Author : Johan Uytterschaut
One sometimes wonders if the novels by Sir Walter Scott still succeed in triggering the imagination of the modern person of culture, with their somewhat dilapidated heroic-dramatic stories about ruthless villains and their frail victims of the female sex (which still existed at the time). Well, I think it is very simple: a person of culture worthy of the name looks right through the décor of late 18th century curls and ruches, and sees looming out of time a young woman being, by circumstances, reduced to defencelessness against the intrigues of her worthless rake of a brother. After all, Donizetti didn’t write his opera during the late 18th century either. Since the iconic interpretation of the Mozart-Da-Pontetrilogy by Peter Sellars in the eighties, hardly anyone is startled nowadays by the fact that strictly “loyal” renditions on the opera stage are being put more and more in perspective. Leaving aside museum-like phenomena like the theatre in Drottningholm (which is rather a kind of a moving version of Madame Tussauds collection), most opera houses have gone to work transposing original dramaturgy to renewing productions of a relevant value. That, of course, requires a director who knows his trade. All too often that requirement falters lamentably, resulting in a so called “new” approach which turns out to be hermetic, far fetched or irrelevant. That notwithstanding the fact that dramaturgical teams have been disposing for some time of a valuable paradigm to bring this process to a good end. They work with a framework of three spatiotemporal dimensions: 1) the original situation of the story, 2) the age wherein the music was composed and 3) the time period wherein the production is being put on the stage. The question is how to find a balance between those three dimensions. Which, in turn, doesn’t mean they have to come to a weighed percentage of three times one third; that would be theoretically possible, but in practice it would hardly ever work out. In fact, their work mostly boils down to respecting the development of the story and its characters and the score, but that doesn’t have to prevent the bias of our time and our society penetrating the whole and exercising its influence. This way the redundant elements of the drama are being duly refreshed.
In doing that, the Australian director Simon Stone succeeded wonderfully well. In his version of Donizetti’s evergreen for the New York Met, he transplants the clan rivalry between the Lammermoors and the Ravenswoods from late 18th century Scotland to America around the Great Lakes in our own age, with some most clever pointers showing that this society has been snagging into a worn-down past. Lucia’s mental instability is here being caused by the drug addiction she is fighting off: the story in which she divulges the background of the present clan war (Regnava nel silenzio) follows her methadone dose she just collected at the pharmacist’s. On the other hand, her biotope is a village community of rusty old-timers the villagers occupy in the drive-in movie theatre to watch the 1947 comedy “My favorite brunette”. It follows suit that this approach doesn’t allow the looker-on to snuggle down in his favourite arm chair with a kind of a “well, whatever” feel good experience: this IS happening here and now, the problem is there, young lives DO get lost in a torn apart social fabric of a society preaching unhinged egoism. The doubling of the stage happening, by a combination of recorded and live taped projection pulls the drama even closer by (the tragic anti heroin Lulu springs to mind). All this being enlarged within the context of Italian belcanto and early romantic drama? Well, this is theatre, after all.
Such an ambitious and valuable production earns nothing less than a top cast, and the Met didn’t miss the rendezvous. The triangle Lucia-Enrico-Edgardo is quality at its best. We know Javier Camarena from a few Rossini and Donizetti productions, where he impressed us with his seemingly effortless high tenor tessitura and an expert dramatic rendition. These qualities come in handy at this occasion. Especially in the final scene, Edgardo’s part is written in a painfully high tessitura. We have witnessed more than one “star” grappling with this scene to the point of becoming painful indeed. Not so in Camarena’s case: he showed more than sufficient grip on his “alma innamorata” to add a plausibly tragic colour to it.
Artur Ricinsky’s baritone is of a rarely combined force and directness. What he does in this part is simply marvellous. And on top of that bullion substrate he is acting with regular flashes of absolute class.
We are not altogether happy with Christian Van Horn’s Raimondo. He was asked to substitute last minute for an ailing Matthew Rose, which is always tricky business. Taking that in consideration, we were still disappointed by a lack of vocal focus, resulting in a often hollow, colourless tone quality. Pity.
Last but not least, there is Nadine Sierra’s incomparable Lucia. Astounding. Everything is there: a young woman worth dying for, absolutely convincing in the quirks of her battle against surroundings wanting to let her serve their traditions, a voice like a ripe peach, and a seldom heard vocal perfection. If nothing else, the madness scene (lasting some 20 minutes), interchanging fragile lyricism with breath taking virtuosity, proves her consummate professionalism. Her rendition is – literally – spotless. She is taking on Violetta in La Traviata next season: something to look forward to with more than average attention.
Nothing but quality and expertise in the smaller parts of this production. And finally, Riccardo Frizza is a very fine conductor, allowing this show to be presented as first class.