Gaetano DONIZETTI (1797-1848)
Don Pasquale (1843) [128.00]
Alessandro Corbelli (baritone) – Pasquale; Nikolay Borchev (baritone) – Malatesta; Alek Shrader (tenor) – Ernesto; Danielle de Niese (soprano) – Norina; James Platt (bass) – Notary; Anna-Marie Sullivan (mezzo) – Servant
Glyndebourne Chorus; London Philharmonic Orchestra/Enrique Mazzola
rec. Glyndebourne Opera House, Lewes, East Sussex, 6 August 2013
extras: Behind the curtain, Introduction by Daniel de Niese, Staging the opera, Cast gallery [23.00]
OPUS ARTE OABD7144D Blu-ray [151.00]
The plot of Don Pasquale is as old as the hills – or at
least as old as the ancient Roman comedies where a foolish old man allows
himself to be bamboozled into an unsuitable marriage with a girl much
younger than himself, and loses financially to boot. It was not a pleasant
plot two thousand years ago, and it hasn’t got much better with
age. The sight of an old man - it is always an old man, not an old woman
- being comprehensively swindled out of his money, and being made to suffer
emotionally at the same time, really should have no place in modern times
when improved medical standards are enabling citizens of senior years
to enjoy themselves every bit as much as those in the first flush of youth.
Indeed, it is notable that works employing this antique plot have been
considerably less thick on the ground since 1900 than in the preceding
period; Stefan Zweig wrote a version of Ben Jonson’s Volpone
for Richard Strauss under the title of Die schweigsame Frau,
although it has only ever maintained a place on the fringes of the repertory.
Even then Zweig toned down the element of cruelty by making Morosus a
sympathetic character who engages the compassion of the audience.
However a critic who uses modern concepts of ‘political correctness’
to judge the merits of a work of art from earlier periods runs the severe
risk of making himself look utterly ridiculous. I recall with some amusement
— and delight — a review by Rodney Milnes in Opera
magazine many years ago, where he described the heroine of Monteverdi’s
Coronation of Poppea as a “trollop” who has “whored
her way” to the pinnacle of power. This provoked a response from
a correspondent who coined the inimitable put-down: “Pass me my
sprigged muslin gown, dear, Mr Milnes is coming to tea.” Donizetti,
well aware of the dangers of the plots derived from the old commedia
dell’arte tradition at the end of his composing career —
and himself under the shadow of mortality — took considerable care
to make sure that the characters enlisted the sympathy and understanding
of the audience. Berlioz, who had expressed pleasure over some passages
in Lucia di Lammermoor, unfortunately failed to review the Paris
première in January 1843 since he was travelling in Germany at
the time. His views, as someone who all too easily formed romantic attachments
to younger women, might have been interesting.
In a useful and perceptive director’s note in the booklet with this
release, Mariame Clément makes it clear that she is well aware
of the dangers inherent in presenting Don Pasquale to a modern
public. She wisely rejects the notion of updating the plot to a modern
period — which would have underlined its cruelty — but seeks
instead to “bring the characters to life and make the situations
read without the obvious help of modernisation.” Which
makes it all the more surprising that this staging of the opera undermines
Donizetti’s treatment of the leading character as a figure who engages
the audience in his delusions and really enjoys them. In this production
he is being taken for a ride good and proper, since his supposed ‘friend’
the scheming doctor Malatesta actually appears to have designs on his
bride and is after his money as well. The characterisation of Pasquale,
curmudgeonly in the extreme, gives the viewer the decided impression that
it serves him right.
Nonetheless there is plenty to enjoy in this production as well, with
lots of original visual gags that delight the audience and work well in
their context without at any time going too far. The performance is really
something to cherish. The singers are all well able to cope with Donizetti’s
often rowdy orchestration, ringing out loud and clear and managing their
florid divisions without aspiration and plenty of fizz. With the exception
of Alessandro Corbelli in the title role, they are all young and full
of bounce as well as dramatic involvement. Alek Shrader as Ernesto is
a real find: much more than the usual Rossinian tenorino, he
displays a fine lyric voice with plenty of power ... and a good pair of
legs as well. Danielle de Niese is a more familiar singer, and she also
has plenty of grit and spunk as the demure little convent girl who suddenly
develops into a monster to torment Pasquale. Nikolay Borchev is a sardonic
Malatesta, whose perpetual sneer could have become a mannerism but which
is enlightened every so often with a conspiratorial grin. James Platt
is a sonorous and sometimes bemused Notary, and Anna-Marie Sullivan makes
much of little as the servant who carries a secret torch for her master.
Corbelli generally makes a thoroughly believable character out of Pasquale,
although given his surliness earlier on his sudden conversion at the end
is less convincing than usual.
The treatment of the chorus, at first serried in ranks on the stage, rather
cuts across the dramatic verisimilitude of the production. That said,
they sing superbly, with dramatic contrasts and clear diction that give
their limited role its full measure. Enrique Mazzola is a magnificent
conductor, who gets a full-blooded response for the orchestra which belies
the need for period instruments in scores of this period. There is plenty
of subtlety too. The booklet informs us that the performance employs a
“revised edition by Piero Rattalino” but it appears from the
conductor’s comments in one of the extras that this largely consists
of the addition of five bars to Norina’s cavatina which are found
in Donizetti’s manuscript but not in printed scores.
The booklet is enhanced by an essay by Cori Ellison which points out the
subversive use which Donizetti makes of waltz rhythms in the score, and
draws parallels with Verdi’s similarly valedictory Falstaff.
These notes also come with French and German translations; the subtitles
add Korean to the available texts. Mariame Clément describes the
sets by Julia Hansen as “playful (and not always compeletely realistic)”
but there are no jarring elements, and they serve their purpose well as
they revolve around the stage, sometimes to deliberately comic effect.
The extras with the recording involve a degree of duplication, in that
a good fifty per cent of the content of the second documentary has already
been seen and heard in the first. They demonstrate that producer and cast
have recognised the cruelty inherent in the plot and have been concerned
to make the whole opera dramatically credible – a highly praiseworthy
aim in these days when so many productions seem to have entirely the opposite
intention. The back of the box quotes a review from the Financial
Times describing the staging as “a Glyndebourne classic”.
It is most certainly that, in every sense.
Paul Corfield Godfrey
Previous review (DVD): Robert
Farr
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