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As late as Wednesday morning, I was still trying to get Nuphy to find someone to give away my ticket to Traviata to. It's my third or fourth since I began subscribing to Lyric, and I simply couldn't work up any enthusiasm. On top of that, I'd been through three days of inflamed haemorrhoids followed by two days of the flu (or rather, one day of flu and one day of recovering from not having any anything in over a day). The thought of having to endure an opera I was indifferent to unwell was too odious to contemplate. Or so I told him. But he's nothing if not tenacious when it comes to getting his way. In the end, he convinced me. Am I glad I went? Yes--but with reservations.
Violetta is a demanding role. Each act calls for a different sort of soprano, so finding someone who can do equal justice to them all is a nearly impossible order. Marina Rebeka comes very close to fulfilling it. Our seat companion for the night (a music student from Italy) was disappointed she didn't interpolate the E♭ over high C at the end of Act I. I'm just amazed she made it that far without tripping over any of the coloratura passages. There's nothing I hate more than a screechy soprano, so the first couple of times she had to reach for the upper end of her range, I tensed up. But once I realised she was never going to cross over the line into shrillness, I could relax and enjoy.
If only the tenor had been a match for her, it would've been quite a memorable performance. But sadly, Joseph Calleja (a Maltese, in accordance with the EU's new operatic work quota for islanders) didn't live up to his hype. I was satisfied with him in Act I, where he plays a modest role, because I figured he was saving up for the opening of Act 2. But when his passionate resolve to leave for Paris at once barely registered over the sound of the orchestra, I knew we were in trouble. Worse, the Italian criticised his "goaty" vibrato during the first intermission and so whenever he opened his mouth for the rest of the evening that was all I could hear.
And then there's Quinn Kelsey as the elder Germont. He was a Ryan Centre member for several years so we've heard him in a number of smaller roles and always appreciated his booming baritone. But he's just not up to the demands of this one. Some reviewers criticised his harsh demeanour, but I think that's perfectly in keeping with the character. For me the issue was that he just sounded dull (and--according to Nuphy--at times even flat). As is usual these days, the rest of the cast was filled out with current Ryan Centre performers. They all sounded equally adequate to me, though Nuphs singled out Richard Ollarsaba (as Grenvil) for particular praise.
By some reckonings, then, that's only one bad principle out of five, right? But even with the full cooperation of my body, it was still an evening to be endured. When the drinking song started up in Act I, I found myself engulfed in a warm glow of nostalgia, like you might get from being served something familiar your grandma used to make. But soon I found myself impatient for the duet with the elder Germont. And as that limped by disappointingly, I began fighting sleep and longing for the death scene.
So besides Rebeka, what was good about it? Nuphy thought the conducting was good; the Italian called it "impersonal". I was just happy it moved along at a sprightly pace. The production was a new one at last, and Nuphy got my hopes up a bit by describing it as "minimal". It wasn't. Maybe he said that because the set is fairly constant (a wide circular room, screened off in Act II Scene 1 by a backdrop of trees) but the furnishings and costumes are lush and period, particularly in the party scenes. For the first, the attendants are wearing 18th-century dress with the addition of realistic oversized hares' ears. It took me a while to notice that under the wigs they were all female. Cute, very cute. For the second, the space above is stuffed with a splendid array of richly-coloured lighted balloons and the bulls are represented by enormous and fantastical puppets, which get reused in Act III to great effect. (As the sounds of carnival erupt, coloured silhouettes are projected onto the curved back wall. Unexpected and effective.)
As far as the staging, the missteps were few and mostly involved that clunker Calleja. For starters, can someone explain to me why he, out of the whole cast, could not be fitted with shoes that didn't squeak on the parquet? When he began to sing, I thought he had a whistle in his voice. It took a bit of observation to deduce that the sounds only appeared when he spun on his heel (which unfortunately the staging had him do often). He was also strangely aloof in scenes he shouldn't've been. At Flora's party, he strides downstage right past Violetta not as if he's snubbing her but as if he genuinely isn't aware she's right where he fixed his eyes on her a moment ago. And in the death scene, he waits a full half a minute after being told "Come closer" before he even reacts, much less rushes to Violetta's side.
Our seatmate says he keeps coming back to Traviata because it's so laden with potential. He's never been to a performance that lived up to it on all measures, but he lives in hope. Maybe if I see enough, they'll merge in my mind so that I retain the best from each and construct a Platonic memory that supersedes any of the actual performances I've attended. Last night brings me a couple steps closer to that.
Violetta is a demanding role. Each act calls for a different sort of soprano, so finding someone who can do equal justice to them all is a nearly impossible order. Marina Rebeka comes very close to fulfilling it. Our seat companion for the night (a music student from Italy) was disappointed she didn't interpolate the E♭ over high C at the end of Act I. I'm just amazed she made it that far without tripping over any of the coloratura passages. There's nothing I hate more than a screechy soprano, so the first couple of times she had to reach for the upper end of her range, I tensed up. But once I realised she was never going to cross over the line into shrillness, I could relax and enjoy.
If only the tenor had been a match for her, it would've been quite a memorable performance. But sadly, Joseph Calleja (a Maltese, in accordance with the EU's new operatic work quota for islanders) didn't live up to his hype. I was satisfied with him in Act I, where he plays a modest role, because I figured he was saving up for the opening of Act 2. But when his passionate resolve to leave for Paris at once barely registered over the sound of the orchestra, I knew we were in trouble. Worse, the Italian criticised his "goaty" vibrato during the first intermission and so whenever he opened his mouth for the rest of the evening that was all I could hear.
And then there's Quinn Kelsey as the elder Germont. He was a Ryan Centre member for several years so we've heard him in a number of smaller roles and always appreciated his booming baritone. But he's just not up to the demands of this one. Some reviewers criticised his harsh demeanour, but I think that's perfectly in keeping with the character. For me the issue was that he just sounded dull (and--according to Nuphy--at times even flat). As is usual these days, the rest of the cast was filled out with current Ryan Centre performers. They all sounded equally adequate to me, though Nuphs singled out Richard Ollarsaba (as Grenvil) for particular praise.
By some reckonings, then, that's only one bad principle out of five, right? But even with the full cooperation of my body, it was still an evening to be endured. When the drinking song started up in Act I, I found myself engulfed in a warm glow of nostalgia, like you might get from being served something familiar your grandma used to make. But soon I found myself impatient for the duet with the elder Germont. And as that limped by disappointingly, I began fighting sleep and longing for the death scene.
So besides Rebeka, what was good about it? Nuphy thought the conducting was good; the Italian called it "impersonal". I was just happy it moved along at a sprightly pace. The production was a new one at last, and Nuphy got my hopes up a bit by describing it as "minimal". It wasn't. Maybe he said that because the set is fairly constant (a wide circular room, screened off in Act II Scene 1 by a backdrop of trees) but the furnishings and costumes are lush and period, particularly in the party scenes. For the first, the attendants are wearing 18th-century dress with the addition of realistic oversized hares' ears. It took me a while to notice that under the wigs they were all female. Cute, very cute. For the second, the space above is stuffed with a splendid array of richly-coloured lighted balloons and the bulls are represented by enormous and fantastical puppets, which get reused in Act III to great effect. (As the sounds of carnival erupt, coloured silhouettes are projected onto the curved back wall. Unexpected and effective.)
As far as the staging, the missteps were few and mostly involved that clunker Calleja. For starters, can someone explain to me why he, out of the whole cast, could not be fitted with shoes that didn't squeak on the parquet? When he began to sing, I thought he had a whistle in his voice. It took a bit of observation to deduce that the sounds only appeared when he spun on his heel (which unfortunately the staging had him do often). He was also strangely aloof in scenes he shouldn't've been. At Flora's party, he strides downstage right past Violetta not as if he's snubbing her but as if he genuinely isn't aware she's right where he fixed his eyes on her a moment ago. And in the death scene, he waits a full half a minute after being told "Come closer" before he even reacts, much less rushes to Violetta's side.
Our seatmate says he keeps coming back to Traviata because it's so laden with potential. He's never been to a performance that lived up to it on all measures, but he lives in hope. Maybe if I see enough, they'll merge in my mind so that I retain the best from each and construct a Platonic memory that supersedes any of the actual performances I've attended. Last night brings me a couple steps closer to that.