You don't get a perfect performance of "Tosca" more than once in (maybe) a quarter century, but on occasion one gives you enough of a rush to keep its flaws from giving you too intense an itch. Monday night, soprano Angela Gheorghiu and baritone Zeljko Lucic came to the stage aiming perfectly at the hudreds of arteries in front of them with syringes of potent adrenaline. Tenor Roberto Aronica showed up with clear enough passion for his role, but missed some of his targets by about half an inch, which is simply to say that his first few arias, the lyrical "Recondita Armonia" and all-important "Qual' Occhio al Mondo," weren't pulled off with the kind of finesse that would put a "more, more, more!" into a ticket- buyer's head (Itch, itch...). Still, he turned out to be quite the dramatic complement to his costars. Corignani's inner Puccinian emerged to remind me why his baton is one of the more precious in theatre. If ever there were a memorable, albeit imperfect, night (kind of a great drama film fest on a rough couch sort of thing, considering Aronica), Met Opera Radio's November broadcast was it.
Buddy's at Large
How far would I go to protect a friend? Hopefully so far as does Mario Cavaradossi, the lead loverboy in a twisted triangolo amoroso. Being of Victor Hugo's generation, it's not surprising that Puccini's librettists shared creative blood with the man behind everything "Les Miserables." Angelotti is Mario's Enjolras, a revolutionary ill-suited to his self-granted position. A bit unlike Marius, however, Mario would rather paint than shoot at policemen. Angelotti, buddy at large, knows that, but he needs a place to lay low, as he's running from a much colder criminal-hunter than Inspector Javert. However, tragic painter has a revolutionary style of his own, which really shows when he's tied up in a chair and being bad- copped into next month, his personal diva (Jealous!) high-C-ing it in the next room. Why does Tosca give the buddy at large up, even as her loyal lover hollers for her to keep her lips closed? Why? Why? Because then there wouldn't be another hour of depressing music, and what fun would that be? In short, Mario's heroic nature gets everything in the story going, starting with the leitmotifs of love, tragedy, and romantic revolution. Roberto Aronica, with a ringing tenor that was, Monday night, the ideal in the lowest and middle registers, represented well quite a bit of the intimate suffering and adoration Cavaradossi feels at most of the opera's pivotal moments. However, his vocal power ran a little thin toward the tip of his top register, making the punches of the second Act, the ones thrown by Mario, anyway, somewhat awkward. What legato he achieved (or tried to maintain) was breathless, barely noticeable for a grand portion of his performance. At the very least, he demonstrated some emotional flexibility, which was most obvious during his duets with Gheorghiu and his final number in Act II. A plus, I'd say, even considering his seeming inability to produce a single un-yelled note.
Sir Belligerent Bigwig
Now's the time for me to rub my palms against each other and make a face like a warlord, because that's what a churchgoing man without Jesus like Scarpia (Or Claude Frollo) would do! Baron von Scarpia is the chief of the secret police, and he has the eye of Poe's "Tell-Tale Heart" on Mario's diva. Zeljko Lucic was the perfect picture of the kind of desire, narcissism, and sadism that bedevils all of music's and literature's greatest lovers with tricks and lies, making their otherwise blissful stories interesting. In the first Act, Lucic was cold and towering just as he should have been, at least before and after the "Te Deum," where lust and hypocrisy must (and did) shine with, in Nathaniel Hawthorne's words, "light gloomier than the shadow." In the second Act, he really gave everything a Scarpia should, laughing like Vincent Price on a casket (with James Earl Jones's tone) and booming with cruel energy, his voice as even as the number 10. Honestly, while nobody ever wants Scarpia to keep going to the opera's end, Lucic made his customary forced exit unfortunate. Luckily, there was a soprano to keep the show alive after he went under the kitchen knife.
"I Lived for..." Gheorghiu!
There's no question that the most exciting appearance of the night was made by none other than the Romanian pro screamer, Angela Gheorghiu. No, I didn't expect that her voice would be as fresh as it was in her recorded performance from 2000 with her former husband, Roberto Alagna, but the ripening of her dramatic gifts, which was unquestionable to me upon a hearing of the very first notes she tossed out into the auditorium from backstage, is unsurprising, to say the least. At age 50, she is one of the most compelling vocalists around, especially when wielding the darkest of verismo. In her duets with Aronica, her penetrating and elegant stylings set Tosca's adorable jealousy (Act I) and high-lying empathy (Act III) in gold. However, it was in the duets with Lucic and in her solo music, wherein there were no un-soft soft notes from the tenor to muddy her own, no holds barred on the power she had to throw around, that she made the night nah-nah-nice! Her "Vissi d'Arte" was exactly the passionately prayerful pause in the programme that Puccini nuts (myself included) shiver and smile with gritted teeth in wait for during every performance. In the scene of Scarpia's death, she was a blade of flesh and blood, throwing her voice all over the baritone mercilessly. Her shouts of, "Muori! Muori!" (Die! Die!) about made my heart stop. Sure, her sound isn't as large as that of some, but that's only because everything she does she does with a refusal to budge on her legato, something that anyone with the informed opinion that Puccini's music is basically Wagner's all cleaned up, sweetened, and Italianized can appreciate. Granted, all that emotional pushing didn't leave her a perfect high note for Tosca's leap-of-Ophelia, but that hasn't mattered since Callas took up the role over sixty years ago. She handled Puccini's seventeen- foot vocal flips with only slight seeming strain, as not even Caballe could entirely avoid, and did things that would have made any one of the great Toscas of the 50s-70s proud.
I Won't Mention de Sabata. I Won't Mention de Sabata...
Paolo Carignani, alas, isn't de Sabata. Okay, I gave in that once, but just that once! While a "cross between Julius Caesar and Satan" might have been ideal, Carignani was more than adequate a handler of Puccini's fiery and intense score, even if his direction was just a tad more lyrical than perhaps it should have been (to state my only quibble concerning his work on the second Act). This is where the star conductor's inner Puccinian seems to live. He brought out the silver of the Met Opera Orchestra's strings, and he made the most of its dynamic brass section (The opening of the third Act's "Pastorale" may have been a little choppy, but that's not much of a complaint.). He shined in the more intimate moments, making even the pastel colors in Puccini's score as vivid as the primaries. His place on the international scene is definitely deserved.
The simple fact is that Monday night's "Tosca" was more than I could have hoped to love this winter. The Metropolitan's 2015-2016 season hasn't seen as exciting a performance since Hvorostovsky's "Trovatore," and has given me some hope for another in the coming months. There's a great something about Tosca's sharp-tongued, sharply dressed, and singularly titanic characters, and I'm glad to have heard them so well represented. I may have been cheated out of a good fraction of Mario's richness, but I lament not. If I can catch a performance this season that gives me the same three quarters of total thrill that this one did, I'll be Figaro's kind of merry.
Buddy's at Large
How far would I go to protect a friend? Hopefully so far as does Mario Cavaradossi, the lead loverboy in a twisted triangolo amoroso. Being of Victor Hugo's generation, it's not surprising that Puccini's librettists shared creative blood with the man behind everything "Les Miserables." Angelotti is Mario's Enjolras, a revolutionary ill-suited to his self-granted position. A bit unlike Marius, however, Mario would rather paint than shoot at policemen. Angelotti, buddy at large, knows that, but he needs a place to lay low, as he's running from a much colder criminal-hunter than Inspector Javert. However, tragic painter has a revolutionary style of his own, which really shows when he's tied up in a chair and being bad- copped into next month, his personal diva (Jealous!) high-C-ing it in the next room. Why does Tosca give the buddy at large up, even as her loyal lover hollers for her to keep her lips closed? Why? Why? Because then there wouldn't be another hour of depressing music, and what fun would that be? In short, Mario's heroic nature gets everything in the story going, starting with the leitmotifs of love, tragedy, and romantic revolution. Roberto Aronica, with a ringing tenor that was, Monday night, the ideal in the lowest and middle registers, represented well quite a bit of the intimate suffering and adoration Cavaradossi feels at most of the opera's pivotal moments. However, his vocal power ran a little thin toward the tip of his top register, making the punches of the second Act, the ones thrown by Mario, anyway, somewhat awkward. What legato he achieved (or tried to maintain) was breathless, barely noticeable for a grand portion of his performance. At the very least, he demonstrated some emotional flexibility, which was most obvious during his duets with Gheorghiu and his final number in Act II. A plus, I'd say, even considering his seeming inability to produce a single un-yelled note.
Sir Belligerent Bigwig
Now's the time for me to rub my palms against each other and make a face like a warlord, because that's what a churchgoing man without Jesus like Scarpia (Or Claude Frollo) would do! Baron von Scarpia is the chief of the secret police, and he has the eye of Poe's "Tell-Tale Heart" on Mario's diva. Zeljko Lucic was the perfect picture of the kind of desire, narcissism, and sadism that bedevils all of music's and literature's greatest lovers with tricks and lies, making their otherwise blissful stories interesting. In the first Act, Lucic was cold and towering just as he should have been, at least before and after the "Te Deum," where lust and hypocrisy must (and did) shine with, in Nathaniel Hawthorne's words, "light gloomier than the shadow." In the second Act, he really gave everything a Scarpia should, laughing like Vincent Price on a casket (with James Earl Jones's tone) and booming with cruel energy, his voice as even as the number 10. Honestly, while nobody ever wants Scarpia to keep going to the opera's end, Lucic made his customary forced exit unfortunate. Luckily, there was a soprano to keep the show alive after he went under the kitchen knife.
"I Lived for..." Gheorghiu!
There's no question that the most exciting appearance of the night was made by none other than the Romanian pro screamer, Angela Gheorghiu. No, I didn't expect that her voice would be as fresh as it was in her recorded performance from 2000 with her former husband, Roberto Alagna, but the ripening of her dramatic gifts, which was unquestionable to me upon a hearing of the very first notes she tossed out into the auditorium from backstage, is unsurprising, to say the least. At age 50, she is one of the most compelling vocalists around, especially when wielding the darkest of verismo. In her duets with Aronica, her penetrating and elegant stylings set Tosca's adorable jealousy (Act I) and high-lying empathy (Act III) in gold. However, it was in the duets with Lucic and in her solo music, wherein there were no un-soft soft notes from the tenor to muddy her own, no holds barred on the power she had to throw around, that she made the night nah-nah-nice! Her "Vissi d'Arte" was exactly the passionately prayerful pause in the programme that Puccini nuts (myself included) shiver and smile with gritted teeth in wait for during every performance. In the scene of Scarpia's death, she was a blade of flesh and blood, throwing her voice all over the baritone mercilessly. Her shouts of, "Muori! Muori!" (Die! Die!) about made my heart stop. Sure, her sound isn't as large as that of some, but that's only because everything she does she does with a refusal to budge on her legato, something that anyone with the informed opinion that Puccini's music is basically Wagner's all cleaned up, sweetened, and Italianized can appreciate. Granted, all that emotional pushing didn't leave her a perfect high note for Tosca's leap-of-Ophelia, but that hasn't mattered since Callas took up the role over sixty years ago. She handled Puccini's seventeen- foot vocal flips with only slight seeming strain, as not even Caballe could entirely avoid, and did things that would have made any one of the great Toscas of the 50s-70s proud.
I Won't Mention de Sabata. I Won't Mention de Sabata...
Paolo Carignani, alas, isn't de Sabata. Okay, I gave in that once, but just that once! While a "cross between Julius Caesar and Satan" might have been ideal, Carignani was more than adequate a handler of Puccini's fiery and intense score, even if his direction was just a tad more lyrical than perhaps it should have been (to state my only quibble concerning his work on the second Act). This is where the star conductor's inner Puccinian seems to live. He brought out the silver of the Met Opera Orchestra's strings, and he made the most of its dynamic brass section (The opening of the third Act's "Pastorale" may have been a little choppy, but that's not much of a complaint.). He shined in the more intimate moments, making even the pastel colors in Puccini's score as vivid as the primaries. His place on the international scene is definitely deserved.
The simple fact is that Monday night's "Tosca" was more than I could have hoped to love this winter. The Metropolitan's 2015-2016 season hasn't seen as exciting a performance since Hvorostovsky's "Trovatore," and has given me some hope for another in the coming months. There's a great something about Tosca's sharp-tongued, sharply dressed, and singularly titanic characters, and I'm glad to have heard them so well represented. I may have been cheated out of a good fraction of Mario's richness, but I lament not. If I can catch a performance this season that gives me the same three quarters of total thrill that this one did, I'll be Figaro's kind of merry.
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