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Rossini rarity

Michael Tanner

Wednesday, 29th October 2008

Matilde di Shabran
Royal Opera House

Aida
English National Opera

Iolanta
Royal Festival Hall

Matilde di Shabran is one of Rossini’s least performed operas, and having seen the Royal Opera’s production, which derives from the Pesaro festival of 2004, I understand why. Broadly speaking, it is a comedy without jokes or other humour, and in well over three hours of music there is not a single memorable tune, quite a feat for this composer. It was written in a great hurry, of course, and for its second production Rossini provided music that had for the first been written by a kind friend but undistinguished composer, Pacini. The plot concerns the wearing down of a misogynist by the title character; and there are several other important roles, ranging from the misogynist’s physician to an itinerant poet, and a Countess who is also wooing Corradino, the morose central character.

Apologists for the work tend to say that it breaks new ground, with a mixture of the near-farcical and the fairly serious. That seems to me to be special pleading, all the more when it is claimed that Act I needs to be longer than any Wagner act to accommodate the variety of moods. The fact is that the plot is so badly organised that there is a plethora of characters wandering round, and, even granted its generous length, some are developed so scantily that it is impossible to take any interest in them. That applies most damagingly to the Countess, sung rather well by Enkelejda Shkosa, but she had so little material to apply her gifts to that it was hard to tell. Contrariwise, the itinerant poet is verbose, and was sung distressingly badly by Alfonso Antoniozzi. There was quite a quantity of odd singing, much of it provided by Vesselina Kasarova, once a favourite of mine. Here, in a trouser role, she used two separate voices, suggesting that her future would best be as a ventriloquist. There is her smoky middle register, warm and sexy, and then, lower down, a weird growl, which appeared to be partly a willed effect and partly an affliction. One was too preoccupied with which sounds would emerge next to assess her characterisation. But her big aria was enormously applauded.

The two stars of the show did all that was expected of them. Juan Diego Flórez, the misanthrope, poured out tireless quantities of that hard, narrow-bored tone which has made him so popular, and he acted better than I have seen before, suggesting a versatility in that line if not in the vocal department, which astonishes without, for me, giving pleasure. Really the sole source of that was Aleksandra Kurszak as Matilde, wonderful to look at, a gifted actress, and the producer of lovely, very varied tones, floating or incisive according to need. And I remember from Figaro that she has a gift for comedy when there is a genuine call for it. The set for this production, by Sergio Tramonti, consists of spiralling staircases, a sore trial for the singers and ghastly to look at for almost four hours.

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