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Revenge is a dish best served cold München
Nationaltheater
07/09/2025 - & May 22, 25, 29, June 1, 4, 8, 12, July 12, November 6, 9, 12, 15, 2025
Pietro Mascagni: Cavalleria rusticana
Ruggero Leoncavallo: Pagliacci
Yulia Matochkina/Anna Pirozzi*/Elīna Garanca (Santuzza), Ivan Gyngazov/Jonathan Tetelman*/Vittorio Grigolo (Turridu), Rosalind Plowright (Mamma Lucia), Wolfgang Koch*/Luca Salsi (Alfio, Tonio), Ekaterine Buachidze/Rihab Chaieb*/Elmina Hasan (Lola), Aiylin Pérez (Nedda), Riccardo Massi/Jonas Kaufmann*/Yonghoon Lee (Canio), Granit Musliu*/Andrés Agudelo (Beppe), Andrzej Filonczyk*/Thomas Mole (Silvio), Christian Rieger, Zachary Rioux (Two peasants)
Chor der Bayerischen Staatsoper, Kinderchor der Bayerischen Staatsoper, Christoph Heil (chorus master), Bayerisches Staatsorchester, Daniele Rustioni/Daniele Callegari*/Antonino Fogliani (conductor)
Francesco Micheli (stage director), Edoardo Sanchi (sets), Daniela Cernigliaro (costumes), Alessandro Carletti (lights), Mattia Agatiello (choreographer), Alberto Mattioli, Malte Krasting (dramaturgy)
W. Koch, A. Perez (© Geoffroy Schied)
Mascagni’s Cavalleria rusticana and Leoncavallo’s Pagliacci are often paired when opera companies program their seasons. Though the former takes place in Sicily and the latter in Calabria, the two works are closely associated in the minds of the opera cognoscenti. In this new production for Bayerische Staatsoper, Italian director Francesco Micheli has dreamed up an unusual but intriguing idea: the two short operas could be linked together by one character.
Alfio, the cuckold husband in Cavalleria rusticana, becomes Tonio, in Pagliacci, ten years later. Originally, the same tenor, Jonas Kaufmann, was scheduled to sing both Turridu and Canio, but that was not to be. Micheli also connected Southern Italy to Germany by setting Pagliacci in Munich and making migration a new theme in both verismo operas.
This production of Cavalleria rusticana opens with an announcement “Questa è una commedia trágica d’un uomo ferito nel suo onore” (“This is the story of a man wounded in his honour”). During the opera’s orchestral prelude, we see a young man looking at a photograph that we then see enacted: an attractive young couple embrace on a sunny Mediterranean beach. The date is 1960. A train marked “Palermo-Munich” arrives on stage and an old woman bids farewell to the man holding the photograph. Thus, Micheli explains the reason Turridu left his beloved Lola; to work as a Gastarbeiter in Germany, one of those who accomplished the war‑ravaged country’s “economic miracle”. As soon as the train departs, pretty Lola is accosted by a portly older man, Alfio, apparently a mafioso, and his goons, young men with faces painted red. We also learn that Lola, without her beau to defend her, was forced into a loveless marriage by the local mafioso. As a train marked “Munich-Palermo” brings back Turridu from Germany, the church bells in Mascagni’s score are wedding bells for Lola and Mafioso Alfio.
Heartbroken Turridu finds solace in Santuzza, here the daughter of the village’s taverner, for whom he works (in the libretto, Santuzza is a poor orphan). Six months later, visibly pregnant Santuzza is looking for her lover but only finds his elderly mother, Mamma Lucia, to whom she recounts her seduction and abandonment. During her narration, “Voi lo sapete, o mamma,” we see in the background Turridu first reproaching Lola, then reconciling and finally making love to her. This enactment of Turridu and the now married Lola’s affair is achieved unobtrusively, without distracting from Santuzza’s narration. And how could it?
Santuzza, portrayed by Anna Pirozzi, Italy’s sensational dramatic soprano heard earlier this season in La Gioconda in Catania, positively sets the stage ablaze with her huge charisma. As soon as she starts, one is mesmerized, dumbfounded by the sheer power and command of her instrument. Though the role does not require technical pyrotechnics, it does require a potent voice, most often a mezzo and occasionally a dramatic soprano. Pirozzi has the most powerful non‑Wagnerian female voice working today, bar none.
Even Mamma Lucia, portrayed beautifully by Rosalind Plowright, despite the brevity and limited vocal demands of the role, wowed the audience as well. Once the most electrifying spinto soprano – over three decades ago – this British soprano today retains her magnetism. Amazingly, Plowright still possesses a commanding voice, and her trademark expressiveness is still front and centre. Bayerische Staatsoper is to be lauded for making a point of imaginatively casting living opera legends in secondary roles. This acknowledgement of older singers is lovely and eloquent, and importantly, it also acknowledges continuity.
In her ensuing dramatic duet with Turridu, Pirozzi easily conveyed her despair, where she implored him not to abandon her. Her curse “A te la mala Pasqua” was effective but not quite as blood‑curdling as I had hoped – perhaps a deliberate restraint to avoid excess and vulgarity, the norm in verismo.
Germany’s Wolfgang Koch was a pleasant surprise as Alfio. This Wagnerian baritone is the last singer one would expect in a verismo role, and what a delightful surprise he was. This veteran Hans Sachs and Wotan was one of the best Alfios I’ve heard in ages. Koch’s Italian could have fooled me. A little research revealed he studied with legendary tenor Gianni Raimondi (1923‑2008). While Alfio isn’t a huge role, most often it is barked. Koch portrayed Alfio the bully as a weak man, despite his mafioso status. Did he not harass and pursue Lola only when Turridu was gone? This made the latter’s escape to Germany plausible. A coward would not be confrontational unless they were certain to win (That evokes certain countries, too!)
Tunisian-Canadian mezzo Rihab Chaieb was the perfect choice for Lola, though in this staging, she’s more victim than seductress. Chaieb’s Lola exuded charm and femininity, but without excess. Her velvety mezzo contrasted well with Santuzza’s hefty dramatic soprano. In most cases, this opera features three mezzos, though here, Santuzza was a dramatic soprano and Mamma Lucia an aging spinto. It’s important they sound distinct, and they certainly were.
Though the character of Santuzza is invariably the star of the show, many in the audience were tenor aficionados, and the tenors in both operas were the main attraction. Chilean‑born American tenor Jonathan Tetelman is a rising star who’s taken the opera world by storm. His Turridu was vocally strong, yet elegant, a major accomplishment in verismo, where vulgarity comes easily. His lyric tenor may have been too light for the role, but he was able to darken his voice and sound more dramatic without forcing. Endowed with good diction, he’s able to nuance. His siciliana “O Lola ch’ai di latti la cammisa,” a serenade he sings offstage at the work’s opening, was delicate and seductive. His jubilant “Viva, il vino spumeggiante” sounded subdued, doubtlessly at the director’s behest, as if to convey a certain foreboding. Finally, his farewell to his mother, “Mamma, quel vino è generoso,” was moving, though not the way it usually is. This desperate Turridu was not going to his death. Mamma Lucia had prepared his suitcase and sent him off to Germany on the same Palermo-Munich train.
Micheli decided to suppress the tragic end. Instead of a woman crying out “Hanno ammazzato il compare Turridu” (“They have killed Turridu”) at the end of the opera, an announcer states “Turridu non è più” (“Turridu is no more”). For the time being, he has escaped Alfio’s revenge.
Daniele Callegari and the Bayerisches Staatsorchester played the opera’s intermezzo in a beautifully sober fashion. If verismo could be always played this way, it would not get a bad rap. During this interlude, we see a dying Mamma Lucia comforted by Santuzza and a child, and Turridu returning to see his dying mother. Is this when the cuckold Alfio strikes? Perhaps, but more likely it’s not, as the next opera tells a different story.
The twist in the plot of the second opera was more muddled. Ten years later, Alfio is on the same train from Southern Italy to Munich. It would seem he’s in search of Turridu, to avenge his honour. He sings the famous aria “Si può?” to another passenger on the train as a statement of intent. Koch’s nuanced diction made this one of the most memorable moments of the evening.
At the station in Munich, Canio – or is it Turridu under an assumed identity? – meets Nedda, a helpless woman he takes under his wing. They both find employment in an Italian restaurant “Italianische Spezialitäten da Silvio”, as does Alfio/Tonio. Silvio’s establishment offers pasta, pizza and entertainment where Canio, Nedda, Tonio and a fourth character Beppe play commedia dell’arte sketches (a rather implausible proposition) for the restaurant’s patrons. Munich’s Nationaltheater’s public got excited when brief moments from the famed “match of the century” of June 17, 1970 Italy vs Germany football match from Mexico City were shown at Silvio’s (Italy won, 4‑3).
The boss is having an affair with Nedda and they plan to run off together. Again, it’s implausible that a restaurant owner would run off and leave his business. Tonio is unsuccessfully pursuing Nedda, possibly to cuckold the man who cuckolded him. Silvio’s restaurant is the same tavern in the main square seen in the previous opera. Inexplicably, train cars keep appearing throughout this performance. Is Silvio’s restaurant at a circus and these are the cars where the clowns live? Too many unanswered questions stilted our enjoyment.
American soprano Aiylin Pérez ably portrayed the broken woman, expressing sufficient pathos in her aria “Stridono lassù.” Pérez’s voice is heavier than one expects Nedda to be, but she was able to convey emotion thanks to her excellent phrasing and obvious comprehension of the libretto. Even in her sensual duet “Silvio! Nedda! A quest’ora che imprudenza!,” Pérez sounded miserable. Throughout the performance, she convincingly expressed sadness and fear, which is likely how an abused person feels.
Polish baritone Andrzej Filonczyk was a superb Silvio, a small unnuanced role. His honeyed tone and virile posture were a reasonable justification for Nedda’s infidelity. Young Kosovar Granit Musliu was a touching Beppe who seemed quite concerned about Nedda. Dashing, handsome and with a powerful voice, the auspiciously-named tenor was not an ideal choice for the role of the clown Beppe. Though his voice was too big for the role, his aria “O Colombina” was a delightful audition of a singer who will doubtlessly be a leading tenor in a few years.
The commedia dell’arte show is possibly the most powerful moment in the opera with its “play within a play” dynamics. Less conventionally staged than usual, it was nonetheless intense. Nedda and Beppe arrive in a Volkswagen Beetle painted in gaudy colours. This is where they perform their “tryst”. Their tête‑à‑tête dinner is a picnic atop the vehicle.
Jonas Kaufmann portrayed a different kind of Canio. He’s a broken man – and how could he not be? He escaped his village and lives in hiding and in shame. The only person in his life is his wife, a lost soul he lifted up from misery who’s unfaithful and planning to abandon him. Canio is a typical verismo role requiring exalted emotions and histrionics rather than demanding singing.
This Canio starts to put on the white makeup but stops midway and starts to drink. He sings the opera’s mega hit “Vesti la giubba” without a clown’s garb. Kaufmann’s interpretation was certainly moving, mostly due to attentive phrasing and superlative acting. When he arrives onstage, he’s wasted and doesn’t seem intent on killing Nedda. The vindictive Tonio/Alfio hands him the knife with which he kills both Nedda and Silvio.
While the staging of Cavalleria rusticana was original, the staging of Pagliacci was a mess. Revenge may be a dish best served cold, but the second opera was an exercise in improbability that made Il trovatore and La forza del destino sound credible. A true accomplishment!
Ossama el Naggar
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