The Met Live in HD series for 2012–13 got off to a brilliant start with a new production of Donizetti’s L’Elisir d’Amore, the most warm-hearted of comedies — in fact, a work so genial that I’m always surprised it doesn’t lapse into insipidity. This production by Bartlett Sher made that seem less of a danger than usual, because although it would be an exaggeration to say he had rethought the piece, he did make it into a more three-dimensional work than usual, Donizetti edging more towards Bellini and away from Rossini, whereas Don Pasquale is the other way round. There are fewer laughs in Sher’s production than you might expect, but far more involvement with the characters. Such a spellbinding achievement wouldn’t be possible without a quartet of singing actors who identify with their roles to the point — rare in comic opera anywhere — that they never indulge in the kind of semaphoring and stamping around the stage which still seems to be many singers’ idea of humour.
The sets, by Michael Yeargan, are reassuringly traditional, though less cumbersome than the Met often indulges in; at cinemas you’re shown them being wheeled around, an awe-inspiring logistical feat that becomes almost part of the show. I do wish the Met would take it easy about keeping us entertained: whoever is responsible for the detail of the broadcasts seems to be afraid that we might walk out if we’re not watching the gush and banter of interviews, or seeing the sweating stars coming off stage, or being told how exciting next time will be too.
The object of all eyes is the Adina of the buxom Anna Netrebko, working, as she always seems to be, with a team who travel the world. In her present vocal form Adina suits her very well, the slight acid in her tone an important part of the character, though a little more sweetness would be in place for her hurt that Nemorino is absent from the prewedding dinner, and for her eventual melting into his arms. One must always admire, though, the sheer gusto of any Netrebko performance; there is nothing whatever of the diva who gives us as much as we deserve and no more. Matthew Polenzani makes an even more winning Nemorino, with a speciality in umpteen ways of looking hurt, and one radiant way of being relieved, just right for this almost wilfully vulnerable character. His ‘Una furtiva lagrima’ deservedly brought the house down: it was hard to know whether it was Polenzani or Nemorino looking sheepish at its enormous reception. Most skilful of all, Mariusz Kwiecien played Belcore as a man who has every right to be proud of his charms — very much a local Don Giovanni, one of Kwiecien’s signature roles. Since his appearance and manner were so much more appealing than Nemorino’s, one could not only forgive but also applaud Adina’s preference. Kwiecien has a stupendous voice, too, and must now be at the peak of a career which is great, but should have been greater. Ambrogio Maestri is an immense man, with personality and voice to match, but even he kept himself in rein as the quack Dulcamara. Maurizio Benini, whose familiarity with this score must be unequalled, paced the work, especially the finales, to perfection — and that is the only way to describe the whole performance.
And so to ENO’s new production of Handel’s Julius Caesar. This is not only one of the longest but also the subtlest of Handel’s operas. The element of satire is quite strong, but so is the heroism of the central character. You need a fundamentally straightforward production in which the complexities of interaction can be as clear as possible. At the Coliseum the whole cast could have been lined up and shot at the beginning so far as characters went. There was no hint of drama, the voices are mere obbligato instruments in three and three quarter hours of music, played with no particular insight under Christian Curnyn.
The most striking feature onstage is a large crocodile; after it’s been killed Cleopatra slices open its back and pulls out its vast eggs. Later, when a giraffe has been decapitated, her brother Ptolemy pulls out its tongue. Fortunately there aren’t many other props. There is dancing passim, thanks to its being a co-production with Fabulous Beast Dance Theatre. That shows that, as so often, and sometimes with reason, but not here, the producer and choreographer Michael Keegan-Dolan doesn’t trust Handel’s music, with the result that he takes our attention away from it and makes us wonder what on earth the dancers’ relations to the ever-disappearing plot are.
There was some wonderful singing from Patricia Bardon as Cornelia, Pompey’s widow, and from Daniela Mack as Sesto, always until now Pompey’s son, but inexplicably here made his daughter. The evening I went Anna Christy had a severe cold, but still piped efficiently, if little more, as Cleopatra; and Lawrence Zazzo, apart from being idiotically attired, delivered Caesar’s arias unimpressively. But with a production like this it is sauve qui peut, and there didn’t seem a lot of pouvoir around.
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