After the composition
of the Requiem in 1874, Verdi entered his most arid compositional
period to date. It wasn’t because he was altogether idling his
time. He travelled widely in Europe conducting his work, particularly
the Requiem. These trips took him to London, Paris, Cologne
and even Austrian Vienna. Everywhere he was feted as the leading
opera composer of the day and national honours were bestowed
on him. Early in 1879, and for his own amusement, he composed
a Pater Noster for unaccompanied five-part chorus and an Ave
Maria for solo soprano and string orchestra. His long-time friend
the Countess Maffei chided him about his lack of operatic composition
since Aida eight years before to which he responded that
the account is settled. But in her salon in which the
literati of Milan would meet, including Ricordi, Verdi’s publisher,
the conductor Faccio and Boito, composer, writer and sublime
opera librettist there were developments. Somewhere along the
line a plot was hatched to tempt Verdi to write an opera based
on a Shakespearean play. When Verdi visited Milan to conduct
a charity performance of his Requiem Ricordi and Faccio, with
the help of a dinner invitation engineered by Giuseppina, broached
the subject with the great man, suggesting Boito as librettist.
The next day Boito was brought to see Verdi. Three days later
he returned with a detailed scenario; quick work unless there
had been prior plotting!
Verdi encouraged
Boito to convert his synopsis into verse with the words it
will always be good for you, for me, or for someone else. He
would not commit himself to compose the work. Verdi was to prevaricate
on the ‘chocolate theme’, as it was called, for some time. When
Ricordi became impatient Giuseppina cautioned, behind the composer’s
back, that whilst he liked Boito’s verses he had not got his
ideas clear and without clear ideas he will decide
now, or at any rate later, never to compose again … leave things,
at least for the moment, just as they are, wrapping the Moor
in as great a silence as is possible. Ricordi took the advice
and when Verdi indicated he was ready to revise Simon Boccanegra
he enlisted Boito as librettist. Composer and new librettist
got on well and the foundations were laid that brought Otello
to magnificent fruition at La Scala on 5 February 1887.
It was Verdi’s 27th opera and his first wholly new
work for the stage for eighteen years. He was seventy-four years
of age and really thought that he had finished with operatic
composition.
Shakespeare was
a poet revered by Verdi. His conception of Otello involved
greater and significantly different orchestral complexity compared
to Aida and Don Carlos, its immediate operatic
predecessors. It marks a major compositional movement from him.
As Budden (Verdi. Master Musicians Series, Dent, 1985)
puts it, the composer conceived it from the start in terms
of whole acts that proceed from start to finish without interruption.
The drama moves by smooth transition from one event to the
next. In his conception Verdi was greatly aided by Boito’s taut
libretto that reduced Shakespeare’s Otello by six-sevenths.
This compression was made without losing the essence of the
play: the destruction of the erstwhile hero by the genie of
jealousy aided by the evil machinations of Iago. Boito dispensed
with Shakespeare’s Venice act and focused the whole of the action
in Cyprus.
To quote Budden
again, the title role in ‘Otello’ lies well beyond the scope
of the average operatic tenor. In reality the role is beyond
some of the greatest of tenors. Bergonzi had no difficulty with
either Radames in Aida or Manrico in Il Trovatore,
but he only tried Otello once, in a concert performance after
his retirement from the stage and his voice cracked in the great
act 1 outburst. Pavarotti sang the role at the behest of his
record company in a series of concert performances in America;
an audio recording followed and illustrates the great care with
which he approaches Otello’s outbursts. Otello is not the barnstorming
role that the likes of Del Monaco tended to make of him. It
is overlaid by many nuances, taking Otello from the hero and
lover of act 1 through his disintegration in act 3 and murder
of his wife in act 4. For the last twenty-five years of the
twentieth century the role on stage, and particularly on audio
and video recordings, was dominated by Placido Domingo. He came
to represent the many facets of Otello’s character. With his
retirement from the role many have taken the view that José
Cura, the Otello on this recording, was his natural successor.
Since leaving Argentina in 1991 he has debuted at all the best
addresses in the big Italian tenor roles essaying his first
Otello in 1997 at the young age of 34.
Cura considers himself
something of a polymath. Singer, composer, conductor and author
are all skills he claims and has practised. At the Festival Hall,
London, in 1999 he conducted himself singing; many critics thought
he did himself no favours. It was an experiment he tried on record
with a similar outcome. In his portrayal of Otello in this Willy
Decker production the sets and costume design are by John Macfarlane.
This version is caught on its travels at the Barcelona Liceu in
2006. Cura shows that he still has much to learn about Otello’s
character. He is not helped in his interpretation by Decker’s
typically sparse sets that make his Salzburg clock-dominated La
Traviata seem indecently overdressed. I use the plural ‘sets’
rather loosely. In a shoebox stage when much depends on lighting
effects the only prop is a large cross. At Otello’s entrance the
chorus sing strongly, moving as a group in typical Decker directorial
manner. This is how they function throughout the work. The frailty
of Cura’s Otello is evident in the tender lyrical passages of
the love duet (Disc 1 Chs. 6-7) when he has difficulty with the
pitch at the start and in holding the legato line. Later on he
tends to over-sing from time to time but nonetheless manages to
convey Otello’s descent. Perhaps he is at his best in act 3 where
a mid-stage mirrored wall is used for Otello to look into. It
perhaps represents a last opportunity for meaningful introspection
(Disc 2 Ch. 1 et seq). Otello secretes himself behind this mirrored
wall as Cassio talks of Bianca believing the conversation is about
Desdemona. Meanwhile the cross has had a hard time of it having
been flung down by Otello with a great clatter after his assault
on Iago, when it is used as a weapon (Disc 1 Chs. 12-13). It is
also flung down to break into two in the oath duet Si, per
ciel marmareo giuro! when Otello’s destruction is irretrievable.
In these dramatic moments Cura’s big-boned voice is heard at its
best. For me, though, his interpretation is, as yet, too barnstorming.
As Iago Lado Ataneli
sings strongly but leaves me frustrated. His Credo (Disc 1 Ch.
9) is vocally even and strong. However, even holding and addressing
his evil intent to the cross, he fails to convey, vocally and
in his acting, that malevolent intent in the way that Peter
Glossop can. In fact you can experience Glossop’s Iago in a
1972 film of the opera. In that case Georges
Wakhevitch’s Salzburg sets and designs provide a backdrop
for Jon Vickers’s commanding Otello – Karajan conducts. In the
present performance Krassimara Stoyanova’s singing as Desdemona
is a tower of strength. Not a brilliant actress she does, however,
make Desdemona a real life wife - totally confused, unbelieving
and uncomprehending at the evolution of events. Her Willow Song
is touching in its vocal simplicity and the launch of the Ave
Maria, sung before ‘the’ cross, placed against a wall, is fearless
and full-toned with a wide variety of colour (Disc 2 Chs. 12-13).
At the start of the act, which moves without a break from act
3, just as the first two acts were presented, has Otello prostrate
with his hand still twitching from the convulsion with which
he collapsed at the end of act 3. Desdemona’s instruction to
Amelia Lay out my bed (Disc 2 Ch. 11) seems incongruous
when there is no bed in sight. Willy Decker’s Violetta died
on a clock, Desdemona’s bed is ‘the’ cross. That is where Otello
strangles her before the tragic histrionics of his suicide and
after the revelation of Iago’s evil as he sings Non mi tema
(let no one fear me) and crawls towards the dying Desdemona
pleading for one more kiss. (Disc 2 Ch. 16).
Otello on DVD is a
fairly crowded market with Domingo featuring on no fewer than
four recordings. My favourite performance of his is in the Elijah
Moshinsky production from the Met conducted by Levine. There his
Desdemona is the young Renée Fleming (DG 073 029-9 GH). James
Morris as Iago is a dull dog as is Nucci when Domingo is partnered
by Frittoli at La
Scala under Muti.
With greater experience
and stage direction, and perhaps props, Cura will surely, in the
coming years, give better interpretations of this great tenorial
challenge. But with uncompressed sound and no audience interruptions
this issue has some virtues.
Robert J Farr
[2 DVDs: 151:00]
