This performance took place on 28 June 2017—a week after the
eagerly awaited opening of the Covent Garden production reviewed
by John Allison last August and features Jonas Kaufmann at his
highly individual best in this latest addition to his
repertoire. It's an addition that is arguably more congenial
than other iconic Verdi roles such as Manrico and Radames (first
performed in 2013 and 2015 respectively) to a singer who has
long cultivated the dark-hued tone that is traditionally
associated with Otello and who is at his best as an actor when
revealing a degree of psychological imbalance in even the most
self-confident heroes: an imbalance that is of course an
integral part of the composer's (and Shakespeare's) conception
of the Moor. Kaufmann seems less comfortable with the triumphant
heroism of the man of arms ('Esultate!'), but his upper register
is more resoundingly anchored than Placido Domingo's usually was
in the opening solo, and both the microphone placement and the
camerawork make it easier for him to dominate the stage on video
than when observed from a distance in a 2200-seat theatre.
Kaufmann's exceptional musicality makes itself felt
throughout the opera in a manner that has been rarely equalled
in the history of recording. His long-breathed legato phrasing
is as refined as that of a chamber musician, and an occasional
dullness of timbre is amply camouflaged by the vast range of
dynamics called imaginatively into play. And while his
lowered-larynx voice production makes it impassible for him to
bring each syllable of Boito's text stirringly to life, as the
role's creator Francesco Tamagno did on early acoustic
recordings, the diction is nonetheless free from artifice and
nobly sculpted in a manner that matches the handsome profile and
stage deportment of a singer whose skin is only slightly
darkened in Keith Warner's production. The vulnerability of this
Otello lies not so much in his ethnic otherness as in his
emotional ingenuousness, which lends a refreshingly romantic
(rather than sensually knowing) aura to the love duet in Act I .
Another highlight is the Act 3 monologue, delivered with a quiet
inwardness of expression that compels attention: this Otello is
never entirely alienated from his higher self and his downward
progress rightly engenders an ever-deepening sense of pity.
As Desdemona, Maria Agresta proves on the whole a worthy
partner for Kaufmann, singing with attractively vibrant tone and
admirable technical control. In close-up her face lacks the
radiant innocence that can establish the character as a force
for good just as Iago is a force for evil, but as the drama
unfolds one comes to appreciate the complexity of feeling that
the Italian soprano manages to convey and her vocal mastery of
both the Act 3 finale and the Willow Song in Act 4, where she
has strong support from Kai Rüütel's Emilia.
Marco
Vratogna has always seemed at his best in villainous roles and
the theatrical efficiency of his Iago withstands the scrutiny of
the cameras rather well: his manner may be melodramatic (Warner
underlines the ensign's role as stage manager of the action),
but his eyes reveal real malignancy. In vocal terms he commands
a wide range of dynamics and projects words vividly, but lacks
the ease of legato and stratified richness of tone needed to
capture fully the insinuating subtlety of Verdi's music.
The
production focuses unobtrusively on the interplay of the three
principal characters. Bruno Poet's lighting is particularly
effective and the time and place of the action are sufficiently
established—without any fuss—to enable the meaning of the words
to resonate fully. The supporting characters are seldom thrown
into relief, and Frédéric Antoun's Cassio is weakened by overuse
of head resonance, but the action devised for them (and for the
chorus) is plausible and Warner's only serious miscalculation is
the excess of gore that distractingly accompanies Otello's
suicide.
The recording is spacious. detailed and natural
in sound, allowing for unalloyed enjoyment of the superb
orchestral and choral performances under Antonio Pappano, who
here rivals Carlos Kleiber in his commanding grasp of the
score's architecture, his acute sensitivity to the blending of
words and music and the sheer theatrical excitement he generates
from the opening storm onwards.
