements dominate the set throughout and have an important influence over the whole tone of the production. The first is a huge crucifix that hangs over the setting of all five acts, whether it’s the Forest of Fontainbleau, the Cloister at San Yuste, the bedroom/study of the King or a prison cell, its presence dark and oppressive (like much of the score) rather than comforting, and the second is the image of the Friar/the ghost of Philip’s father, who is not only a brooding ambiguous figure in the opera, but a hooded image of him holding a skull also materialises in the background, usually at the beginning and end of acts, again with religious significance for death and the afterlife.

There is only one point in the opera where neither of these images are present, and that is during the auto-da-fé scene at the end of Act III, but the only brightness there is here is cast by the flames of burning heretics condemned by the Grand Inquisitor, and a garish procession of tableaux vivants depicting Catholic iconography in all its glorious bloody violence. It’s the one scene in the opera that strives to make a big impression and, coming as it does during Verdi’s famous March and Chorus at the Grand Finale of Act III, it’s meant to be a powerful sequence, one where Don Carlo finally rebels and is moved to political activism against the cruelty of the ruling powers. Everything about the production, though it may not be pretty to look at, consequently is completely in service to Verdi’s themes and works to put the emphasis in all the right places. Even the division of the opera with the two hours of first three acts ambitiously played without an interval (the basic setting allowing for this), allows the division between the two halves of the opera to be all the more strikingly contrasted.

Carlo

This, of course, is a vital aspect of the whole opera, the divisions not just being political, but between love and duty, between the personal and the public faces presented by each of the figures, and by the changing nature of their relationships to one another. This aspect was magnificently drawn out in last season’s production of Don Carlo at the Met, particularly in the fine acting of the principals, but while there is less nuance in the acting in this production, the singing is of a sufficiently high standard to convey everything that is implicit in the libretto and the score. Most impressive is Rene Papé, whose first words in the aria ‘Ella giammai m’amo! (“She never loved me!”), coming as they do directly after the interval, typify that divide in the opera and the characters, the merciless authority that Philip yielded in the first half, now seen in private as a man who may wear a crown and can bend others to his will, but would give it all up to be able to understand and sway the human heart. Pape’s terrific performance makes Philip’s dilemma real – that there is a higher power, albeit in the earthly guise of the Church, that even he must obey – his delivery of the aria revealing the humanity beneath the hard surface that is buckling under the demands of duty in such a way that one can’t help but sympathise with him.

The same conflicts, and the dark fatalism that underlies it, are likewise brilliantly expressed in the main arias of each of the figures, in Eboli’s Act IV ‘O don fatale’, wonderfully delivered by Anna Smirnova; in Elisabeth’s ‘Tu che le vanità conoscesti del mondo’ (“You who knew the vanities of the world, and enjoy in the tomb profound repose”), another strong performance from Anja Harteros, where she concludes that “the heart has one desire: the peace of the grave!”; and in the figures who indeed take that idealism to the grave with them – Rodrigo and Carlo, in the belief that they will find a better place for them in the afterlife. Jonas Kaufmann may seem to make less of an impression here than he usually does, but Carlo indeed is not a leading role that takes centre stage. He’s the catalyst by which we define the divisions and the conflicts within each of the characters, an idealist who himself is defined by and at the mercy of those forces that are greater than himself, whichever direction he turns.

Kaufmann doesn’t seek to make Carlo any more romantic or heroic than he is, remaining within the defined limits of the character, but within that – as written and scored by Verdi – there is a great deal of development that can be seen to reach a peak at the opera’s finale. Here Kaufmann’s powerful delivery and the considered performance of the role shows the true quality of his voice and his ability to suit the demands of a thoughtful and well-performed production of Don Carlo that strikes a perfect balance in every respect to Verdi’s arrangements and their intentions.

AlcinaGeorg Friedrich Handel - Alcina

Wiener Staatsoper, Vienna 2011 | Adrian Noble, Marc Minkowski, Les Musiciens du Louvre-Grenoble, Anja Harteros, Vesselina Kasarova, Veronica Cangemi, Kristina Hammarström, Alois Mühlbacher, Benjamin Bruns, Adam Plachetka | Arthaus

If it doesn’t do the mostly static and uneventful nature of Handel’s 1735 opera any favours, it’s at least appropriate that director Adrian Noble chooses to stage this production for the Weiner Staatsoper entirely within the ballroom of a stately house. Alcina does indeed feel small and intimate – some might say dry and mechanical – the kind of entertainment put on for the amusement of a gathering of nobles at an 18th century dinner party. That’s not exactly high-concept, but it’s about as adventurous as you’re going to get for a rare performance of a Baroque opera at the Vienna Staatsoper (the first in 50 years), and if it doesn’t do much for the opening up of Alcina, it at least recognises its limitations and, under the baton of the excellent Marc Minkowski, it’s about as good an account of the opera as you could expect.

The play within a play concept is only really nominally adhered to, the overture used to set the occasion within Devonshire House, where Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire and some guests (you would only know this from the production notes) put on a performance that perhaps appeals to or reflects their nature. The Duchess becomes the sorceress Alcina, who enchants men and then casts them off, changing them into wild beasts, trees or ghosts, left to roam her island. Her latest conquest is Ruggiero, who is unaware of his fate, but when his betrothed Bradamante (disguised as a man, Ricciardo) and Melisso, her tutor, come to rescue him, Alcina recognises that she may indeed have real feelings for him. There’s not a whole lot more to the opera than this. There are a few additional complications added with Alcina’s sister Morgana falling in love with Ricciardo (not realising he is actually Bradamante), which enrages Oronte, Alcina’s general who is in love with her. There’s another figure, Oberto, taken in after he and his father were shipwrecked on the island (his father since turned into a wild beast). And just in case that’s all not confusing enough, there are the usual identity problems with trouser roles to come to terms with. Not only is the young boy Oberto played by a female, but Ruggiero is a woman playing a male role who is betrothed to a woman dressed as a man.

AlcinaT

That’s complicated enough to get your head around without having to consider that Adrian Noble’s production has historical figures playing these roles, but it’s not as complex as it sounds. The dramatic action is limited and the emotional content isn’t that deep, the endless da capo arias expressing no profound wisdom or inner turmoil and no noble sentiments beyond simple expressions of love, rejection and love again, repetitively back and forth as awareness of identities and natures are revealed. Essentially, it’s a case of the power of true love prevailing. Handel’s Italian operas can be rather dramatically limited in this respect – certainly when compared to his oratorios – and Alcina seems relatively straightforward in its playing out of the situation, with arrangements that aren’t particular complex. Mood and character however are tastefully evoked throughout, but there are indeed also some beautiful heart-rending arias and melodies by the time the characters reach the crux of their situation at the end of Act II and in Act III.

If the staging is slightly static in an opera where nothing much happens – a fact only emphasised by non-participant guests sitting around watching the performance – Adrian Noble at least makes it all look very lovely indeed, with striking lighting, colours and simple effects that are appropriate to the occasion but highly effective. The tone is matched by Minkowski’s conducting of the Musiciens du Louvre-Grenoble, finding the rhythmic centre of the score, the whole ensemble bright, vivid and dynamic, but with a delicate touch to individual instruments which are picked out beautifully in the sound mix. The single greatest thing about the choice of staging however is indeed the use of a small core of musicians on the stage creating a wonderful connection in their accompaniment of the singers.

The most notable singing here is from Bulgarian mezzo-soprano Vesselina Kasarova as Ruggiero, demonstrating a remarkable range from deep notes to high coloratura seemingly effortlessly. Her delivery and acting can be slightly mannered and even distracting, perhaps on account of playing a male role, but I don’t think the Vienna audience give her the credit she deserves here. Kristina Hammarströmn is a good Bradamante and Anja Harteros fine as Alcina, if a little lacking in character. There are a few off-notes here and there, but her Act II aria “Ah! Mio cor! Schernito sei!” is one of several beautiful Handel compositions here and sung very well. As Oberto, Alois Mühlbacher thankfully adds some variety to the voices and the repetitive romantic declarations and expressions of disappointment in rejection.Drawn out to three and a half-hours, those sentiments can become rather tedious after a while, but while Alcina isn’t the greatest Handel opera and is fairly static and limited in its dramatic situation, its overall construction is carefully considered and it’s worth persevering with for the some wonderful moments and beautiful arrangements that arise out of it as a whole. The staging and performances from the orchestra and the singers all ensure that those qualities come through.

As do the specifications of the Blu-ray from Arthaus. The sumptuous staging is finely detailed and extraordinarily colourful and, other than the use of fades and one lapse of rapid cross-cutting, the filming is fine. The PCM stereo and the DTS HD-Master Audio mixes are impressive. Subtitles are in Italian, English, German, French, Spanish, Japanese and Korean. A twenty-minute behind-the-scenes featurette is included.