Cavalli - Eliogabalo (Paris, 2016)

Francesco Cavalli - Eliogabalo

L'Opéra de Paris, 2016

Leonardo García Alarcón, Thomas Jolly, Franco Fagioli, Paul Groves, Nadine Sierra, Valer Barna-Sabadus, Elin Rombo, Mariana Flores, Matthew Newlin, Emiliano Gonzalez Toro, Scott Conner

Culturebox - October 2016

You wouldn't think it to look at it today in Thomas Jolly's production for the Paris Opera, but Cavalli's opera Eliogabalo was considered "old-fashioned" back in 1667 and consequently never performed until it was rediscovered in 1999. It's true that Monteverdi had pretty much set the standard for a Roman ruler involved in a twisted love affair that threatens the stability of the empire back in 1643 with The Coronation of Poppea, but ironically, stories of cruel kings who thwart lovers' unions for his own twisted desires would continue to be a staple of 18th century opera seria. Even Mozart's Don Giovanni owes much to the convention, and if there's any opera that comes close to Mozart's reinvention of the genre, it's this bold "old-fashioned" work by Cavalli.

The Emperor Eliogabalo (based on the Syrian-born Elagabalus, emperor of Rome from 218 at the age of fourteen until his death in 222 AD) is a special kind of monster. Eliogabalo here has an all-female Senate in the Capitol so that he could control them and use the Senate like a harem (although in real-life the emperor's tastes were supposedly inclined more towards men). Thomas Jolly's production directs this particular scene in the opera with real flair, the gender-bending Eliogabalo even presenting himself as an extravagantly made-up woman when he goes to the Capitol. But Jolly doesn't go overboard in the manner of the camp countertenor fest of Silviu Purcărete 2012 Opéra National de Lorraine production of Vinci's Artaserse. He keeps it stylised, but still manages to capture the dangerous allure of Eliogabalo's power and his abuse of it.

That's just one aspect of Eliogabalo's character, one that shows that he is sexually perverse and won't let anyone stand in his way when he sets his sights on a woman he wants. The main part of the conflict that drives the opera then is the emperor's determination to marry Gemmira. Gemmira is already promised to Alessandro (Severus Alexander, who would succeed Elagabalus), who has just returned to Rome after restoring order to a revolt within the Pretorian guard. Despite being warmly welcomed, Gemmira warns Alessandro that Eliogabalo is suspicious of the respect that the Senate and people have for him.

Gemmira is also the sister of Giuliano, who is upset that the Emperor has seduced his beloved Eritea. Having heard Etirea demand marriage from the emperor as a way to restore her honour, Giuliano blames Eritea for the betrayal, not realising that Eliogabalo has no intention of marrying her. Like his relationship with the law - when he breaks a law it is to honour it - a marriage vow means nothing to the emperor. Eliogabalo's advisors warn him that he is playing with fire, since Giuliano is the commander of the army and it would be dangerous to make an adversary of him.

Do you think Eliogabalo cares? Determined to seduce and (if necessary) marry Gemmira, he plans to introduce her into his all-female Senate. He pushes another woman, Atila, Alessandro's way, hoping to create a division and dispute between the lovers. As for Giuliano, well, the good old-fashioned poison drink should sort out that problem for him. Eliogabalo is wonderfully constructed in this way. Twisted but utterly believable for the dark schemes and plotting that are enacted, and all the more gripping for it. What really makes Cavalli's work exceptional however is his musical colour and characterisation for this intriguing conflict of personalities, emotions and motivations.

There are other colourful characters like Nerbalone - who could well be almost a prototype Leporello for Don Giovanni - who accepts the love of Lenia, a grotesque old rich woman (played by a man of course) who advises Eliogabalo. The origins of much of the conventions of opera seria can also be seen to develop from this work, but even if that originally goes back to Monteverdi and L'incoronazione di Poppea, Cavalli develops harmony and musical colour, with arias and ariosos that are not lengthy or extravagant, but do show what the human voice is capable of doing in a dramatic context. Particularly the castrati.

If there were any justice in the opera world, countertenors like Franco Fagioli would be feted and revered as superstars in the same way as castrati like Senesino and Farinelli once were. Fashions have changed and nasty operations are no longer required, but thankfully we have singers who can really make something of these roles. Cavalli gives the perfect musical setting for the quality of the voice to shine, but he has created a gourmet character in Eliogabalo and a tasty dramatic construction for the countertenor to get his teeth into, and Fagioli's performance has real bite. The rest of the roles are no leftovers with only Paul Groves's Alessandro coming across as a little stale, but Alessandro does have a lot of dry recitative to work with. (Not sure there's any justification for these culinary metaphors, but hey...) Nadine Sierra's Etirea is impassioned and agonised, Valer Barna-Sabadus strong in the other countertenor role of Guliano and there's a wonderful turn from Emiliano Gonzalez Toro as the lusty Lenia.

At 34, Thomas Jolly is already making a name for himself as a director with adventurous Shakespeare productions in France. Directing his first opera in Paris at the Palais Garnier, he's clearly in touch with the spirit and intent of Cavalli, bringing all the qualities of the work to life. The touches of humour are all there amidst the dark scheming and imperious declamation, and the extravagant camp is present but reined in on the side of grandeur with occasional deranged flourishes. Underneath it all however is always the underlying sentiment of love and heartbreak that is the result of Eliogabalo's actions on the individual. Taking its lead from Leonardo García Alarcón's lively and dynamic arrangements of the score, the colours, moods and tone are perfectly balanced in the stage presentation, with bold costumes, minimal sets and effective use of crossing light beams to suggest grander structures and themes.

Links: Paris Opera, Culturebox

Gluck - Alceste (Teatro Real, Madrid 2014 - Webcast)

Christoph Willibald Gluck - Alceste

Teatro Real, Madrid, 2014

Ivor Bolton, Krzysztof Warlikowski, Angela Denoke, Paul Groves, Willard White, Magnus Staveland, Thomas Oliemans, Isaac Galán, Fernando Radó, María Miró, Rodrigo Álvarez

ARTE Concert - 7 March 2014

Sometimes the simplest ideas are the best. That's the principal behind Gluck's reformist operas, reducing the stories and the nature of operatic expression to their dramatic essence, without over-elaboration or ornamentation. It's also the case this time (mostly) with director Krzysztof Warlikowski in his production of Gluck's Alceste for the Teatro Real in Madrid, one of the final productions under the artistic direction of the late Gérard Mortier. Gluck's reform operas are not puritan or spartan, but they provide a strong musical and dramatic framework for creative artists to work with and that is what is largely achieved here.

For Warlikowski, the simple question that needs to be asked when approaching an ancient drama like Alceste is what is it essentially about. For the director it's "the most philosophical story ever written" that confronts the question "could you die for someone?". It's also a royal family drama. Taking that as a starting point and thinking of it in terms of how that story has modern-day universal relevance, it seems obvious to think of Princess Diana and the impact of her death, but can a modern-day tabloid story really be considered to be comparable with ancient mythology?

Surprisingly, by getting right back to the essence of what Alceste is all about, and bringing a strong artistic and creative impulse to bear upon the work, Warlikowski is able to make the parallel meaningful. Typically, the director sets the tone and lays out his ideas in a prologue before the opera starts. This time it involves a five-minute film that shows Angela Denoke's Alceste being interviewed Princess Diana-style, where she covers many of the same issues and problems revealed in TV interviews with Diana. In it, she frankly discusses the difficulties of being in the public eye, of being unable to cope, of her post-natal depression and her rumoured suicide attempts.

That might seem like it has little to do with Alceste offering her own life in sacrifice to Apollo in exchange for her husband King Admeto who has just died, but it does provide us with some kind of background character detail that is credible for someone in her position which may be relevant as far as understanding the decision she has taken. Controversially, Warlikowski also creates entirely new dialogues (in English) to fill out the kind of anguish, confusion and uncertainty Alceste feels and reveal how it tears at family bonds. The director even introduces Admeto's father as a speaking character, and if the dialogue doesn't really carry the same kind of poetic force as Gluck's score, the purpose is clear and no less effective.

It's perhaps not so clear from the set design, but the effectiveness of the treatment is evident from the powerful pay-off in the finale. The stage and set design are of course not exactly what you would expect for Alceste, Act I taking place at a hospital, while Act III is set in a morgue rather than in Hell. That, as you might also expect, is actually the least of Warlikowski's conceits, the director even introducing a gypsy dance for no discernible reason, but much of the strangeness can be related to the state of mind of an Alceste who wanders around in a daze, more suicidal in her grief than sacrificial. Hercules however is fairly bonkers as well here. The conclusion however, a wheelchair-bound locked-in Alceste with husband and children presenting a distorted view of "happy families" is however utterly devastating, its bleak realistic view contrasting with the (forced) happy end of Gluck's music.

Warlikowski isn't afraid to confront such questions and work with the score in this way, making full use of the dance music not for ballets but to play out the dramatic setting he has imposed on the opera. Unfortunately, the performances in this production aren't quite up to the vision of the director. Ivor Bolton conducts the 1776 Paris version of the work well enough, but I'm not convinced that the Madrid orchestra really have the precision and rhythm to hold down and bring out the dynamic of the score. The timing of the chorus also occasionally seems to be out of step with the music. Musically, Alceste is one of Gluck's finest pieces, and Bolton keeps the flow well in line with Warlikowski's dramatic focus on an Alceste who is caught up in a nightmare of grief and breakdown.

This Alceste therefore needs to be a strong actress, and Angela Denoke brings a great dramatic intensity to the role. The Baroque dramatic soprano range isn't always within her comfort zone, she's inconsistent and can sound shrill when striving to reach and hold the high notes, but there's no question she gives it everything. The same could be said about Willard White as the Grand Priest and Thanatos, not always secure on the lower register, but he's a strong presence nonetheless. Paul Groves however was a strong and lyrical Admeto, equally intense on a dramatic level alongside Denoke.

Links: ARTE Concert

Gluck - Iphigénie en Tauride

Christoph Willibald Gluck - Iphigénie en Tauride

The Metropolitan Opera, New York

Patrick Summers, Stephen Wadsworth, Susan Graham, Plácido Domingo, Paul Groves, Gordon Hawkins

The Met: Live in HD - February 26, 2011

It was through his French opera works that Christoph Willibald Gluck would bring to fruition the reforms to opera he had begun in Vienna in 1762 and 1767 with Orfeo ed Eurydice and Alceste (which themselves would later be revised in French versions), culminating in his 1779 masterwork Iphigénie en Tauride. Returning to the origins of where opera derived – an attempt to recreate ancient Greek drama with the accompaniment of music – Gluck’s intention was similarly to strip back anything that didn’t serve to primarily support and enhance the drama.

Gone then are the excessive arias with their da capo repetitions designed to show of the coloratura of the star singers, gone is the recitativo secco left to fill in the narrative, and gone is the inexpressive sound of the harpsichord of Baroque opera. In its place Gluck would use the orchestration, continuo singing, and significantly make stronger use of the chorus, to enhance and give psychological depth to the characterisation and the drama, to the extent that, famously in Ihpigénie en Tauride, characters can say one thing while the music reveals the contradicting meaning to what they are saying. The reforms of opera instigated by Gluck were hugely influential and very important, leading the way towards the more modern form of opera as we know it today.

It’s that sheer depth of human emotion and psychological drama that comes out of the Stephen Wadsworth’s production of Ihpigénie en Tauride for the Metropolitan Opera, their production to be broadcast live in HD. Less cerebral than Claus Guth’s 2001 Freudian interpretation of the Euripides drama for the Opernhaus Zurich, the Met orchestra is also rather fuller than William Christie’s period arrangements for that production, but both in their way get to the heart of the human tragedy of Greek proportions that are at the core of the opera. There’s not too much scene setting in this version of Iphigenia in Tauris, a silent dramatic prelude re-enacting the horror of Iphigenia’s execution at the hand of her father Agamemnon at Aulis, in an effort to appease Artemis on his way to fight the war in Troy, only to be spirited away at the last moment by the goddess Diana (the event recounted in an earlier Gluck opera, Iphigéne en Aulide). After 15 years in Tauris, a priestess now to King Thoas, the trauma remains so deep that she is unable to recognise her brother Orestes, who has arrived in shipwrecked in Tauris, and who is about to be sacrificed to the Gods by his sister, according to the custom of the land.

Dramatically, Iphigénie en Tauride is a sequel to Iphigéne en Aulide then, but it has links also to Elektra (where Orestes has just taken revenge on his mother Clytemnestra for the murder of his father Agamemnon, and is equally as traumatised by the experience), and the brooding melancholy of Gluck’s score in some ways sets the tone that Strauss would match, even more discordantly, some time later in his opera Elektra. The same qualities of deep remorse mixed with guilt lie at the heart of both – the traumatic events that Ihpigenia and Orestes have endured have had a profound impact on their personalities (one indeed with pre-Freudian connotations, as in the initial encounter between brother and sister when Orestes, coming out of a nightmare, calls out “Mother” on seeing Iphigenia) – and, like Elektra, Iphigénie en Tauride is likewise stripped down to its pure emotional core, the singing is allowed to stand alone and express the heart of the drama more through the voice than through any narrative drive.

The split stage is effective, reducing the stage down into distinct areas where the psychological drama can be enclosed and heightened in suffocating prison cells and sacrificial tombs. It may have just been the sound mix to the cinemas or perhaps the less than perfect French diction of the singers, but the staging also seemed to affect the acoustics of the voice. Scarcely a word could be made out of Gordon Hawkins’ delivery as Thoas, but Susan Graham and Plácido Domingo’s singing also seemed to have a little too much reverb. Both however were in fine voice – and wonderful voices they are – despite both suffering from a cold. There were noticeable sniffles from Graham in Act 1 and 2, but whatever remedy she was taking kicked in after the interval, resulting in a commanding singing and dramatic performance in the final two acts. Domingo seemed to be holding back and conserving his energy, but by the same token he is not a grandstanding scene-stealing kind of performer and played within the confines of the role (as I’m sure Gluck would have approved), graciously allowing both Graham and Paul Groves to give full account of their voices and the roles they played.