There are two ways you can film/televise
an opera. There is the creative method,
where you use all the possibilities
of the medium to create something radically
different from what you would see in
the opera house but with a dramatic
validity of its own. Attempts at this
have been variably successful. Or there
is the documentary method where you
train your cameras on a performance
which happens to be taking place anyway.
It is unlikely that the home listener
will be caught up in the drama of a
performance where the sets and movements
look artificial in a way they may not
have done from a seat among the public
and which is interrupted at every possible
moment, according to the best Italian
traditions, by lengthy applause. Furthermore,
while Fiorenza Cossotto has the stage-sense
to remain "frozen" in a far
from comfortable position during her
applause, Franco Bonisolli struts around
after "Di quella pira", lapping
up the waves of adoration until he gets
to sing it again as a "bis".
But on the other hand, how often, during
the many "historical" opera
issues that come our way these days,
do we wish we could see what it looked
like, and in this case we can.
Under Brian Large’s
experienced direction, the cameras train
into sets by Mario Ceroli which, in
the modern manner, seem to have been
stuck together from bits and pieces
from somebody’s junk-room to make a
sort of medieval scaffolding. But the
Arena di Verona is a vast place and
the public was never meant to see the
sets this close; since Ceroli is a sculptor
of some importance the effect may have
been much more impressive further back.
The costumes are traditional and unobjectionable.
The performance contains
a number of well-remembered stars of
the time – the nearest we get to a date
for the performance is ©1985; a
dictionary entry for Bonisolli confirms
that he sang Manrico at the Arena di
Verona in that year. Two years earlier
Plowright and Zancanaro had been chosen
by Giulini for his recording of this
opera and in 1985 Plowright was awarded
the Fanny Heldy Association prize for
her assumption of the role of Leonora
there.
The star who comes
closest to giving a whopping histrionic
performance in the old style is Cossotto,
with her wild, rolling-eyed gypsy. In
1985 she was fifty and had nearly thirty
years’ career behind her. She pitches
into "Stride la vampa" with
fierce aplomb – not a trill in sight
and Verdi’s pianissimo substituted with
a fortissimo. Truth to tell it always
is done this way and it is not
even very effective to begin pianissimo.
The whole of her Act Two scene is steely-voiced
ham and spine-tingling in its way. Later
in the opera she essays a few moments
of piano, revealing that, after years
of heavy use, her voice can no longer
spin a pure line as of old.
Zancanaro is unreservedly
fine, full of voice, round of tone and
musical in his phrasing. Whether there
is quite the frisson of great
theatre I am not so sure – something
Cossotto does provide, if a bit
crudely – but he is always a
welcome presence. Plowright sings very
nicely when the music demands no more,
but there is no escaping that her pleasant
little voice hardly has the heft for
a big Verdi role and she’d have done
better stick to Mozart. Maybe Giulini
provided a refined context where her
presence made sense, but this is blood-and-thunder
Verdi in the traditional Italian way.
The unanimous rudeness
with which Italian critics treated Plowright
(I am speaking in general, I have seen
no reviews of this performance in particular)
had a degree of national prejudice behind
it, the implication being that she was
a size too small for the roles she was
doing because an English singer naturally
would be so, and such a singer could
only have a career in England where
they don’t understand opera anyway…
Alas for national pride, the same criticisms
have to be levelled at Bonisolli. His
is actually a very good "baritonal"
tenor voice as long as nothing heroic
is asked of it. "Ah si, ben mio"
is beautifully shaped and shaded. But
then comes "Di quella pira"...
There are two things you can do if your
voice is too small for what you are
singing. You can leave it small and
hope it will do (the Plowright way),
or you can shout and bark (the Bonisolli
way). It is a pretty ugly display and
the audience rise to him as a man. Evidently
there is something deep in the Italian
psyche which responds to this sort of
thing, rather as Spaniards respond to
bull-fighting, and which will always
remain inexplicable to the bemused outsider.
The only other part
of any size, Ferrando, is well taken
by Paolo Washington who gets the opera
off to a good start. The conductor’s
interpretation is thoroughly traditional
with plenty of vitality and rather less
discipline; occasional glimpses of his
beat, nervous and wiry in fast music,
perhaps explain both characteristics.
Despite criticisms,
this recording will provide future generations
with a memento of a typical mid-nineties
production with some singers who were
noted for these roles at the time, so
it has documentary value at least. And
it should provide opera lovers with
a fair amount of pleasure a fair amount
of the time.
Christopher Howell
Orchestra
and Chorus of the Arena di Verona/Reynald Giovaninetti
WARNER
MUSIC DIVISION DVD 4509-99215-2 [approx. 144:00]
