I should admit I’ve always had a bit of a troubled
relationship with Andrea Chénier, not least because, when I’ve seen it in the
theatre, it’s never really caught fire.
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I felt similarly about David McVicar’s also-lavish
production at Covent Garden (admittedly seen live only at the dress rehearsal,
but later also watched on Blu-ray). In Vienna Urmana and Botha didn’t really set
the world alight dramatically, I remember, or even in terms of fiery singing. In
London, Jonas Kaufmann’s poet struck me as a touch too subtle and sophisticated,
Eva-Maria Westbroek’s Maddalena heartfelt rather than incandescent.
It was a joy, then, to see the Deutsche Oper’s staging, with
a cast that threw themselves thrillingly into roles surely designed primarily
as vehicles for exactly that. Chénier and Madelenna, at least, should sound
indeed as though they know they’re for the chop, should sing their hearts out
as though it might be for the last time. And that’s exactly what it felt like
here.
Marcelo Alvarez’s voice still carries the traces of its more
lyrical origins—it’s pleasingly soft-grained rather than excitingly steel-bladed—but
he sang Chénier throughout with unstinting generosity and ardour, a slight
patch of uncertainty at the start of the final duet notwithstanding. His acting
was rudimentary, admittedly, hands and arms moving about in a series of stock
tenorial gestures, but it hardly mattered. This was big-hearted singing served up in big, hearty dollops.
Maria José Siri’s Maddalena was nicely acted, and she
conveyed particularly well the transition from the mischievous girl of the
first act (especially so in this mischievous 1994 production from John Dew) to
tragic figure. She channelled a good deal of grandezza and sang in a voice of unmistakably Italian colour: a
slight edge to the warm sound, a care for words and a broadness of phrasing
that was only slightly compromised by some shortness of breath. She rose
brilliantly to a moving, noble ‘La mamma morta’ and matched Alvarez in the
unrepentant fireworks of ‘Vicino a te’.
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George Gagnidze was a powerful Gérard, the voice
impressively focused and forward, the characterisation broad-brush but
persuasive. The were excellent performances in the smaller roles from a raft of
Deutsche Oper singers: a strongly sung Bersi from Judit Kutasi, a fantastic
cameo from Ronnita Miller as Madelon, a handsome sounding Mathieu from Samuel
Dale Johnson.
Once we got past a couple of dodgy moments early on from the
orchestra under Paolo Carignani (a late stand-in), the players and conductor
hit their stride with big sweeping phrases and a grand, thrilling sound.
Musically this was performance was straightforwardly but enormously
pleasurable.
Dew’s production stands up well, too, striking the same sort
of balance that I described in Götz Friedrich’s slightly later Traviata: a smart, interesting show but
a sensible, eminently revivable one too. And Dew’s Chénier, though never undermining the piece, also gives the
impression of not ever taking it too seriously.
Act One, therefore, is a riot of grotesquely exaggerated froufrou (José Manuel Vázquez clearly had a lot of fun designing the costumes), its action taking place on a platform beneath which the underclass grumble away threateningly. The act’s conclusion, which sees one side of the platform rise up and these preposterous aristos slide helplessly off it, is a brilliant touch. The same set remains, in various configurations, and there’s another neat touch at the very end, where panels come across and down gradually to enclose Chénier and Maddalena in the shape of the blade that’s shortly to do its worst. A witty end to a rousingly enjoyable evening.
Act One, therefore, is a riot of grotesquely exaggerated froufrou (José Manuel Vázquez clearly had a lot of fun designing the costumes), its action taking place on a platform beneath which the underclass grumble away threateningly. The act’s conclusion, which sees one side of the platform rise up and these preposterous aristos slide helplessly off it, is a brilliant touch. The same set remains, in various configurations, and there’s another neat touch at the very end, where panels come across and down gradually to enclose Chénier and Maddalena in the shape of the blade that’s shortly to do its worst. A witty end to a rousingly enjoyable evening.
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