Veteran director Richard Eyre, once again, manages to captivate audiences with his spectacular re-imagining of Verdi’s classic, La Traviata. Celebrating its 25th year at the Royal Opera House, this season will see 20 performances of La Traviata.
Designer Bob Crowley’s set is nothing short of phenomenal: he manages to transport protagonist Violetta (Hrachuhi Bassenz) from regal and irreverent gold and crimson gambling scenes, to the innermost sanctuary of her bedroom, highlighting the turmoil of Violetta’s despair at times with help of lighting designer Jean Kalman’s ingenious play on light. Similarly, Crowley’s vision of Alfredo’s (Liparit Avetisyan) country home gives the audience a sense of ease, mirroring a kind of musicalpathetic fallacy from Verdi’s score.
Conductor Daniel Oren skillfully glides the orchestra through Verdi’s emotional roller-coaster of an opera. Embracing the drama, the orchestra surges in volume for rowdier, full-bodied action; and languidly caresses the delicate score that represents the demise of Violetta’s health.
The two leading protagonists, Alfredo and Violetta, match each other, as if united in their Armenian heritage. Hrachuchi Bassenz’s role as a leading soprano is cemented in this performance, which shows remarkably delicate pianissimos (evident in “Damni tu forza o cieolo”) , an effortlessly strong technique and control of voice, and a mastery of emotion driving each and every aria and duet.
Liparit Avetisyan’s performance was similarly robust, exhibiting a mellifluous, honey-toned quality of voice in his tenor performance. Lovelorn and ardent, Avetisyan’s control of emotion and technique is marvellous, constantly reminding the audience of the incredible balancing act between opera and theatre that this opera demands.
Special mention must also go to Alfredo’s father, Giorgio Germont, played by baritone Simon Keenlyside. From the impetuous to the humbled, Keenlyside short performances are rendered all the more impressive for the sincerity of emotion and vivid characterisation. His character demands no sympathy from the audience, and therein lies his strength.
17 December 2019–23 March 2020
The performance lasts around 3 hours 20 minutes, including two intervals.
Death in Venice…..as re-imagined by David McVicar.
Death in Venice, one of Britten’s most enigmatic operas – and also his last – is based on the novella written by German author Thomas Mann (1912). In the novella and opera, the protagonist Gustav von Aschenbach is a recently enobled author who falls into a one-sided unrealised Platonic love with the youth Tadzio, who is from an aristocratic Polish family residing at the same hotel. Ultimately, von Aschenbach’s obsession succumbs to a deadly Asian cholera plague and the author, as the title suggests, dies in Venice.
Director David McVicar’s interpretation of Britten’s opera is a fascinating and revelatory experience. The audience is transported from the theatrical canals of Venice to one solitary character’s (im)moral dichotomy. McVicar successfully balances the elegance and beauty of opera with a poetic introspection of von Aschenbach’s moral turpitude and the result is a veritable masterpiece.
Mark Padmore, the incredible tenor who plays Gustav von
Aschenbach, carries the show. One could almost be mistaken in thinking Padmore’s
initial reticence on stage is due to opening night’s jitters. It is, however, a
marked control of character: for Padmore reveals to us throughout the
performance von Aschenbach’s transition of character and innermost thoughts in
an incredibly realistic manner. In this performance, Padmore is absolutely the
To compliment and contrast von Aschenbach’s dark and dense mental turmoil, is the sprightly Tadzio, represented by the Royal Ballet’s Leo Dixon. Dixon pirouettes, he glides; at each and every turn he captivates the audience as if we too, have a von Aschenbach obsession. Lynne Page’s choreography here, as throughout, is spectacular.
The beauty of both characters’ performances is highlighted by the backdrop – or perhaps lack thereof. Designer Vicki Mortimer allows Dixon to dazzle when he dances, with a shimmering blue sea sparkling behind him.
The depth of emotion in the opera is framed by the magnificent pillars that represent Venice; smaller canals emerge when there is a sense of emergency and compression. And lastly, von Aschenbach’s deep and troubled mind is revealed to us in moments of pitch black and through the smoky corridors of Venice’s canals, where dubious gondoliers glide us through the unfolding drama. Credit must go to Paule Constable’s lighting effects that enhance the enigma of every scene.
Another character whose performance is praiseworthy is the versatile Gerald Finley who plays many mischievous characters: traveller/ elderly fop/ old gondolier/ hotel manager/ hotel barber/ leader of the players/ voice of Dionysus. His jovial and whimsical acting changes from the obsequious hotel manager, with the farcical combover gesture after every respectful bow, to the almost impertinent but oh-so charming hotel barber who never forgets to extend his hand for a tip.
Tim Mead, as the God Apollo (representing music, light and poetry), gives a strong
performance. Parading as a holidaymaker, his mellifluous yet strong countertenor
almost coaxes Aschenbach into venerating his personification of the ideal – in this
Conductor Richard Farnes navigates Britten’s distinctively diverse and almost eclectic score as easily as the gondoliers transport von Aschenbach through the waters of Venice. The orchestra’s mastery is evident throughout. When Tadzio appears, there are synchronised surges of music, and crescendos when Tadzio is raised. When von Aschenbach indulges his fantasies and illusions, an almost brittle and restless piano accompanies Padmore’s voice like a heartbeat.
Britten’s score abounds in moods and erratic chords and Richard Farnes
successfully reveals each note and beat in an almost unnerving precision.
There is much to take away from the performance. It is not just the beauty of the scenography, nor the lyrical beauty of performing voices and instruments. All of these are undeniably brilliant. The underlying and somewhat cryptic messages written by Britten and conveyed by McVicar are haunting: for in beauty, or perhaps the veneration of beauty, one can lose one’s self.
If you are fortunate enough to see this production, we hope that you too will lose yourself in the beauty of this masterpiece.