Royal Opera House
Cesare Angelotti – Michel de
Souza
Sacristan – Jeremy White
Mario Cavaradossi – Roberto
Alagna
Floria Tosca – Oksana Dyka
Baron Scarpia – Marco
Vratogna
Spoletta – Martyn Hill
Sciarrone – Jihoon Kim
Shepherd Boy – Michael
Clayton-Jolly
Gaoler – Olle Zetterström
Jonathan Kent (director)
Andrew Sinclair (revival
director)
Paul Brown (designs)
Mark Henderson (lighting)
+ASHMORE.jpg) |
| Scarpia (Marco Vratogna) and Tosca (Oksana Dyka) Copyright: ROH/Catherine Ashmore |
All in all, a dispiriting
evening, this. Jonathan Kent’s 2006 staging of Tosca, revived again, as last year (!), by Andrew Sinclair, certainly does not reveal greater
subtleties of meaning with further acquaintance. Indeed, it makes little or no attempt
at conveying meaning at all, be it subtle or otherwise. There is nothing wrong
in principle with setting the work when and where specified in the libretto,
just as there is nothing wrong with reimagining it, though an over-exposed opera
such as this more or less cries out for some element of rethinking. But
irrespective of the relatively unimportant question of setting, there needs to
be something, or rather a great deal, more to a production than that. Not only
is there no sense, as I wrote last time, of dialogue between Puccini’s time,
our own, and the time at which the opera is set; there sadly is no sense of
drama beyond the gunshots in the third act. Paul Brown’s large scale sets might
have imparted a welcome impression of menace, of claustrophobia, but again they
could hardly do that on their own. I have no idea how much or how little
rehearsal was permitted, but interaction between the singers was often so
rudimentary as to suggest none whatsoever (which cannot have been the case).
Roberto Alagna at least
offered energetic commitment on stage, unlike his Tosca and Scarpia. Alagna’s
first act was shaky vocally; indeed his opening suffered from wild intonation
and vocal constriction. Later on, however, he improved, though cleaner lines
would often have been welcome. Such matters are, however, partly a matter of
taste, and on his own terms, the second and third acts were reasonably
impressive. Alas, Oksana Dyka’s vibrato was so wide as often to encompass the
best part a minor third; her acting skills on this occasion were well-nigh
non-existent. Perhaps it was as well that she simply strolled off the battlement
rather than attempting anything that would vaguely qualify as a ‘leap’, but it
hardly made for much of a climax. Marco Vratogna’s Scarpia also suffered from
dryness and constriction in the first act, proving more focused in the second.
His acting, however, matched that of his Scarpia; would that the Carry On element of his demise had been born
of irony. The smaller parts were generally well taken, however. If only we had seen
and heard more from Michel de Souza’s dynamic Angelotti, Jeremy White's characterful, bumbling Sacristan, or Martyn Hill’s nasty
Spoletta.
The orchestra played well
enough, though the strings sometimes tended towards thinness. However, Oleg
Caetani’s inconsistent conducting proved a considerable break upon the
flowering or, more plainly, the progress of the score. He seemed undecided what
he thought of it and therefore unable to make it cohere. The first act’s lack
of sentimentality was to be welcomed, but instead it was brutalised;
hard-driven rather than riven with menace. Phrasing throughout was
short-breathed, instances of a longer line standing out awkwardly, given their
lack of relation to what surrounded them. Alas, as with so much of what we saw
and heard, what might have passed muster in a small, provincial theatre wedded
to the repertory system simply was not good enough for a world stage, upon
which this Tosca was presented as a
major revival. All with ears to hear will have praised the Royal Opera House to
the skies for its recent, superlative performances of Die
Frau ohne Schatten; if a work which it performs so incessantly as Tosca is to be performed again any time
soon, it needs to be done with similar care and attention. This spoke more of
cynicism than of having ‘lived for art’.
