Stradella - opera in three acts (1841) [115:00]
Léonor - Isabelle Kabatu
Stradella - Marc Laho
Spadoni - Werner Van Mechelen
Duke of Pesaro - Philippe Rouillon
Pietro - Xavier Rouillon
Michael - Giovanni Iovino
Beppo - Patrick Mignon
An officer - Roger Joakim
Orchestra and Chorus of the Opéra Royal de Wallonie/Paolo Arrivabeni
rec. L'Opera de Liège, Belgium, 25-27 September 2012
Picture format: 16:9; NTSC
DYNAMIC CDS 7692/1-2 [2 CDs: 63.53 + 43.25] 37692 DVD [115:00]
Sometimes a particular song will, if only briefly, grab the public's
interest and attention to a degree out of all proportion to its real merits.
In some instances, such as when Vera Lynn sang We'll meet again
in 1939, it may have captured the Zeitgeist in an obvious way.
In others, its wide appeal can be utterly perplexing: Joe Dolce's
Shaddap you face, anyone? Thus, in 1833, a new aria suddenly
became all the rage among the beau monde of Paris. Even though
it is now thought to have been written by the 19th century composer François-Joseph
Fétis, Sei i miei so sospiri was instead attributed at
the time to the Italian composer, embezzler and serial seducer Alessandro
Stradella (1644-1682).
That aria's "rediscovery" provoked a new wave of interest
in Stradella and, as details of his life emerged, his colourful Casanova-like
exploits quickly became a popular subject for operatic treatment. Virginio
Marchi's Il cantore di Venezia of 1835 was followed within
little more than a decade by fanciful versions of the same story from
Louis Niedermeyer (Stradella, 1837), the rather better remembered
Friedrich von Flotow (Alessandro Stradella, 1844) and Vincenzo
Moscuzza (Stradella il trovatore, 1850). As a budding composer
at the time, the teenaged César Franck added his own contribution
to the genre, Stradella (1841), now so long-forgotten that The
Oxford Dictionary of Opera (John Warrack and Ewan West, Oxford, 1992,
p.682) fails to mention it at all.
The story of Franck's opera, which will, I suspect, be unfamiliar
to most readers, is quickly told. In Act 1, Léonor, about to elope
from Venice with her beloved Stradella, is instead kidnapped by agents
of the lecherous Duke of Pesaro who desires her for himself; the second
Act takes place in the ducal dungeon from which Stradella successfully
rescues her; in the final Act, the runaways are found by the vengeful
aristocrat's agents in Rome, but, instead of ordering the lovers'
death, the Duke, won over by Stradella's exquisite singing, forgives
them instead. In this Liège production, however, events in the
last act don't go quite so swimmingly after all, with Léonor
passing away from shock at the sight of the assassins and Stradella viciously
knifed to death.
Franck was not a lucky composer when it came to operas. He worked on four
in all: Stradella was followed by Le valet de ferme
(1851-1853) and two excessively blood-drenched historical melodramas Hulda
(1882-1885) and Ghiselle (1889). None of them was ever to be
performed in complete form during his lifetime.
In the case of Stradella, the inexperienced 19 year old composer
was simply not yet up to producing much beyond a rudimentary attempt at
the genre. It is not that the music is unenjoyable, for, as far as it
goes, it is often very attractive, with an abundance of light, lyrical
melodies. The most accomplished writing is for the chorus, and Franck
plays to his evident strengths with effective numbers for groups of students
(Act 1), shopkeepers (Act 2) and mourners (Act 3). There is also an engaging
if rather truncated Act 2 duet for the lovers Léonor and Stradella
("By what sad destiny has this happy day turned to sorrow?")
and a subsequent trio when they are confronted by the Duke. The final
Act delivers another winning trio, this time for the Duke's murderous
henchman Spadoni and his paid assassins Pietro and Michael. Enjoyable
though those various moments undoubtedly are, they are each all too brief
and Franck proves not yet able to develop them much beyond straightforward,
conventionally formulaic musical forms and patterns.
More seriously, the young composer, as yet understandably unversed in
sophisticated adult human emotions and the ways of the world, proves unable
to progress beyond the most simplistic ideas of characterisation, so that,
as a result, all the figures on stage emerge as one-dimensional cardboard
cut-outs. Léonor is the standard virtuous heroine in peril - and,
just to engage the tear ducts even more, a poor orphan to boot - while
her lover Stradella is the heroic artist of humble origins who is ensnared
in the machinations of a corrupt and decadent court. We are also presented
with that clichéd pantomime-villain the lecherous aristocrat, a
figure whose character is so poorly delineated that, in the opera's
final couple of minutes, he undergoes a complete change of motivation
at which nothing in the preceding two hours of downright dastardliness
even remotely hints. While middle-period Verdi might have made an entertaining
stab at the story's melodrama - and late Verdi would have had an
absolute field day with the characters' psychological complexities
- early Franck is clearly out of his depth in dealing with emotions that
he had presumably encountered so far only in his school books.
In giving their full commitment to the enterprise, though, the performers
on the Liège stage gradually succeed in winning us over to Stradella's
cause. By that process, the theatre audience, which, for reasons to be
considered shortly, initially appears rather bemused and lukewarm, becomes
increasingly appreciative as the evening goes on. The most positive impression
is made by soprano Isabelle Kabatu who sings securely and passionately
despite being given awkward-sounding - and sometimes oddly translated
- lines such as "A poor orphan since childhood, who will come to
my rescue? My beloved, I am being offended - can you not come to my rescue?"
As Stradella, Marc Laho starts somewhat tentatively but gains in authority
as the performance continues so that, by the final Act, he develops into
a strong presence both vocally and dramatically. Both Philippe Rouillon
and Werner Van Mechelen as, respectively, the Duke of Pesaro and Spadoni,
deliver their well-sung wickedness effectively and in spades. As a pair
of greedy but apparently music-loving assassins, Xavier Rouillon (Philippe
Rouillon's real-life son) and Giovanni Iovino sing pleasingly and
to welcome, if brief, comic effect under some very trying physical conditions
- of which more in a moment. In the meantime, the well-drilled chorus
makes the most of its opportunities in each Act. Conductor Paolo Arrivabeni,
of whom the video director shows us rather a lot even during the on-stage
action, directs the Liège orchestra very effectively in Luc Van
Hove's orchestrations, though at times I could have wished for
a fuller sound from the strings.
So we arrive at this production's most striking feature - its design.
Like many opera/ballet/theatre patrons these days, I am occasionally baffled
by the concepts imposed upon us by apparently self-indulgent directors.
I readily agree that the simple device of a shift in time, whereby Rienzi
becomes a 20th century fascist dictator or the Pagliacci troupe
plies its trade through the 1950s countryside, can often offer valuable
alternative perspectives on familiar works. However, productions set in
completely surreal surroundings where characters are costumed in utterly
outlandish outfits can, on the contrary, deprive us of even the remotest
connection with real life, whether of the past or the present day. Such
distracting and seemingly meaningless physical trappings can, at worst,
cause many of us to wonder, by the end of the evening, what on earth the
performance had actually been about.
My initial thought was that this Liège Stradella, devised
by the well-regarded Belgian film director and playwright Jaco Van Dormael,
was going to be such a production. It begins, after all, with a nude actress
wading across the stage through water, a foot or so deep, in order to
recover a floating suitcase. She opens it to remove a giant wand which
then becomes the source of a series of giant wind-blown soap bubbles.
That brief, somewhat bizarre episode may be completely unrelated to Stradella's
plot but, in retrospect, it can be seen as serving to introduce two of
the production's most significant visual elements - the water-covered
stage and a recurring motif of bubble shapes.
The submerged stage is the more obviously striking feature. Sometimes
it is crossed by a causeway or stepping stones set above water-level.
At other times those constructions sink below the surface, leaving the
singers performing while up to their knees in rather grimy water or even,
as with the Act 3 assassins, swimming in it. That semi-submerged setting
remains in place, in fact, for the whole performance, slowing down any
physical movement in general and placing particular burdens on Ms Kabatu
who is often found trailing a long, waterlogged and presumably very heavy
dress behind her. At first I presumed that this was some sort of directorial
conceit to remind us that the first and second Acts are set in Venice
but, as it is perpetuated in the third Act, set in Rome, I was ultimately
not so sure.
Oddly enough, one quickly gets used to the water - if only because some
of the director's other ideas are even more surreal and quirky,
as the following examples may suggest. The otherwise unremarkably costumed
Duke is always identifiable by a balloon-filled cloak that billows up
four feet or so above his head ... Meanwhile, the members of the Venice
police force, a body of men who will be somewhat familiar to anyone who
knows The Pirates of Penzance, sport some natty transparent plastic
raincoats as they wade - and later dance - through the water. The Man
in the Moon makes a couple of appearances in the sky to join in the choruses.
Then, in the production's closing moments, some remotely-controlled
giant clown fish "swim" slowly and majestically above the stage.
As we are offered no extra feature material on the disc to elucidate the
point, my theory is that those fish are there to create an impression
that the whole performance has taken place inside a glass fishbowl, which
in turn reminds us of those bubble shapes. Similarly, apart from those
balloons in the Duke's cloak, other bubble-like images also feature
in various earlier episodes where large circular projections - either
of the on-stage action or, more bizarrely, of the conductor, orchestra
and audience - appear on the rear wall of the stage. The same motif recurs
once more after Léonor's death - from shock, according to
Danilo Prefumo's booklet notes but, naturally enough, from drowning
in this particular production. Her spirit is seen thereafter treading
water in a heavenly "bubble", where it is ultimately joined
by that of the murdered Stradella - though it looks to me as though a
couple of rather unconvincing body doubles are actually used instead.
You will easily get a good flavour of the look of the whole production
by searching Google's images library for "Stradella Liège".
You may also watch what I take to be a six-minute promotional video posted
on YouTube as "Stradella (César Franck)".
I imagine that there may well have been a few practical difficulties in
filming such an idiosyncratic staging, but the direction for video has
been generally well executed in a straightforward way. Watched on my 50"
screen, the DVD picture was certainly of good quality but, inevitably,
not as crisply sharp as a Blu-ray disc might have rendered it. The sound
quality was fine. At a not particularly well chosen point in the action
(60:43), what I take to be dual-layering on the disc triggered a minuscule
split-second judder. The English subtitles were, as I have mentioned before,
a little literal and, at times, stilted. The word "valet" was
used several times, for instance, when the speaker was clearly referring
more properly to social inferiors in general. A more idiomatic touch would
certainly have helped the English translation, though the apparent use
of contemporary text-speak at 11:25 ("The carnival favours u")
was probably, if genuinely intentioned, a step too far.
Given my usual antipathy to wildly unconventional productions, I was surprised
to find that I enjoyed this disc - a world premiere recording - a great
deal. Franck's attractive, if at times excusably naive, music and
the performers' commitment to it account for much of its success.
Coming to Stradella with absolutely no preconceptions of how
it ought to be done, I also found Mr Van Dormael's conception
both visually striking - how could it not be with all that water? - and
thought-provoking. It's well worth a look.
Rob Maynard
And a review of the CD version ...
It is indubitably the case, as Danilo Prefumo states in his booklet note
for this issue, that the name of Franck is generally associated nowadays
with organ and instrumental music. Oddly enough he does not mention the
Symphonic Variations, probably the composer’s best-known
orchestral work. However those who are familiar with the dramatic potential
demonstrated in Franck’s extended symphonic poem Psyché
— especially in its full-length version with chorus — will
not be surprised that he was attracted to the operatic form, and made
four attempts to write works for the stage. Of these Ghisèle
was left unfinished at the time of the composer’s death, and the
relatively early 1855 comic opera Le valet de ferme was never
staged. His late opera Hulda, written in 1882-5 on a pseudo-Wagnerian
Viking subject, was not mounted until 1894, after the composer’s
death — and then in an incomplete version — and after a few
presentations in the following years disappeared without trace until a
complete performance at Reading University in 1979 and a few subsequent
revivals. Only some orchestral sections of the score appear ever to have
been commercially recorded, and one would be interested to encounter the
complete work. The CD of the Ballet allégorique by the
Liège Philharmonic reveals a piece that is far from Wagnerian in
the manner that one might expect from Franck’s disciple Vincent
d’Indy, although this section of the score may be atypical of the
whole.
In any event, here we are given a first recording – and indeed a
first performance – of Franck’s very early opera Stradella
written by the composer in his late teens. The work was never orchestrated,
although the booklet informs us that it was “virtually complete;”
and it is given here in a realisation by Luc van Hove. That said, the
culmination of the plot has been changed, with a tragic ending substituted
for Franck’s original happy one. This was the idea of the producer
Jaco van Dormael. It would seem an odd notion in the case of a score which
is totally unknown in its original form. We are told that the music remains
unchanged, but one suspects that the text may have been subjected to alteration.
The scenario, which appears to owe more than a little to the example of
Berlioz’s Benvenuto Cellini staged in Paris a few years
earlier, centres around the power of art — here music, rather than
sculpture — to redeem humanity from its petty jealousies. The parallels
with Benvenuto Cellini extend beyond motivation, with a Venice
Carnival opening scene which surely owes more than a little to the idea
of Berlioz’s Roman one. The plot, however, unlike Cellini,
is pure fiction. The composer Stradella is a rival in love to a Duke who
arranges for his murder although Stradella did indeed meet an untimely
end. In the original score the Duke, moved by Stradella’s music,
pardons the composer and blesses his union; in the altered version given
here, the hired assassins fulfil their task although the Duke then grants
the lovers his posthumous pardon. There are elements here of Friar Lawrence
in Romeo and Juliet – another Berliozian echo.
The young Franck is very far from being able to rival the more experienced
Berlioz in his treatment of his subject. His Venetian carnival is a very
lacklustre event by the side of the sparkling Berlioz treatment of his
similar subject. It has very little rhythmic spring and none of Berlioz’s
syncopated energy. When Stradella arrives, his serenade is a very conventional
number with a rather appealing little refrain but little else to distinguish
it from many other similar examples of the period by such composers as
Auber or Meyerbeer. Luc van Hove manages to inject some novelty into the
score by some deliciously piquant orchestration. One wonders if the student
Franck would have had the originality of touch that is on display here.
What we get is an attractive French romantic opera, but nothing that one
would associate with the mature and late-developing Franck. Stradella’s
apostrophe O mon art! (CD 1, track 12) begins promisingly with
an accompaniment for trombones — did the arranger have the model
of Berlioz’s Voici des roses in mind? — but all too
soon breaks off into rather conventional recitative. The following duet
Quel coup de ciel for the two lovers, on the other hand, has
what is really rather a good tune (CD 1, track 13, 2.13) which seems to
anticipate Massenet’s prayer in Le Cid although it proceeds
less interestingly. On the other hand the closing pages (CD 2, track 12),
with their sense of forced rejoicing, sound pretty tawdry and are not
helped by some decidedly scrappy choral singing.
The performance, which I first heard in a BBC broadcast last year (2013),
gives a pretty good impression of the work. Since I imagine we are unlikely
to hear it again any time soon, it will have to suffice. The solo singing
is generally good, and in the case of the strong-voiced and athletic Marc
Laho rather more than that although Isabelle Kabatu sounds over-taxed
by the coloratura in her aria; CD 2, track 7, 1.55 is particularly
distressing. The orchestral playing under Paolo Arrivabeni is responsive
and nicely sprung, although the chorus – in particularly the children’s
chorus during the Venetian carnival and elsewhere – sounds undersized
and seriously lacks weight. I have been unable to locate a score of the
opera, which presumably remains unpublished — it was only rediscovered
in 1984 — and some stage noise seems to be unmotivated; listen for
the sound of what appears to be rushing water at the start of CD1, track
6. For some totally unfathomable reason the Second Act is split between
discs. There would have been plenty of room for the complete Act on CD1.
Although the opera is conveniently split into tracks, these are not cued
in the synopsis which manages to dispose of the whole convoluted plot
in just over one page. The booklet notes are given only in English and
Italian – odd for a French opera – but the libretto is commendably
listed as being available (in French with English translation) on the
company’s website. At the time of writing this review, however,
I was unable to access this since the relevant page was blank. The booklet
fails to furnish the ranges of the individual voices; those given in the
header to this review derive from those supplied by the BBC for their
broadcast of this recording. The stage production is also available on
DVD, which would at least assist the viewer with the ability to follow
the plot – although the pictures in the booklet suggest that the
action was far from realistic. The audience sound only moderately impressed,
with lukewarm applause which interrupts the flow of the music rather too
often.
Nonetheless this issue deserves a welcome, allowing us as it does the
opportunity to hear what Franck was up to in his teenage years. May we
hope for a complete recording of Hulda at some stage in the future
– and possibly of the incomplete Ghisèle too? Now
those would be really interesting.
Paul Corfield Godfrey
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