Pari siamo: Rigoletto and the Rat Pack

Saturday's matinee of Rigoletto confirmed that a pretty solid performance of this Verdi masterpiece makes for an above average night (or afternoon) at the opera. Michael Mayer's gaudy production, saturated with the neon artificiality of 1960s Las Vegas, is essentially traditional, adhering closely to the narrative of the libretto. The literalism with which the choreography stuck to the score in the pacing of gestures, embraces, exits and entrances might not be terribly imaginative, but it's functional. There are a number of clever touches--Gilda telling her diary about Gualtier Malde, Sparafucile haunting a dive bar--and the novelty of the visuals drew a pair of my friends up from D.C., and drew audible "ohhs" from the young girl in the row behind us. I'm inclined to give it a pass as a functional if not terribly exciting new production. The brutality of the court was suitably emphasized, and the grittiness of the final act I especially liked. A "God forgive me" from a self-sacrificing soprano can seem merely conventional in sixteenth-century Mantua, but there's no mistaking the genuine terror in a trenchcoat-clad girl hitting her knees on wet asphalt. This brings me to the performance of Diana Damrau, which was technically breathtaking and of impressive dramatic nuance and depth; her Gilda came across as the most fully realized of the principal characters.

O rabbia! esser buffone!

Unofficial Verdi month is in full swing now: on Saturday night I headed to the Met for another round of Rigoletto.  The Otto Schenk production is still ponderous, and the blocking still static; it's pretty, I suppose, but it does its singers no dramatic favors (acoustic ones, maybe.)  Something to mull: Likely Impossibilities bears tidings that Met's next Rigoletto production will likely be soon, and likely be directed by Luc Bondy.  For this run, there was an updated (1990) choreography in use.  I think Gilda following the Duke out into the street after their scene is new (breaking spatial boundaries and the rules! foreshadowing of doom!)  The courtiers during "Pietà, signori" turn their backs on Rigoletto one by one; I think this is to signify that they cannot hear him unmoved.  Rigoletto actually comes over to Gilda to say "Fa scorrer il pianto sul mio cor"!  Oh, and come to think of it, the libertine Duke's visible libertinism in the first scene might be updated choreography, and not just Joseph Calleja being a more creative actor than his predecessor.  The thing is still creaky, though, if slightly less so. A slideshow of images from the current run, with Calleja's "La donna è mobile," may be found here.

Quanto affetto! Quali cure!

Having both a special ticket price offer, and severe opera withdrawal symptoms, I found myself at the Met again last night, for the season's first Rigoletto, with Lado Ataneli, Christine Schäfer, and Francesco Meli in Otto Schenk's production (the fullest spread of photographs, from the '05-'06 season, may be found here.)  Rumor has it that the next outing will be a new production, and soon, news which I must confess to greeting with some sense of relief after last night.  Now, I'm deeply attached to Schenk's venerable Ring, but his Rigoletto never convinced me that it was anything more than merely monumental, a massive, static backdrop for the singers.  The blocking was fairly static too; the worst moment was probably when Rigoletto was pleading "scorrer fa il pianto sul mio cor" from halfway across the stage.  Renaissance architecture and costumes were indeed very beautiful, and the backdrop of gradual dawn over the Italian countryside in Act II looked as lovely as gradual dawn over the Italian countryside; but I'm afraid I must damn poor Otto Schenk with faint praise in this instance.  Oh! and as long as we're being traditional, couldn't we have a door that isn't invisible at the top of a giant staircase for when our hunchback is frenziedly yelling "Ah! la porta! assassini!"?

Egli muore! o, ciel, ei muore!

Last Sunday, as posters around the city and banners on websites insistently reminded me, the Oscars were awarded. In theory (leaving aside the probably disheartening answer of how the system of nomination actually works) this celebrates Excellence in Film Generally. And I have a confession: besides Cinematography, the acting categories are usually the only ones--if any--that really arouse my partisanship. (Related confession: I don't see many films, because if I have a choice between spending $12 on a film and $20 on an opera...!) And all this is leading up to something: what about acting in opera?

Rêve! Extase! Bonheur!

The Met has announced its 2010-11 season! The press release is excitingly long, but not organized in such a way as to give a convenient overview of what's on. Ah well; for that I'll just have to wait for the glossy brochure advertising subscriptions to turn up on my doorstep. A number of productions from this season and last season are being revived... hard times even for the magnificent Met, I suppose. Looking on the bright side, though, it gives me a chance to explore these operas and productions more fully. In no particular order, a list of Things I Am Most Excited About in the coming season.

Una tempesta in cielo...

To start this post off, yet another Shameful Confession: Rigoletto had until this week belonged to the category of Great Operas which I didn't really connect with. I would have had far less shame if my confession were "I strongly disliked Rigoletto..." followed up by musically and dramatically justified reasons. But I just didn't connect. It seemed disjointed: a charming Duke who alienates powerful men while remaining surrounded by toadying courtiers, a jester who is the abused underdog but seems like a horrible person, a "trusted nurse" character who can be bought off with a single gesture, a sheltered girl who takes fearlessness even from feigned love. Oh, and a man with a curse. One minute carefree choruses, the next dramatic imprecations and impending doom... I just didn't get it.

L'anima ho milionaria!

It's true that I have the very great fortune to live in a metropolis which boasts one of the world's great opera houses. For an opera-obsessed little girl in a big city, there may be no better place of refuge than the Met, with its sleek opulence, its friendly staff, and reliably glorious music (not to mention tickets for $20 and under at any non-gala performance.) However, when one is obsessed with opera, there are always more worlds to conquer. Right now, all over the world, opera is happening. While I cheerfully embrace the lofty-goals, low-income existence of a graduate student, there are times when I wish I could fly to Milan for Rigoletto, or budget a week at Bayreuth.