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An ingénu in Pharaoh’s Court Madrid
Teatro de la Zarzuela
01/29/2025 - & January 30, 31, February 1, 2, 6, 7, 8, 9, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 2025
Vicente Lleó: La corte de Faraón
María Rey-Joly (Lota), María Rodríguez (Reina), Enrique Viana (Sul), Annya Pinto (Raquel), Amparo Navarro (Ra), Amelia Font (Sel), Leticia Rodríguez (Ta), Luis Cansino*/Enric Martínez-Castignani (El Gran Faraón), Jorge Rodríguez-Norton (José), Ramiro Maturana (El General Putifar), José Manuel Díaz (El Gran Sacerdote), Jesús García Gallera (Selhá), Rafael Lobeto (Seti)
Orquesta de la Comunidad de Madrid, Carlos Aragón (conductor)
Emilio Sagi (stage director), Daniel Bianco (sets), Gabriela Salaverri (costumes), Eduardo Bravo (lighting), Nuria Castejón (choreography)
(© Javier del Real)
Classical music has evolved differently in Spain in contrast with the rest of Western Europe. Though once one of the world’s most powerful nations, and a formidable empire, it is distinct in this regard. First, its geographical position is relatively isolated, separated from France and the rest of Europe by the mighty Pyrénées Mountains and by the Mediterranean or the Atlantic from other sides. Second, the Arab presence in much of Iberia for seven centuries uniquely informed its culture and development, while keeping it somewhat isolated from the rest of Europe. Third, it remained a centralized absolutist monarchy up to the twilight of the late nineteenth century. And lastly, its immense wealth during its imperial heyday affected it negatively: too much gold, too little enterprise and therefore a slower development of its urban middle class.
The Royal Court, whether Hapsburg or Bourbon, was a patron of the arts not unlike other European courts, and enjoyed its resident native and foreign composers such as Sebastián Durón (1660‑1716), Domenico Scarlatti (1685‑1757), Carlo Broschi (Farinelli) (1705‑1782), Antonio Soler (1729‑1783) and Luigi Boccherini (1743‑1805). However, the middle class’s exposure to classical music and the cultivation of a taste for it among the middle class was limited compared to other European capitals, and this would remain the case until the early twentieth century.
Spain developed its own form of musical theatre, the zarzuela, distinct from other European traditions. Several of its elements derive from popular music as well as from folklore. The name was inspired by the Palacio de la Zarzuela, the royal hunting lodge where the first one was performed in 1657. The palace’s name was itself derived from the word zarzas or brambles (prickly shrubs) that grew in its vicinity. This musical form soon became popular among social classes in all regions of Spain as well as its colonies. Zarzuela traditions continue to this day as far away as Cuba and the Philippines.
La corte de Faraón premiered in 1910, a turbulent time in Spain, a mere decade after a rising United States found a pretext to fight Europe’s weakest colonial empire and take over its remaining colonies: Cuba, Puerto Rico, The Philippines and Guam. Under realization of severe decline, satire was rife and the arts became a medium in which to express disillusionment. Also, this was the height of the popularity of Verdi’s Aida. Hence, a zarzuela set in Ancient Egypt seemed like a smart way to spoof the ruling class as well as the de rigueur patriarchy.
La corte de Faraón is a parody of the biblical story of Joseph. Putifar, an Egyptian general, returns triumphantly from a campaign in Syria. In gratitude, Pharaoh has him wed Lota, a “chaste” maiden from Thebes. However, during the war, Putifar had been struck by an arrow in a vital area that made him unable to consummate his marriage. In the meantime, Joseph has been sold by his brothers on the slave market and is purchased by two servants for Putifar’s household. On his wedding night, Putifar regales his bride with accounts of his battles but avoids being intimate. When the military clarion sounds, Putifar takes leave of his bride and asks his new slave to entertain her. The “virtuous” maiden of Thebes finds Joseph attractive and tries to have her way with him. Being a chaste prophet, Joseph escapes. A vengeful Lota accuses Joseph of trying to rape her, and Pharaoh’s wife also becomes infatuated with the handsome Joseph. The two women fight over the slave. Escaping from both women, Joseph throws himself from a window to fall on a dozing Pharaoh. The latter asks him to interpret his dream and Joseph does so brilliantly. The zarzuela ends with Pharaoh appointing Joseph as his viceroy.
The name Putifar is an obvious spoof composed of a prefix derived from the Spanish word for “whore” and the suffix “Far” as in “Faraón”. The name “Lota” means burbot, a variety of fish related to cod, whatever that may evoke. The zarzuela is full of sexual innuendo which, for the most part, requires a good knowledge of colloquial Spanish. In one instance, the slaves chat about Putifar and bring up rosebuds, stating that cutting a rosebud gives new roses. Rosebud is “capullo de rosa” and the extremity of the male organ is “capullo.” This was the slaves’ way of indicating Putifar had lost his virility in battle. This zarzuela has been rather risqué since its creation, and was even banned under Franco.
Since José Luis García Sánchez’s film La corte de Faraón (1985), the zarzuela has become still more popular, even among Spaniards not partial to it. The film is not a filmed version of the zarzuela but rather a backstage intrigue of a troupe producing a sexually explicit Spanish musical comedy and their arrest by the police regarding violations of morality. It was one of Antonio Banderas’s first films. He portrayed the innocent and chaste José (Joseph), an ingénu; for once a handsome young man is the innocent.
Director Emilio Sagi’s staging of La corte de Faraón is surprisingly over‑the‑top, transforming the sexual innuendo into gay humour. Putifar is impotent, Faraón is not interested in women, the male slaves are effeminate, Lota and Egypt’s Queen are two “cats on a hot tin roof” and José is the delectable morsel that most seem to crave.
The most entertaining part of the evening was tenor Enrique Viana’s number as Sul, a gift from the King of Babylonia to Faraón. He was sent from Mesopotamia in a sarcophagus and came out in drag to sing the zarzuela’s most memorable piece “¡Ay, Ba!”, a melodiously funny song, made popular by singer Ana Belén in the 1985 film. In the original zarzuela, the song vaunts the beauty and sex appeal of Babylonian women. In this production, two couplets are added. The second couplet is a satire on the state of mainstream media, spreading fake news and intolerance. The third couplet is about a man who likes to play ball sports, from golf to basketball. Sul warns this virile man’s wife that she suspects her husband likes playing with a “pair of balls.” Enrique Viana has a wide vocal range; he sings much of the aria as a tenor but performs the refrain in falsetto, to the public’s delight. He’s in drag, impersonating the Spanish grandes dames (folcoricás) like Sara Montiel, Lola Flores and Rocío Jurado, clad in a flamboyant version of a bata de cola (flamenco) dress. Endowed with a caustic sense of humour, he joked with the conductor and with the audience.
The other roles don’t require powerful voices. Overall, they performed well. Most amusing was the trio, sung by the three widows who give marital advice to Lota on her wedding night. Likewise, the catfight between Lota and the Queen was hilarious. The sets were appealing as well: gilded sarcophagi and gold leaves on the floor to evoke Egypt’s wealth. Likewise, the costumes were a variant of those seen in most Aida productions: romanticized nineteenth century imitations of ancient Egyptian sartorial splendour.
While some found this production somewhat kitsch, judging from the enthusiastic applause, the vast majority of the public were absolutely delighted.
Ossama el Naggar
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