Giuseppe VERDI (1813-1901)
Aida - Opera in four acts (1871)
Il Re, King of Egypt - Roberto Tagliavini (bass); Amneris, his daughter -
Luciana D'Intino (mezzo); Radamès, captain of the guards - Marco Berti
(tenor); Amonasro, King of Ethiopia - Ambrogio Maestri (baritone); Aida, his
daughter - Hui He (soprano); Ramfis, High Priest - Giacomo Prestia (bass)
Chorus and Orchestra of the Maggio Musicale Fiorentino/Zubin Mehta
rec. live, 74th Maggio Musicale Fiorentino Festival (Florence)
2011
Stage Direction: by Ferzan Ozpetek Set Design: Dante Ferretti
Television Director: Benoît Vlietinck
Sound: PCM Stereo, dts-HD Master Audio 5.1. Picture: 16:9, 1080i full HD.
Region: 0 (worldwide)
Subtitle Languages: Italian (original language), English, German, French,
Spanish, Korean
ARTHAUS MUSIK BLU-RAY 108 040 [151:00]
After Verdi’s three great middle period operas - Rigoletto (1852),
Il Trovatore (1853) and La Traviata (1853) - his pre-eminence
as the foremost opera composer of the day was assured. Now a rich man, his
pace of composition slackened. He was happy working and expanding his farm
at Sant’ Agata, or, following the unification of Italy, serving in the first
Italian Parliament to which he was elected in 1861. However, if the price
was right, and more particularly the conditions of production and his required
singers were available, then Verdi answered the call. He even went to St Petersburg
where La Forza del Destino was premiered in November 1862. He later
wrote that the subsequent honours from the state were no compensation for
the cold! His preferred foreign clime was Paris and 1867 saw his longest opera,
Don Carlos, premiered in that city.
In the summer of 1870 he wrote to his publisher, Ricordi: “towards the
end of last year I was invited to write an opera for a distant country. I
refused.” His friend, Camille Du Locle, raised the matter again and Verdi
continued “I was offered a large sum of money. Again I refused. A month
later he sent me a sketch. I found it first rate and agreed to write the music.”
Verdi also knew that if he did not accept, then the invitation would go elsewhere,
even to Wagner and maybe Gounod. The distant country was Egypt, where the
Khedive was anxious to have an opera on an Egyptian subject for the new Opera
House built in Cairo to celebrate the opening of the Suez Canal in November
1869. The Opera House had featured Rigoletto at its opening on 6
November, eleven days before the canal itself.
Aida was ready for premiere in January 1871, but the designs and
costumes were held up in Paris by the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian war.
It didn’t reach the stage until 24 December of that year. As to the price
being right, 150,000 gold francs for the Egyptian performing rights alone,
with the composer retaining the rights for all other performances. A production
at La Scala followed on 8 February 1872 with the first UK performance being
at Covent Garden on 22 June 1876. Aida rose to box office status
in the international repertoire more rapidly even than the middle period trio
mentioned.
Aida is one of Verdi’s most popular of operas with its blend of musical
invention and dramatic expression. It is a work of pageant with its Grand
March (Gloria all’Egitto, CH.21) and ballet interludes. It is also
a work involving various personal relationships. Of these, the rivalry between
Aida, daughter of the King of Ethiopia, working incognito as a captured slave
of Amneris, daughter of the King of Egypt, and the lady herself, is intense.
Both love Radamès, victorious leader of the Egyptian army. He loves Aida but
is given the hand of Amneris in reward for his exploits as commander. Even
more complex is the relationship of Aida with her father, King of Ethiopia,
who arrives as an unrecognised prisoner. Many and varied complex possibilities
of the father-daughter relationship occur throughout Verdi’s operas, but nowhere
more starkly than in this opera where the father puts tremendous emotional
pressure on his daughter to cajole her lover into betraying a state secret
(CHs.33-43 and 39). This betrayal will cost the lives of the two lovers.
What bedevils many productions of Aida is the sheer cost of representing
an Egyptian type locale, often with pyramids and the like. In this production,
from the seventy-fourth Maggio Musicale Festival in Florence in 2011, the
cost is perhaps more limited by designer Dante Ferretti’s ubiquitous use of
large statues and heads. The production is the opera debut of Turkish film
producer Ferzan Ozpetek who plays it very straight, no oddball concepts from
him. He strays from a wholly traditional presentation only in a couple of
respects. First as the slaves dance during Amneris’ levee, they do so holding
up mirrors to her, perhaps feeding her already oversized ego as daughter of
the King (CH.16). More contentious is the appearance of a bloodied barefoot
child who collapses, bleeding, during the triumphal scene (CH.22). Another
bloodied body is that of Radamès as he is brought to his trial, limping and
obviously having been gone over before the hands of proper justice assess
his behaviour (CHs.40-41). The mise-en-scène of the finale as Radamès
is entombed and finds Aida joining him is very good indeed.
It has seemed at times in the last couple of decades as if Verdi singing was
in decline. A shortage of spinto-sized voices, and particularly those whose
first language is Italian, has bedevilled many an effort. Somehow or other,
that is not a problem here. Whilst the Radamès of Marco Berti may not have
the ideal figure du part to excite a young woman, his tenor rings
out with a free top. He even sings softly from time to time and his phrasing
is generous and sensitive too in Celeste Aida (CH. 5). As his would-be
lover, far eastern soprano Hui He is a revelation. She encompasses the demands
of Ritorna Vincitor (CH.10) with pleasing warm tone, expression and
variation of dynamics. The high note in O patria mia (CH.32) is taken
with absolute security. As her royal adversary for Radamès’ love, Luciana
D'Intino’s lustrous mezzo is sonorous, even and powerful in the trial
scene as she prowls outside the venue, pleads with the priests and then Radamès
and nearly tears her hair out as they call on him to plead his cause before
condemning him (CHs.40-44). This scene is music-theatre as it is rarely seen
today.
Of the lower male voices, Roberto Tagliavini as the King is adequate whilst
Giacomo Prestia as the implacable priest Ramfis is sonorous and steady. The
physically large Ambrogio Maestri as Amonasro looks rather silly in a stupid
beard, but sings strongly in the Nile Scene duet with his daughter as he bullies
her into persuading Radamès into betraying the secret of the Egyptian armies’
route (CHs.33-34). Regrettably, technical failings destroy his vocal impact
as he arrives, incognito, along with the Ethiopian prisoners in the Triumphal
Scene (CH.26-28). This ending of the act seems to defeat the sound engineers
who appear to have turned the microphones down from the high volume created
by the very large chorus during the preceding chorus and march and forgotten
to turn them up again; there are seven sound engineers named!
The very large chorus sing with that vibrancy and squilla that seems
to define Italian opera-house choruses, whatever the nationality of those
taking part. What they fail to do, and this film director omits to make them
do, is to get them physically involved. They are far too static in the great
scene. The musical performance in the orchestral pit, under the vastly experienced
Zubin Mehta, fondly remembered for his contribution to that memorable Three
Tenors from the Roman Baths at Caracala those years ago, is outstanding.
He matures musically like good wine on the palate. It seems that this evening
was his 75th anniversary and the cast sing the usual song - a happy moment.
Robert J Farr
A technical limitation at crucial moments in the central scene stops this
fine performance, and interesting staging, receiving greater accolades.