Part II: Covent Garden Season – Of Lakes & Ladies; Waving & Sinking
avatar

La donna del Lago

G.Rossini La donna del lago. Royal Opera House Covent Garden

A tin of Shortbread on its side as a back drop

A tin of Shortbread on its side as a back drop

New production premiere directed by John Fulljames with sets by Dick Bird, costumes by Yannis Thavoris, and lighting by Bruno Poet. Conducted by Michele Mariotti with Joyce DiDonato (Elena), Juan Diego Florez (Uberto), Daniela Barcellona (Malcolm), Michael Spyres (Rodrigo), Simon Orfila (Douglas).

We have waited a long time for this particular gem from the pen of Maestro Rossini to be performed in London. Composed in 1819 and first performed in Covent Garden in 1823 it remained in repertory into the 1850’s when it fell from favour. It was not seen again in London until Kiri te Kanawa performed it at the Camden festival in 1969. It made an encore in 1985 and then not again until this year. It is not a masterpiece & has become overshadowed  by Donizetti’s darker tragedy of Lucia de Lammermoor (1835) and Bellini’s striking Elvira in I Puritani (1836). La donna del Lago is famous for some of its exquisite fireworks of arias and ensembles. They’ve long survived as concert pieces. The opera has also suffered from the disadvantage of being penned by Walter Scott as a poetic poesy rather than a full blown melodrama. In that it rather reminds of another Scots fancy by Thomas Campbell which I had to learn-by-heart in primary school – Lord Ullin’s Daughter. Campbell’s poem is also set on a lake and that’s convenient since daughter provides him with an easy rhyme for water…..

A Chieftain to the Highlands bound,
Cries, ‘Boatman, do not tarry;
And I’ll give thee a silver pound
To row us o’er the ferry.’
‘Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle,
This dark and stormy water?’
‘Oh! I’m the chief of Ulva’s isle,
And this Lord Ullin’s daughter.
 

The best laid plans, as Robbie Burns warned, have the habit of sinking under the weight of great expectations. From this rule of the theatrical waves Opera is not immune. As you can see from the cast list above it promised to be a truly great night. There is no better living exemplar of the coloratura technique than Joyce Didonato, though I know others who know more than me of singing express their doubts on that assertion. Still none of the singers disappointed us on my night. I have rarely heard better singing by a cast, individually and ensemble. Despite its lack of dramatic possibility Rossini draws from this story some staggeringly extraordinary music of great inventiveness and beauty.

donna1Juan Diego Florez knows a thing or two about bel canto though in my opinion he needs rather firmer direction than he was given in this production. He is at the best of times apt to wave his hands about in that rather cliched style of the Italian opera tenor. He also strides to great effect but over often to convince on stage. At other times he produces sounds of which a strangled cat or bleating sheep might be proud but on his day he can sing with elan and with great lyric beauty. On its day it’s a lovely voice and generally he gave a lovely performance he on the night I went. And even if he did wave much too much –  he had good cause as the production was sinking into the lakes of oblivion and was dragging the whole stellar cast down with it.

Where to begin. I’d rather like to be kind. I was sitting in the stalls row L or M. For the opening ten minutes of the opera I had to sit with one hand over one eye. The spotlights hit the glass door on Madame Didonato’s glass coffin and refracted their light directly into my eyes. I thought dress rehearsals were designed to eliminate such carbuncles from the hull of a production – apparently not in this case. From this unpromising and unexplained nonsense of an opening I’m afraid the night was set adrift. With the characters in glass boxes at its opening to their return to them at its close, the in-between was a mish-mash of random ideas. The production values were valueless. It was out of place; out of time and without redeeming merit. I cannot pick one absurdity above another.

The action such as it is begins with our heroine Elena gamboling in the forest edge on the strand of her lake. She sings an extended rather lovely cavatina by way of introduction.

donna4A stranger who is lost enters stage left and suddenly enters her world ( it’s the Scots king in disguise). After a suitable aria; aria and duet as his introduction to us and to our heroine, Elena by way of politeness invites the stranger to join her in her boat in order to cross the lake and enjoy the hospitality of her father’s castle set in the midst of the romantic waters.

In the Covent Garden production the high romance of this moment has Joyce Didonato, wearing a negligee suited more to Lucia de Lammermoor, sitting on a glass box with a ship inside, singing her heart out. Florez (disguised king) looking suitably doubtful joins her on said glass box. As they sing together the glass box chuggs and coughs across the stage on this directorial flight of fancy.

Then we have period costumes that randomly switch from nineteenth century to sixteenth century before inhabiting the eighteenth century for most of Act II. Then we have the Balmoral tartan appearing at the end of Act II for no reason other than it can. In a drama that revolves around the Scots romance of the Stuart kings, it  is more than unhistorical; it is more than distinctly odd ; it is almost an insult to that Kingdom that its king he should end dressed as surrogate for the Hanoverian dynasty with redcoats for his body guard. I fear Mr Gove is correct: there’s too little chronology taught in the history syllabus if this papier-mache tripe is anything to go by.

There are also the childishly attention-seeking moments designed to shock such as the disembowelment of a sheep that looked so fake and was so gratuitous it would have been shunned by Hammer in its house- of-horror heyday. There was also that other sturdy cliche from vernacular English folklore, the highland women bound & gagged with said highland scotsmen preparing for war by grabbing any and/or all passing women having drunk many too many drams of the native whisky. The stereotype is lazy; it’s like the Irish joke, it insults; it is beneath contempt to find it given place of honour in a theatre such as the Royal Opera House.

For much of the production we had on stage (and for no particular reason) one huge staircase. As those acquainted with  theatre will know the staircase is that most doomed of stage props. Because it is there it has to be used and it is used because it is there. Walking up and down stairs is no way to act and is no way to help an actor or singer inhabit character. It is also no way to get a large chorus off and on stage. Theatre need not be absurd but at £200 per seat the theatre of the absurd becomes more than a bad joke.

donna5So I must return to the signing because only with your eyes firmly shut could you hope to enjoy this production. Though I’m devoted to Joyce Didonato the revelation was actually Daniela Barcellona as Malcolm, whose kilt put the pleats back into “trousers role.” Her voice did err from time to time but frankly it was a miracle any of them found their voice marooned in this artistic nightmare.

Colin Lee sang Rodrigo and he and Florez made a wonderful sound in the improbable trio for two tenors and soprano at the end of Act I. As for Joyce Didonato her “Tanti affretti” (the final aria and the opera’s greatest hit) was wonderful but to be honest I’ve heard her sing better and to greater effect. I blame the production: it’s difficult to give the coloratura and vocal technique their necessary zip when your standing in your chemise on the draughty stairs of a castle in the middle of a lake of despond. Lord Ullin’s daughter would have understood her predicament. Sometimes you just have to play the cards you’re dealt and hope for the best…..

Will someone get me out of here?

Will someone get me out of here?

‘And fast before her father’s men
Three days we’ve fled together,
For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.

‘His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?’
 

 

This entry was posted in Reviews, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Comments are closed.