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The Fat Knight Has Aged Milano
Teatro alla Scala
01/16/2025 - & January 18, 23, 28, 29, February 1, 7, 2025
Giuseppe Verdi: Falstaff
Ambrogio Maestri (Sir John Falstaff), Rosa Feola (Alice Ford), Luca Micheletti (Ford), Rosalia Cid (Nannetta), Juan Francisco Gatell (Fenton), Marianna Pizzolato (Mistress Quickly), Martina Belli (Meg Page), Christian Collia (Bardolfo), Marco Spotting (Pistola), Antonino Siragusa (Dr. Cajus), Lorenzo Forte (Robin)
Coro del Teatro alla Scala, Alberto Malazzi (Chorus Master), Orchestra del Teatro alla Scala, Daniele Gatti (conductor)
Giorgio Strehler (stage director), Marina Bianchi (reprisal stage director), Ezio Frigerio (sets & costumes), Marco Filibeck (lighting), Anna Maria Prina (choreography)
(© Brescia e Amisano/Teatro alla Scala)
Of Verdi’s twenty-eight operas, just two are comedies. The first, Un giorno di regno (1840), was such a huge flop that it made him reconsider his music career. It was written shortly after the death of his two children and completed after the death of his beloved wife; hardly an elixir for comedy. His only other comedy, Falstaff (1893), was also his final work, premiering when the composer was eighty. It was set to a libretto by Arrigo Boito (1842‑1918), a composer in his own right and the librettist of his hugely successful opera six years earlier, Otello (1887). Even more than Otello, Falstaff broke with Verdi’s style up to then, as it was a flowing drama without interruption from conventional arias and duets. This suggests Boito’s influence on Verdi’s writing as well.
More cosmopolitan than his Italian contemporaries, Boito admired Wagner. At the premiere of Boito’s Mefistofele at La Scala in 1868, the twenty‑six‑year‑old composer was booed, accused of having Wagnerian influences. While these accusations referred specifically to that opera, they nonetheless continued regarding Verdi’s Otello and especially Falstaff. Though some suspected he helped Verdi write the music for his two last works, it’s clear he influenced him. No listener of Rigoletto and Falstaff would deduce they were the work of the same composer.
Without question, Boito’s libretto is a masterpiece like no other in the operatic repertoire, and in fact only Da Ponte’s libretti for Mozart and von Hofmannsthal’s for Richard Strauss are of this calibre. Falstaff is based on Shakespeare’s Merry Wives of Windsor (1602) and Henry IV, Parts 1 & 2 (1597‑99). Though the character of Falstaff appears in all three plays, the storyline is basically a compact version of Merry Wives. The role of Meg Page is shortened, her husband Master Page is eliminated, as is a third suitor of Nannetta’s, Anne Ford in the play. Passages from Henry IV were employed to give depth to the character of Falstaff. Intriguingly, in his libretto Boito used archaic Italian, linking it to Shakespeare’s Tuscan sources, Giovanni Fiorentino’s Il Pecorone (1385) and Boccaccio’s Decameron (1353).
The magic of this production lies in its marvelous staging by Giorgio Strehler (1921‑1997), with sets and costumes designed by Ezio Frigerio (1930‑2022), which opened La Scala’s season in 1980/81. This is the most visually gorgeous production of Verdi’s final opera. Thankfully, it’s been preserved for posterity, looking as fresh as can be, despite being four decades old. The sets and lighting for the scenes in Ford’s home and at Herne’s Oak in Windsor Park were simply dazzling. Marco Filibeck’s brilliant lighting rendered these scenes vivid and poetic. The outdoor scene between Nannetta and Fenton evoked the Barbizon school of painting, so much so that it could have been drawn by Jean‑François Millet (1814‑1875). Despite the bitter January cold outside, one felt the sweltering summer heat, which in turn informed Nannetta and Fenton’s sensuality and desire.
In contrast, the scenes in Falstaff’s dwelling at the Garter Inn were decidedly dark. The ubiquitous barrels of beer and wine insinuated the portly knight’s predilection for alcohol. The indoor darkness isn’t tempered by windows or household lighting, amplifying Falstaff’s bleak outlook. Though still clinging to a self‑image based on past exploits, he realizes he’s in decline. His attempts to seduce Alice Ford and Meg are motivated more by lucre than lust.
Strehler introduced a new minor character (albeit a silent one) in the person of a young boy, Robin, a page‑in‑training. This was the inspiration for Marco Arturo Marelli’s Vienna production, where the child was even more prominent. Unlike that production, there was no attempt here to show Falstaff as a generous mentor, but the same continuity is present. As Falstaff states, “Quando ero paggio del Duca di Norfolk,” the fat knight was himself a page in younger days, and now, despite his decrepit state and disastrous finances, he has taken on a page. As Ford leaves Falstaff’s dwelling at the end of Act I, Robin imitates his master’s grand courtly gestures of grandeur; an apprentice indeed!
In various productions, Ambrogio Maestri has been the most prominent Falstaff of recent years, but alas, his voice has considerably deteriorated. While he can still impress in a smaller theatre, he cannot in a theatre the size of La Scala. He faltered on more than one occasion, especially in his falsetto. As an actor, Maestri displays an innate physicality, exploiting his prodigious physique and physiognomy. Though only in his mid‑fifties, usually the height of vocal prowess for a baritone, Maestri’s voice is diminished and his antics tiresome. Given that Falstaff’s character is more anti‑hero than conventional hero, Maestri’s weakened vocal ability was less catastrophic, as it passed for pathos.
Perhaps it was intentional in this production for Falstaff to be less pompous than usual. For once, Sir John doesn’t take himself too seriously. Given this twist, the sense of irony in his Act I “L’onore! Ladri...!” was both touching and biting. In his monologue, Falstaff rebukes his servants for their refusal to be messengers to his potential conquests, Alice and Meg. It reflects Falstaff’s anger at the vagaries of aging not so gracefully and in precarious conditions. His Act II “Va! Vecchio John!,” where he celebrates his potential success with Alice, was endearingly comical. The Act II arietta, “Quand’ero paggio del Duca di Norfolk” was less charming than Maestri’s previous interpretations.
Italian baritone Luca Micheletti was outstanding in the role of Ford. His youthful baritone, contrasting beautifully with Maestri’s, was especially effective in their Act II exchange. The multi‑talented baritone, actor and stage director made the most of the role of Ford. He exuded arrogance and pride as Ford, and projected ostentatious wealth and effete manners as the lovesick Fontana (Ford in disguise) who wants the “irresistible” Falstaff to open a path for him by seducing his own wife, Alice. In his arietta “E sogno o realtà?,” where he expressed his doubts about his wife’s fidelity, Micheletti subtly conveyed the fragility of a man who’s at once powerful and vulnerable.
Italian lyric soprano Rosa Feola was appropriately feminine and charming as Alice Ford. She managed to impress despite a lack of direction. On this topic, truth be told, Marina Bianchi’s reprisal of Strehler’s staging seemed lacking, a true pity given the enduring magnificence of this historic production. Despite Feola’s beautiful timbre, her soprano was too light to reflect the mature woman. Indeed, until recently, the lyric soprano sang the role of Nannetta, Alice’s daughter. Alice is a mature woman, not a soubrette. A more mature and imposing voice, ideally a fruity one evoking a ripe peach, is preferable.
Spanish soprano Rosalia Cid and Argentine tenor Juan Francisco Gatell were the production’s vocal standouts as Nannetta and Fenton. They positively exuded youth and ardour in their performances, so much so that I’d deem the young couple one of the most brilliant pairings I’ve ever heard. Fenton’s Act III “Dal labbro il canto estasiato vola” and Nannetta’s Act III “Sul fil d’un soffio etesio,” where she’s disguised as the Fairy Queen, were truly ethereal and vocally perfect. One suspects it’s these two delightful tunes–in addition to Mistress Quickly’s quintessential “Reverenza”–that those in attendance will remember most.
Italian mezzo Marianna Pizzolato was an odd choice as Mistress Quickly. A Rossini mezzo rarely becomes a Verdi mezzo through simple aging. Fortunately, Pizzolato is an able actress. She was able to convey Quickly’s character without excess or vulgarity. Her “Reverenza” was on the light side, a suitable choice given Maestri’s reduced vocal prowess.
The smaller roles in this opera are not vocally demanding, and they were well sung and acted. The revelation here was Antonino Siragusa, so admired in Alfredo il Grande at the Donizetti Festival in Bergamo. The splendid bel canto tenor was an unusually healthy and virtuoso Doctor Cajus, the elderly rich suitor, rejected by Nannetta. This Nannetta was one fortunate young lady, to be wooed by two first‑rate light tenors!
Falstaff is of special significance for Italian conductor Daniele Gatti. As a young man, he witnessed this very production’s initial run in 1980. He’s since conducted Verdi’s masterpiece in Bologna, Zurich, Vienna, Paris, London, Amsterdam and even La Scala (2015).
Though I’m no great fan of Gatti’s and was disappointed by a recent concert in Dresden, here he proved he was intimately knowledgeable with the score of Verdi’s last opera. In addition to emphasizing its myriad subtleties, he expertly supported his singers (and some were truly in need of it). Musically, the greatest moment was the opera’s delectable final fugue, conducted with masterful precision.
In Act III, Ford, Alice, Meg, Quickly and the entire town of Windsor torment the credulous Falstaff. One could only feel sorry for the man, despite his delusional self‑confidence as a seducer. One hoped for a moment of grace, pity and compassion for the old fool, but it never materialized in Marina Bianchi’s reprisal of Strehler’s staging. Falstaff sang his famous “Tutto il mondo è burla,” in which he realizes his own lunacy, but somehow an apotheosis was absent. This was a pity, as ridiculing a man down on his luck isn’t comedy; it’s gratuitous cruelty.
While La Scala is to be commended for preserving this legendary production, more care should have been taken in being faithful to the vision of the late great Giorgio Strehler, grand master of Italian theatre.
Ossama el Naggar
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