Opera Australia’s new production of Il Trovatore (1853) is both playful and stark. The gigantic LED projection screens it employs can be both monumental and eerily beautiful. They summon the imagery of Tarot cards via a Daliesque twist that is in turns spooky and humorous. The elemental nature of the story is suitably reinforced. English critics have forever bemoaned the rugged nature of the narrative. How could a deranged mother, watching her own mother burn at the stake, throw the wrong baby into the pyre? Post holocaust, we know anything is possible in the inferno of war. As the Director, Davide Livermore, aptly notes, this opera “drowns us in horror”.
Azucena’s narrative in Act 2 articulates this all with a deranged clarity. The revenge of her mother’s death is a deadly motif that poisons her entire being. The guilt she carries throbs through her music. Even greater lucidity emerges in her duet with the adopted son (Manrico) who is deeply immersed in her tale of horror and revenge. The mezzo’s deep chest voice utters, ‘strano pieta’, codifying the strange pity that he has felt on the battlefield for his real but estranged brother: the enemy. In Livermore’s words, the opera hovers near “unspeakable, unconfessable emotions”.
As Azucena, Elena Gabouri has a tremendous voice that builds around an enlivening characterisation. She does possession well and draws us deeply into the mother/daughter, mother/son fixation of this overwhelming soul. She is a handsome gypsy. Not ancient, playful, yet regally attired in a large metallic breast plate, gilded in fiery hair and bronze wrap. Gabouri takes all the musical and physiological resources that Verdi gives and almost steals the show. She is vivid and believable, from the eerie portents of Act 2 through to the enervation and final revenge of Act 4, when the ultimate horror is unleashed: fratricide crowning the revenge of her mother.
As her adopted son, Yonghoon Lee matched her intensity with his burnished voice, strong and gleaming with power, supporting his ability to handle the stress of ‘Di quella pira’. He summoned the powerful flames of incandescent rage. His scarred face, slashed in battle, was suitably gothic. Equally, he could manage the sonorous yearning of ‘Ah si ben mio’ with fine line and natural phrasing – breathing his desire for Leonora, across the arc of Verdi’s noble melody. His duet with his adopted mother - the prison scene of Act 4 - was discretely dovetailed, almost resting her madness gently in his soft vocal embrace. At times his acting relied too much on grimace, though the ramrod intensity of voice and erect body were suitably arresting. Like his adoptive mother, he is possessed by volatile, unforgiving emotions.
Leah Crocetto as Leonora displayed a large voice that balanced power and beauty. Her opening aria, recounting her developing love for Manrico, swelled with desire and pride, riding the enormous arc that Verdi gifts his soprano. She was also able to mount the startling and radiant outburst of the Act 2 finale, when Verdi gives her the power of stupefaction and benediction rolled into one. She even managed to survive the rather unflattering wedding dress and floral wreath of Act 3. In Act 4 she dug deep into the pit of revenge as she offered her poisoned body to the besotted Conte Di Luna – darkly humorous on the threat of offering him a corpse as his bride, on that oh so cold marriage bed. Her baby face took on deeper meaning in this exchange.
She and Lee managed the tri partite structure of Act 4 Scene 1 (aria, duet, cabaletta: ‘D'amor sull'ali rosee’, ‘Misere’, ‘Tu vedrai che amore in terra’) with great aplomb, ensuring the long lines of thought and musical structure were precisely bedded. It took Callas in the 1950s to revive the glory of this Verdian structural arc, where intellectual order underpins the frenzied emotional and dramatic interest.
If Maxim Aniskin was a little dour as Conte di Luna, he did sing with noble line. He was darkly threatening in looks but missed summoning the sexual frenzy that invades the being of the best di Luna’s. This was particularly so in the opening section of the convent abduction Scene in Act 2 (here a war zone hospital full of veiled nurses). He did deepen his desire for Leonora in their Act 4 duet – as the lust and its potential satiation were thoughtfully balanced - but he was no match for the white-hot intensity of his real brother, Manrico.
David Parkin as Ferrando was suitably sonorous as the faithful retainer and witness to the burning alive of a mother and a baby. His narrative was crisp and chilling while his awakening suspicion in Act 2 that the murderous Azucena is within sniffing distance was deftly essayed. Like Azucena, the past haunts him.
The chorus was suitably buoyant and sharp in attack. In this production they are gypsy circus performers, outside the class norms of di Luna and Leonora. Thus, the latter’s shock when she finds out her lover’s mother is truly beyond the pale.
The digital content of the production was realised by D-Wok. The essaying of mood and narrative was prolific and generally hit the right note. The constellation of stars that embraced the romantic exuberance of Leonora in Act I was breathtaking, while the burning pain of ‘Di quella pira’ was all blue and red flames, swirling like a Rocco vengeance. The huge LED screens allow for rapid scene changes and propel the opera forward.
The lighting was finely adjusted to this exuberant and playful vision (John Rayment).
Costuming (Gianluca Falaschi) was either boldly stark or extravagant: blue and white for Leonora in Act 4, leather vest, fob watch and floral shirt for Manrico. Given the hyper emotional nature of the work, they were often well pitched against the swirling digital landscape.
The team of David Livermore (Director), Gio Forma (Design) and D-Wok (digital) provided an imaginative super structure within which the singers could deliver their impassioned singing – while commenting on the words and music - positioning them and us deeply within the psychology of the libretto. Human rage drives this opera: lust, revenge; detestation, leavened by the love that Leonora tries to evoke: ewig weibliche. She often stands against the intractable emotions that enmesh the warring brothers and warring castes. It is she who intervenes between Manrico and Di Luna in Act 1 when they want to kill each other. It is she who exalts in Manrico’s return from the dead in Act 2. It is she who offers up her love in Act 4 to save her betrothed. Her agency is prophetic – doomed in the internecine warfare that unites men and women in hatred and the cycle of revenge.
Andrea Battistone, unfurled the architecture of the work with sure pace and fine detail, building excitement but also allowing the work’s bel canto beauties to blossom forth. The orchestra responded to the colour and intensity of the score with energy and grace.
The comprimario roles were sung with conviction by Sian Sharp (Inez) Iain Henderson (Ruiz), Luke Gabeddy (Old Romani) and Thomas Strong (Messenger).
This work is protean and still startling in its examination of the schisms that drive a world to war and suffering.
Opera Australia, Joan Sutherland Theatre, Sydney, July 25, 2022
Gar Jones
Azucena’s narrative in Act 2 articulates this all with a deranged clarity. The revenge of her mother’s death is a deadly motif that poisons her entire being. The guilt she carries throbs through her music. Even greater lucidity emerges in her duet with the adopted son (Manrico) who is deeply immersed in her tale of horror and revenge. The mezzo’s deep chest voice utters, ‘strano pieta’, codifying the strange pity that he has felt on the battlefield for his real but estranged brother: the enemy. In Livermore’s words, the opera hovers near “unspeakable, unconfessable emotions”.
As Azucena, Elena Gabouri has a tremendous voice that builds around an enlivening characterisation. She does possession well and draws us deeply into the mother/daughter, mother/son fixation of this overwhelming soul. She is a handsome gypsy. Not ancient, playful, yet regally attired in a large metallic breast plate, gilded in fiery hair and bronze wrap. Gabouri takes all the musical and physiological resources that Verdi gives and almost steals the show. She is vivid and believable, from the eerie portents of Act 2 through to the enervation and final revenge of Act 4, when the ultimate horror is unleashed: fratricide crowning the revenge of her mother.
As her adopted son, Yonghoon Lee matched her intensity with his burnished voice, strong and gleaming with power, supporting his ability to handle the stress of ‘Di quella pira’. He summoned the powerful flames of incandescent rage. His scarred face, slashed in battle, was suitably gothic. Equally, he could manage the sonorous yearning of ‘Ah si ben mio’ with fine line and natural phrasing – breathing his desire for Leonora, across the arc of Verdi’s noble melody. His duet with his adopted mother - the prison scene of Act 4 - was discretely dovetailed, almost resting her madness gently in his soft vocal embrace. At times his acting relied too much on grimace, though the ramrod intensity of voice and erect body were suitably arresting. Like his adoptive mother, he is possessed by volatile, unforgiving emotions.
Leah Crocetto as Leonora displayed a large voice that balanced power and beauty. Her opening aria, recounting her developing love for Manrico, swelled with desire and pride, riding the enormous arc that Verdi gifts his soprano. She was also able to mount the startling and radiant outburst of the Act 2 finale, when Verdi gives her the power of stupefaction and benediction rolled into one. She even managed to survive the rather unflattering wedding dress and floral wreath of Act 3. In Act 4 she dug deep into the pit of revenge as she offered her poisoned body to the besotted Conte Di Luna – darkly humorous on the threat of offering him a corpse as his bride, on that oh so cold marriage bed. Her baby face took on deeper meaning in this exchange.
She and Lee managed the tri partite structure of Act 4 Scene 1 (aria, duet, cabaletta: ‘D'amor sull'ali rosee’, ‘Misere’, ‘Tu vedrai che amore in terra’) with great aplomb, ensuring the long lines of thought and musical structure were precisely bedded. It took Callas in the 1950s to revive the glory of this Verdian structural arc, where intellectual order underpins the frenzied emotional and dramatic interest.
If Maxim Aniskin was a little dour as Conte di Luna, he did sing with noble line. He was darkly threatening in looks but missed summoning the sexual frenzy that invades the being of the best di Luna’s. This was particularly so in the opening section of the convent abduction Scene in Act 2 (here a war zone hospital full of veiled nurses). He did deepen his desire for Leonora in their Act 4 duet – as the lust and its potential satiation were thoughtfully balanced - but he was no match for the white-hot intensity of his real brother, Manrico.
David Parkin as Ferrando was suitably sonorous as the faithful retainer and witness to the burning alive of a mother and a baby. His narrative was crisp and chilling while his awakening suspicion in Act 2 that the murderous Azucena is within sniffing distance was deftly essayed. Like Azucena, the past haunts him.
The chorus was suitably buoyant and sharp in attack. In this production they are gypsy circus performers, outside the class norms of di Luna and Leonora. Thus, the latter’s shock when she finds out her lover’s mother is truly beyond the pale.
The digital content of the production was realised by D-Wok. The essaying of mood and narrative was prolific and generally hit the right note. The constellation of stars that embraced the romantic exuberance of Leonora in Act I was breathtaking, while the burning pain of ‘Di quella pira’ was all blue and red flames, swirling like a Rocco vengeance. The huge LED screens allow for rapid scene changes and propel the opera forward.
The lighting was finely adjusted to this exuberant and playful vision (John Rayment).
Costuming (Gianluca Falaschi) was either boldly stark or extravagant: blue and white for Leonora in Act 4, leather vest, fob watch and floral shirt for Manrico. Given the hyper emotional nature of the work, they were often well pitched against the swirling digital landscape.
The team of David Livermore (Director), Gio Forma (Design) and D-Wok (digital) provided an imaginative super structure within which the singers could deliver their impassioned singing – while commenting on the words and music - positioning them and us deeply within the psychology of the libretto. Human rage drives this opera: lust, revenge; detestation, leavened by the love that Leonora tries to evoke: ewig weibliche. She often stands against the intractable emotions that enmesh the warring brothers and warring castes. It is she who intervenes between Manrico and Di Luna in Act 1 when they want to kill each other. It is she who exalts in Manrico’s return from the dead in Act 2. It is she who offers up her love in Act 4 to save her betrothed. Her agency is prophetic – doomed in the internecine warfare that unites men and women in hatred and the cycle of revenge.
Andrea Battistone, unfurled the architecture of the work with sure pace and fine detail, building excitement but also allowing the work’s bel canto beauties to blossom forth. The orchestra responded to the colour and intensity of the score with energy and grace.
The comprimario roles were sung with conviction by Sian Sharp (Inez) Iain Henderson (Ruiz), Luke Gabeddy (Old Romani) and Thomas Strong (Messenger).
This work is protean and still startling in its examination of the schisms that drive a world to war and suffering.
Opera Australia, Joan Sutherland Theatre, Sydney, July 25, 2022
Gar Jones
