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bachtrack, 22 Juni 2017 |
Mark Pullinger |
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Verdi: Otello, Royal Opera House, London, 21. Juni 2017 |
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A bronze-toned lion of Venice: Kaufmann debuts as Otello at Covent Garden
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After all the hype, he sang. Speculation about whether Jonas Kaufmann would
even turn up for rehearsals to sing his first Otello have kept both press
and social media frenzied for months. Even the dismissal of the Iago,
Ludovic Tézier, from the production only momentarily deflected attention.
The Royal Opera's Antonio Pappano tirelessly answered questions, reassuring
everyone that yes, Kaufmann was here. The electrifying buzz crackling about
the sweltering theatre on opening night could partly be explained as
self-congratulatory relief – given the startling top price ticket tag of
£270 – that Kaufmann Hadn't Cancelled.
It needed a storm to clear the
air, but the tempest unleashed by Pappano and his magnificent orchestra and
chorus only heightened expectations. Director Keith Warner kept us guessing.
A ship docked at the back of the set... but no Otello. A gangplank shot out
from the side wall... for Desdemona. Eventually, Kaufmann rose, like Christ
on the third day, through a trapdoor to greet his disciples. A notorious
slow starter, Kaufmann hit the ground running here with a fine “Esultate!”,
a bronze-toned lion of Venice rather than one with a clarion, trumpet cry.
Kaufmann’s is not the largest tenor sound in the world – he was
comprehensively outgunned by Marco Vratogna’s muscly Iago – but his vocal
acting displayed intelligent absorption of the role. Taken at a flowing
pace, “Ora e per sempre” was the highlight, passionate and heroic. He is not
the most instinctive stage animal and, at this early stage, there was little
chemistry with Maria Agresta’s angelic Desdemona, although the Act 1 love
duet was tenderly sung. Dramatically, it will take time for him to get under
Otello's skin. Kaufmann slipped into ultra-quiet mode too often, which
largely worked for the parlando interior monologue of “Dio mi potevi
scagliar”, but elsewhere his crooned pianissimos sounded mannered. In this
role, less is not necessarily Moor.
The heroes of the evening were
Pappano, a firebrand in the pit drawing visceral orchestral playing, and
Boris Kudlička’s shapeshifting set, whose walls slide in and out – often
manipulated by Iago, much as he manipulates the plot – to create different
spaces. As Cassio becomes drunk, the floor moves, the line of trestle tables
becoming skewed and treacherous to navigate. Latticed tracery on sliding
panels allows us to see eavesdropping and skulduggery, although it was an
odd decision to have Otello (Kaufmann harnessed but clinging on gingerly)
spy on Cassio and Iago’s banter from the high gangplank instead of behind
one of these screens. Act 3 was topped by the fleeting appearance of a white
marble St Mark’s winged lion, shattered to pieces by the end of the scene.
The only miscalculation in Bruno Poet’s atmospheric lighting was the
garishly lit white bedroom for Act 4 – negating the need for any candles for
Otello to “put out the light, and then put out the light”.
Warner’s
direction is less certain. His choral blocking is effective – the opening
storm scene is almost identical to Elijah Moshinsky’s prodution this one
replaced – but relationships and interactions between characters are
stilted, as yet, and do not always convince.
Maria Agresta spun some
lovely top lines as Desdemona and sang a moving Willow Song, but her lower
register sounded pale and disconected. Marco Vratogna barked and snarled
effectively as Iago – this is one Verdi baritone role that doesn’t require
beautiful legato lines – and he oozed evil from the very start, when Iago
holds aloft a Venetian mask and smashes it to the floor with the opera’s
thunderous opening chord. Haloed in cathedral-like lighting, Iago’s Credo
was a chilling confession to hell, partly delivered to the glowing red
lighting strips beneath his slithering body. The Venetian mask returns to
haunt Otello in a mirror in Act 2 before Iago uses it to smother his victim
at the end of Act 3.
Smaller roles were effectively cast, Frédéric
Antoun’s slender tenor making an attractive Cassio, Kai Rüütel a sympathetic
Emilia. The Royal Opera Chorus was on shattering form, the earthquake of
sound in the tempest causing the house to shudder.
Once one or two of
the leads settle more completely into their roles, this summer’s “hot
ticket” could match the evening’s sweltering temperature.
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