SEEN AND HEARD INTERNATIONAL

When Helen Mirren became The Queen, I began to wonder whether Her Majesty (said to have been approving of the movie) was ever led to contemplate the improbable, but very real possibility, wherein a reproduction of something can actually outdo the original. Peter Morgan had produced one of the best-researched and even better-written movie scripts of all time, so that I hope that he was included in the celebratory Buckingham Palace lunch. And while I’m in a wondering-aloud mood, what might have been Dame Helen’s parting shot ? Well, Ma’m, any time you’re not feeling up to it, just give me a call, and I’ll take over.

Some performances are so definitive as to have reached beyond the ideal of their creators; they convince beyond what would normally be belief. Judith Anderson’s Lady Macbeth must have been like this, Enrico Caruso’s Duke of Mantova, Cloe Elmo’s Azucena, Christoff’s Boris Godunov, Pupella Maggio’s Virgin Mary, Chaliapin’s Mephistopheles, Callas’s Tosca. Blood changes temperature for anyone lucky enough to have caught any of these performances, and sometimes even for those who only know the recordings.

You’ll notice that my random list of over-achievers are all famed for their dramatic or tragic roles. Tragedy’s less respectable sister –comedy- is a more difficult matter. Rossini is the undisputed king of comedy in the opera house and the chief quality which his comic roles require is that easy to understand, but difficult to define gift: charm. I say gift, since it appears that the more you strive for charm, the farther you will become removed from it –and even unwittingly move towards tragedy. It may be unfair, but it seems that either the gods have blessed you with an abundance of charm or you had better forget about it.

Conchita Supervia (1895 – 1936) has come in for endless criticism (some of it justified) for both her voice and technique. But when it comes to vocal charm she is without equal. The much maligned fast vibrato, glibly considered a technical fault by some, is switched on and off by this artist with immeasurable musical effect. And comedy. But to hear this, you have to succumb to her charm. That is not difficult for her fans. And a device which is switched on and off at will cannot be properly considered a vocal fault, but is rather part of a sophisticated technique. All this means you will enjoy her very much more as L’ Italiana in Algeri than as Carmen. Comedy was central to her art.

And so it is to the art of Daniela Barcellona, whose voice and technique are somewhat superior to Supervia’s. It was Hans Henze who many years ago gave me the best-ever definition of a sense of humour: an awareness of your own ridiculousness. Anything else, he added, is best understood as a sense of fun. Few pass the Henze test. Rossini shows all the signs that he does, though even he –in his self-parodies-tips over into the sense of fun. It’s hard not to. I don’t know Sig.a Barcellona, but on stage, she graduates with flying colours in real humour. Supervia was another, in art as well as in life.

Take Isabella’s entrance scene: she has to get across to the court of Mustafà that she is distressed to be a prisoner, but at the same time she has to show the audience that a girl like her knows a thing or two about how to look after herself in a compromising situation. This double play is all in the music. But it takes a consummate artist to convey it.

La Barcellona has such a formidable technique that she can flip the notes into the air, instantaneously catch them and nail them with the most perfect intonation as they fall back to earth. Of which other singer could you say that? Add to this, the rich, varied colours of a real contralto voice. I hope that I didn’t look too distressed when she told me after the opera that she is learning the role of Amneris for her debut in Aida in America. (I was too upset to remember precisely where.) Dear Sig.a Barcellona, There are other singers who can perform the Verdi dramatic mezzo roles, but not others who can perform Rossini’s comedies with your accomplishments. In the meantime, she will participate in the first performance in living memory of Sigismondo at this summer’s Rossini Opera Festival in Pesaro. I hope they get to me a working score soon she added, For the moment, I only have a copy of a partial manuscript in Rossini’s somewhat incomprehensible hand.

I regret that rejoicings for vocal delights ends with the great Barcellona. John Osborn has a perfectly –even beautifully- acceptable tenor voice but it is woefully inadequate for the role of Lindoro.(Barcellona had Juan Diego Florez in this role –her tenor equivalent in vocal accomplishments- two years ago at the Rome Opera.) Languir per una bella –the Act One killer cavatina –glittering with its top Cs- in which Florez has the enviable impudence to sound like child’s play- was strangulated by Mr Osborn.

Similarly, Simone Alaimo, has a fine, ringing bass-baritone voice but Rossini’s Mustafà is a basso-buffo who must be sufficiently technically secure as to play with the part in such a way that difficult music sounds easy. In fairness, Alaimo didn’t make the role sound difficult, but he was sadly deficient in making it sound easy: that make or break playful element was missing.

The staging was in coproduction with the Teatro Real of Madrid, by Joan Font. Effects which I fear were intended to be comic, came across to this viewer as downright dreary. One element which I did enjoy was having Mustafà trailed by an extremely wiry ballerino (shamefully unnamed in the programme) in a commedia dell’arte dog costume. The clever choreography was by Xevi Dorca. The arrival of Isabella’s ship at the end (Joan Guillén’s sets and costumes) was minimalist, comic and elegant. In the patriotism scene of Act Two, having the chorus wave balloons in the shape of maps of Italy, brought the production down to a level of vulgarity lower than Disney.

Enrique Mazzola was the disastrous conductor. Like so many uncertain conductors, he has no real allegro. Precaution and mediocrity have no place in Rossini. Only in Isabella’s two set arias did he get the tempo right, and here, I fancy, he was probably the recipient of some valuable guidance from the great lady herself.

Jack Buckley