The Times (London)
May 5, 2004, Wednesday
Il trovatore
by Hilary Finch
Il trovatore. Covent Garden. ***
ELIJAH MOSHINSKY has returned to direct the first revival of his
visually spectacular Il trovatore, new to the Royal Opera two years
ago. With Dante Ferretti (designer for the likes of Pasolini, Fellini
and Scorsese) in charge of the sets, it’s still a banquet for the
eye. Except, that is, for the monochrome landscape images which act
as curtain projections between the overlong scene changes.
Verdi’s four musical canvases -the Duel, the Gypsy, the Gypsy’s Son
and the Punishment -are realised in monumental tableaux, each one
beautifully lit by Howard Harrison. Every entrance in the dark
shadows of the first is framed by a line of lofty pillars; Azucena
and her band of Risorgimento partisans hide out among four massive,
glowing furnaces; exquisite Piranesi-like perspectives of glass and
steel house the convent.
But there’s a price to pay for this visual magnificence. Tableaux
they may be; but Verdi’s are tableaux vivants, and Moshinsky’s
staging, seduced by its own beauty, does too little to empower this
cast beyond formulaic body language. There’s simply too little
impassioned engagement with the music, with each other or with the
audience.
This is very much in the nature of the beast. While Moshinsky’s
production admirably realises the form of Verdi’s opera, it can too
easily stifle its beating heart. The individual seems trapped within
the massive set pieces: the emotional charge at the meeting of Di
Luna, Manrico and Leonora in the convent is diffused by the fearful
symmetry of the stagecraft; the sparring of the Count’s leather-clad
soldiers in Part III is almost risibly “choreographed”.
Dwarfed by their environments, a strong new cast stand and deliver
goods of considerable quality. Three Eastern European singers
contribute effectively to Verdi’s dark palette in this opera.
The opening narrative is compellingly and elegantly shaped by the
Ferrando of the Armenian bass-baritone Arutjun Kotchinian. And the
Georgian baritone Lado Ataneli brings menace, if too little ardour
and anger to the role of Di Luna. In the Russian mezzo Irina Mishura,
Azucena, Verdi’s own favourite, has both the high flare of flame and
a dark anguish within her true chest voice. She simply isn’t
exploited enough on stage.
Marco Berti’s coarse-edged and tirelessly robust Manrico and Fiorenza
Cedolins’s Leonora sing feistily, but too seldom to each other.
The Royal Opera Orchestra play superbly for the veteran Verdian
Edward Downes; but on the first night, even he was unable to provide
quite the elan and momentum this show still needs.
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