Atilla (1846) is one of those Risorgimento operas that bears its heart on its sleeve regarding Italian nationalism. Written in part to excoriate the Austrian overlords who then haphazardly ruled Italy, it prefigures the political upheaval of the 1848 uprisings that shook the monarchical foundations of much of Europe. The rising line that Ezio sings in his prologue duet with the overlord Atilla says it all: you can have the world but give me my homeland (“l'Italia a me”). The opera also seems to comment on the failure of Italian patriots to effectively organise.
With its bold primary colours and stark characterisations, Atilla also displays an intense theatricality and the emerging thread of the complexity of human action that increasingly informs Verdi’s sense of drama and musical explorations.
This co-production with La Scala delivers in spades the drama and spectacle of the work. It is monumental in scale. The drawbridge that brings Atilla and Ezio into consort and negotiation - high above the stage in the Prologue - is rent asunder to highlight the fundamental schism and disagreement that erupts between them: two men fighting over territory.
Large scale black and white projections are employed to support characterisation. The capture and death of Odabella’s father by Atilla is simply told, embedding her character’s intense hatred for Atilla into the operatic narrative and codifying its pathology. Equally, the destruction that Atilla wreaks on every captured province is swiftly and decisively projected as part of the opening survey, plunging us into summary executions and sexual violence. The reworking into mid 1930s fascist Italy is effectively handled, also allowing for an exploration of those finely cut soldiers costumes that totalitarian states seem to love. The monumentality also allows the refugee scene (Prologue, Scene 2) to establish loss and confusion – before Foresto launches into one of the great rallying cry arias of the emerging Italian state (“Cara Patria”).
The production team embrace all the stark drama of the work – no postmodern trickery or prevarications – and we surrender to the potency of Verdi’s’ driving rhythms and pungent characterisations. This is another triumph of the directorial team led by Davide Livermore (Director), Gio Forme (Set Design), D-Wok (Digital), Gianluca Falashi (Costume) and Antonia Castro (lighting).
Taras Berezhansky as Atilla is tall, agile, and handsome. His entry on horseback as the triumphant dictator, cleft to his rich sonorous voice – black and secure – let his character naturally dominate. This is a brutish man, but there are hints of humour as he responds to the savage rebellion of Odabella, attracted by her sheer spunk.
The dream sequence of Act 1 Scene 2 is propelled by the vigour of his response to the imagined threat of the old man halting his advance on Rome. Fear and loathing burst forth, darkly characterised. He moulds the brooding phrases with dramatic intent, then launches into absolute rejection of such weakness, as he summons his Hun warriors onwards, once more, to destruction. The drama just keeps building - until his dream materialises before him. Pope Leo (the old man of his dreams) stands before him – in renaissance glory, pictorially splendid, in tableau vivant of a rarefied patina - with saints playfully hovering on high. The heightened simplicity of the drama and tableau was beautifully realised, the combination of people and projections almost overwhelming. The Pope’s brief utterance carried import way beyond the vocal means – all performers surging the scene forward with an emotional intensity that electrified stage, pit, and auditorium.
Diego Torre as Foresto was a pillar of vocal strength, his shining tenor voice cutting through the rich and loud orchestration. He knows how to ride the curve and propulsion of the Verdian aria. His acting is always passionate, and he engages with the other characters on the stage. Particularly spectacular were his duets with Odabella. The dissimilar patterns of disjunction and disbelief that Verdi employs, ensures that the lovers are separated then reunited – angry and objectifying their states of pleasure and displeasure with ardent vocalising.
Mario Cassi was indisposed; thus, Michael Honeyman essayed the role of the Roman Consul, Ezio. Though his voice lacks the ultimate burnished Italianate sound, it is a powerful and flexible instrument. He is not a tall man but impressed with his inflexible stance and dogged pursuit of revenge, once Atilla has spurned him and Rome.
Natalie Aroyan gave Odabella a sense of warrior strength and made believable her desire to personally kill Atilla. Attired in some magnificent 1930s gowns, she valiantly tackled the excessive coloratura and amazing downward runs - into the nether regions of the soprano voice (summoning the killer power of Abigaile from Nabucco) - and if these roulades were a little jagged at times, she gave them dramatic import. Her beautiful Aria in Act 1 Scene 1 was full of yearning and long breathed phrasing that showed off the dark richness of her voice.
The banquet scene in Act 2 showed its links to the Macbeth (1847) that was brewing in Verdi’s consciousness. The staging effectively articulated the planned poising of Atilla by the servant Uldino (inspired by Foresto) and made real Odabella’s disgust at such cowardly revenge. The decadence of the 1930s Roman state was cheekily choreographed with some subtle sexual frissons – that lead towards the unleashing power of the stretta and its compendium of shock and horror, culminating in the triumph of Atilla, saved for further greatness by the women who hates him! Verdi’s responsiveness to such ensemble finales was growing in splendour, year by year.
Virgilio Marino was a suitably conflicted Uldino – with his clear tenor voice carrying the drama forwards, particularly in the dream sequence. Richard Anderson was a sonorous Pope Leo I.
The chorus thrilled, responding with vigour and precision to the drama and energy of Verdi’s writing – particularly successful in the soft dejection and emerging hope of the refugee scene in the prologue, support by deftly choreographed action. The tightly argued musical progression - the sunrise that Verdi’s music essays - was mirrored in the staging and characterisation of individual chorus members. The Opera Australia actors made a vibrant contribution to the production. The children’s chorus was piquant.
Andrea Battistoni is a fine conductor of Verdi. He knows how to instantiate both marvellous attack and the broad rising arc of Verdian song, crafting both drama and beauty. He supports and urges on impassioned singing.
The triumph of the blooded Italian flag rising from the incendiary world of dictatorships and civil war was given a considered trajectory in this production, from the Prologue to the final assassination of Atilla. The fact the Berezhansky, during his curtain call, stood tall with the flag of Ukraine behind his head, drew extra applause for the overthrow of tyranny,
This was a memorable night in the theatre, channelling the raw energy and dramatic intensity of early Verdi – and ensuring its frissons were spectacularly enacted.
Opera Australia, Joan Sutherland Theatre, Sydney, November 1, 2022
Gar Jones
With its bold primary colours and stark characterisations, Atilla also displays an intense theatricality and the emerging thread of the complexity of human action that increasingly informs Verdi’s sense of drama and musical explorations.
This co-production with La Scala delivers in spades the drama and spectacle of the work. It is monumental in scale. The drawbridge that brings Atilla and Ezio into consort and negotiation - high above the stage in the Prologue - is rent asunder to highlight the fundamental schism and disagreement that erupts between them: two men fighting over territory.
Large scale black and white projections are employed to support characterisation. The capture and death of Odabella’s father by Atilla is simply told, embedding her character’s intense hatred for Atilla into the operatic narrative and codifying its pathology. Equally, the destruction that Atilla wreaks on every captured province is swiftly and decisively projected as part of the opening survey, plunging us into summary executions and sexual violence. The reworking into mid 1930s fascist Italy is effectively handled, also allowing for an exploration of those finely cut soldiers costumes that totalitarian states seem to love. The monumentality also allows the refugee scene (Prologue, Scene 2) to establish loss and confusion – before Foresto launches into one of the great rallying cry arias of the emerging Italian state (“Cara Patria”).
The production team embrace all the stark drama of the work – no postmodern trickery or prevarications – and we surrender to the potency of Verdi’s’ driving rhythms and pungent characterisations. This is another triumph of the directorial team led by Davide Livermore (Director), Gio Forme (Set Design), D-Wok (Digital), Gianluca Falashi (Costume) and Antonia Castro (lighting).
Taras Berezhansky as Atilla is tall, agile, and handsome. His entry on horseback as the triumphant dictator, cleft to his rich sonorous voice – black and secure – let his character naturally dominate. This is a brutish man, but there are hints of humour as he responds to the savage rebellion of Odabella, attracted by her sheer spunk.
The dream sequence of Act 1 Scene 2 is propelled by the vigour of his response to the imagined threat of the old man halting his advance on Rome. Fear and loathing burst forth, darkly characterised. He moulds the brooding phrases with dramatic intent, then launches into absolute rejection of such weakness, as he summons his Hun warriors onwards, once more, to destruction. The drama just keeps building - until his dream materialises before him. Pope Leo (the old man of his dreams) stands before him – in renaissance glory, pictorially splendid, in tableau vivant of a rarefied patina - with saints playfully hovering on high. The heightened simplicity of the drama and tableau was beautifully realised, the combination of people and projections almost overwhelming. The Pope’s brief utterance carried import way beyond the vocal means – all performers surging the scene forward with an emotional intensity that electrified stage, pit, and auditorium.
Diego Torre as Foresto was a pillar of vocal strength, his shining tenor voice cutting through the rich and loud orchestration. He knows how to ride the curve and propulsion of the Verdian aria. His acting is always passionate, and he engages with the other characters on the stage. Particularly spectacular were his duets with Odabella. The dissimilar patterns of disjunction and disbelief that Verdi employs, ensures that the lovers are separated then reunited – angry and objectifying their states of pleasure and displeasure with ardent vocalising.
Mario Cassi was indisposed; thus, Michael Honeyman essayed the role of the Roman Consul, Ezio. Though his voice lacks the ultimate burnished Italianate sound, it is a powerful and flexible instrument. He is not a tall man but impressed with his inflexible stance and dogged pursuit of revenge, once Atilla has spurned him and Rome.
Natalie Aroyan gave Odabella a sense of warrior strength and made believable her desire to personally kill Atilla. Attired in some magnificent 1930s gowns, she valiantly tackled the excessive coloratura and amazing downward runs - into the nether regions of the soprano voice (summoning the killer power of Abigaile from Nabucco) - and if these roulades were a little jagged at times, she gave them dramatic import. Her beautiful Aria in Act 1 Scene 1 was full of yearning and long breathed phrasing that showed off the dark richness of her voice.
The banquet scene in Act 2 showed its links to the Macbeth (1847) that was brewing in Verdi’s consciousness. The staging effectively articulated the planned poising of Atilla by the servant Uldino (inspired by Foresto) and made real Odabella’s disgust at such cowardly revenge. The decadence of the 1930s Roman state was cheekily choreographed with some subtle sexual frissons – that lead towards the unleashing power of the stretta and its compendium of shock and horror, culminating in the triumph of Atilla, saved for further greatness by the women who hates him! Verdi’s responsiveness to such ensemble finales was growing in splendour, year by year.
Virgilio Marino was a suitably conflicted Uldino – with his clear tenor voice carrying the drama forwards, particularly in the dream sequence. Richard Anderson was a sonorous Pope Leo I.
The chorus thrilled, responding with vigour and precision to the drama and energy of Verdi’s writing – particularly successful in the soft dejection and emerging hope of the refugee scene in the prologue, support by deftly choreographed action. The tightly argued musical progression - the sunrise that Verdi’s music essays - was mirrored in the staging and characterisation of individual chorus members. The Opera Australia actors made a vibrant contribution to the production. The children’s chorus was piquant.
Andrea Battistoni is a fine conductor of Verdi. He knows how to instantiate both marvellous attack and the broad rising arc of Verdian song, crafting both drama and beauty. He supports and urges on impassioned singing.
The triumph of the blooded Italian flag rising from the incendiary world of dictatorships and civil war was given a considered trajectory in this production, from the Prologue to the final assassination of Atilla. The fact the Berezhansky, during his curtain call, stood tall with the flag of Ukraine behind his head, drew extra applause for the overthrow of tyranny,
This was a memorable night in the theatre, channelling the raw energy and dramatic intensity of early Verdi – and ensuring its frissons were spectacularly enacted.
Opera Australia, Joan Sutherland Theatre, Sydney, November 1, 2022
Gar Jones