Already a subscriber? Log in
The generic effect may be heightened in concert performances, even ones where there is as much action as there was in this Cesare. The singers moved around a lot, especially the wicked ones, and the arch-villain Ptolomeo pirouetted with rage and malicious glee, and was elaborately killed by Sesto, slithering to the ground and twitching his last (before getting up and walking off with his score). He was taken by the countertenor Christophe Dumaux, who also played the role at Glyndebourne, where he perfected his repertoire of vicious smiles. Everyone played up well, despite which the evening gave the impression of being more a series of arias than a dramatic progress; the unrelenting applause was partly to blame, but so was Jacobs, who kept letting things go slack. The cast, none of them very famous, was a fine one, with Kristina Hammarström outstanding as Pompeo’s widow Cornelia, a pillar of dignified grief. I was least convinced by the Cesare, Marijana Mijanovic. Her voice is good, though not big, but her determination was evidenced more by her chin than her vocal interpretation, and despite a trouser suit she never for a moment suggested masculine majesty. The Cleopatra of Veronica Cangemi was an unadulterated delight, both in the sensuality of the Act II seduction music and in her agonies and excitements. The Freiburg Baroque Orchestra produced full-bodied tone, and it was probably the heat of the hall which caused the horns so many mishaps.
The next evening a very different opera dealt with infidelity and forgiveness: Verdi’s Stiffelio was revived by the Royal Opera in Elijah Moshinsky’s satisfying and traditional production, with immaculately judged conducting by Mark Elder, who is surely the world’s finest living exponent of these operas. Even he couldn’t disguise the fact that, if you didn’t know it, you’d swear that the Overture is to an opera by Sullivan you hadn’t heard before, with its jaunty rhythms and memorable big tune coming in to sweep everything before it. Quite a bit of Act I is like that, too, but the music for the leading characters, above all that for the erring Lina, wife of the pastor Stiffelio, is a major departure, intimate and searching, pointing the way to Traviata. Lina was Sondra Radvanovsky, an American soprano with a fascinating voice, excellently deployed, and adequate acting ability. José Cura downsized his personality for Stiffelio, though when he got angry it looked very much as if he would like to be doing his Otello as soon as he could; but his restraint, for the most part, was moving and effective. The incredibly brief final scene, in which everyone is gathered in church for what they expect to be a commination, only to be rewarded with a sober, heartfelt act of forgiveness, took the work on to a far higher plane than anything that preceded it: how wise of Verdi to end so abruptly, leaving an operatic audience to indulge in their least favourite activity, thinking.
Also in Arts Reviews
Also by Michael Tanner
Latest
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in