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Faust at the Amusement Park Roma
Teatro dell’Opera
11/27/2023 - November 29, 30*, December 2, 3, 5, 2023
Arrigo Boito: Mefistofele
John Relyea*/Jerzy Butryn (Mefistofele), Joshua Guerrero*/Anthony Ciaramitaro (Faust), Maria Agresta*/Valeria Sepe (Margherita, Elena), Sofia Koberidze (Marta, Pantalis), Marco Miglietta (Wagner), Leonardo Trinciarelli*/Yoosang Yoon (Nereo)
Coro del Teatro dell’Opera di Roma, Coro di Voci Bianche del Teatro dell’Opera di Roma, Ciro Visco (chorus master), Orchestra del Teatro dell’Opera di Roma, Michele Mariotti (conductor)
Simon Stone (stage director), Mel Page (sets & costumes), James Farncombe (lighting)
J. Guerrero, J. Relyea(© Fabrizio Sansoni/Opera di Roma)
With the exception of Don Juan, few themes have been as enduring in Western literary thought as that of Faust. Since its original incarnation, based on the legendary German historical figure of Johann Georg Faust (1480‑1540), myriad authors, poets and playwrights have meditated on the tantalizing idea of making a bargain with the Devil.
From Christopher Marlowe’s The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus (1604) to Goethe’s Faust (1808), Heinrich Heine’s Der Doktor Faust (1851), Oscar Wilde’s The Portrait of Dorian Gray (1891), Stephen Vincent Benét’s The Devil of Daniel Webster (1937), Paul Valéry’s Mon Faust (1940), Thomas Mann’s Doktor Faustus: Das Leben des deutschen Tonsetzers Adrian Leverkühn, erzählt von einem Freunde (1947), Mikhaïl Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita (1967), Vaclav Havel’s Temptation (1985) to David Mamet’s Faustus (2004), the legend of Faust has appealed to the greatest creative minds.
In cinema, the most remarkable adaptations are F.W. Murnau’s Faust (1926), René Clair’s La Beauté du diable (1950) and István Szabó’s Mephisto (1981).
In opera, the most popular adaptations are Gounod’s Faust (1859), Berlioz’s La Damnation de Faust (1847) and Boito’s Mefistofele (1868). Gounod’s treatment is sentimental and only deals with Faust’s tragic romance with Marguerite (or Gretchen). Until the 1980s in Germany, this French opera was regarded as being so remote from Goethe’s masterpiece that it was presented as Margarethe and not Faust. Boito’s opera, Mefistofele, is more faithful to Goethe, and reaches beyond the sentimental to ponder the metaphysical.
Arrigo Boito (1842‑1918) was one of Italy’s greatest intellectuals during the Risorgimento, the period of the political unification of Italy in the nineteenth century. Some believe that his burden was his great intellect which made him self‑conscious and hesitant. Mefistofele is his only complete opera, for he died before finishing Nerone, on which he laboured for nearly four decades. Boito is best‑known for his collaborations with Verdi, for whom he wrote the exceptional libretti for both Otello (1887) and Falstaff (1893). He also created several libretti for other composers, notably for Ponchielli’s La Gioconda (1876).
More cosmopolitan than his Italian contemporaries, Boito admired Wagner. At the premiere performance of Mefistofele at La Scala in 1868, the composer, then twenty‑six, was booed, and accused of having Wagnerian influences.
Boito’s orchestration is much more elaborate than that of any other Italian contemporaneous composer, with the possible exception of Respighi. His adaptation goes beyond the sentimental yet doomed romance of Faust and Margherita. The work opens with a Prologue in Heaven, reminiscent of Mahler’s Eighth Symphony, a far cry from the music of Leoncavallo, Mascagni, Catalani and Giordano, then the leading Italian composers of the post‑Verdi era, save Puccini.
Michele Mariotti seemed possessed by the score. His meticulous reading brought out both the subtleties and the grandeur of this Prologue. It’s noteworthy that when the work reached Paris, both Saint‑Saëns and Debussy praised it, and even Berlioz acknowledged its power.
The cast for this Rome production was ideally chosen. Canadian bass John Relyea was stirring, with his deep, warm voice and charisma. In the hands of a more skilled director, he could have been sensational, but stage director Simon Stone’s antics made this Mefistofele underwhelming. He is meant to be Evil incarnate, not a pimp in a budget brothel. He is meant to be crafty, manipulative and conniving, but none of that materialized thanks to the director’s poor choices.
American tenor Joshua Guerrero was an ideal choice for the role of Faust. His voice is powerful, and his high notes brilliant. More importantly, his voice has squillo, essential for expressiveness in this role. His Act I aria “Dai campi, dai prati” was poignantly moving. Oddly, the director forgot to indicate that after having made a deal with the Devil, Faust is rejuvenated. Only the grey hair turned black, but the posture and the deportment of Faust remained lethargic.
Maria Agresta is a regal interpreter. Despite clumsy staging, she managed to convey multiple facets of Margherita, from naive small town girl to infatuated lover and finally to guilt ridden murderess awaiting punishment. In the opera’s most popular aria, “L’altra notte in fondo al mare,” she was magnetic. Her expression of horror at seeing Mefistofele in her cell was the only moment in the performance that was truly dramatically poignant, even scary. The enunciation of her disgust at Faust “Enrico, mi fai ribrezzo” was shattering. The timbre of her lyric soprano is ravishingly beautiful, but demanding roles in recent years have removed the brio from her highest notes. Her upcoming engagements show a wise return to her proper Fach.
In contrast to the glorious singing, the staging was blandly unimpressive. This opera is based on one of the greatest works of German and Western literature, and thought-provoking ideas abound. Through his gauche attempts to shock, Australian enfant terrible (emphasis on terrible) Simon Stone eliminated any metaphysical side to Boito’s treatment of the myth of Faust, reducing it to a narrative even more mundane than that of Gounod.
Rather than a dichotomy between Good and Evil, Stone’s puritanical vision is one of righteousness versus debauchery and dissoluteness. In the Prologue, Mefistofele arrives among the angels in a silver Elvis suit, brandishing whiskey. He makes a wager with the Forces of Good that he can win Faust’s soul.
The Act I Easter kermesse in medieval Frankfurt’s town square was transposed to a contemporary non‑descript town, as if erasing locale and epoch implied universality. The mysterious wandering friar that Faust perceives is the Elvis‑clad clown. The town amusement park passing for the kermesse and the clown for the friar may have worked had the clown been at least a scary one. Again, when Mefistofele appears to Faust in his study, he is underwhelming.
In Act II, the Garden scene where the rejuvenated Faust courts Margherita takes place in an amusement park. Faust and Margherita, Mefistofele and Margherita’s neighbour Marta and a third anonymous couple are frolicking in a sea of colourful balloons. The seduction of the pure Margherita is reduced to a quickie with the small town floozy.
The Witches Sabbath in Brocken in the Harz mountains in Northern Germany is transposed to a black mass in an urban setting. The scene was neither impressive nor scary, merely grotesque. A huge slaughtered pig was hung and bled into a bucket.
In Act III, Margherita is in her prison cell. The cell has an unlikely huge TV screen or an even more unlikely huge window. During the opera’s most powerful aria, “L’altra notte in fondo al mare,” actors appearing on the TV screen/window are playing out events narrated by Margherita: her seduction, her mother taking the sleeping potion given by Faust, which eventually kills her, and finally drowning her own illegitimate child in the river. It seemed like visual aids for the hearing impaired, which would be superfluous in our age of surtitles. The only effect of these scenes was to distract from these powerful moments. Again, the failure is Simon Stone’s alone.
Faust and Mefistofele come to the rescue, but the remorseful Margherita wants none of it. Much could have been done visually in this scene, but alas, whatever intentions were ineffective. The tension in the music didn’t translate to the actions of the three protagonists. Margherita is led to her death by men wearing military fatigues. Are the forces of order Fascist? Does the action take place in a country under military rule? Does such transposition bring anything of value to the story?
In Act IV, the vision of Helen of Troy is the only one with real sets, being the pillars of a Greek temple. The costumes of Helen, Pantalis and the other Greeks were traditional and pleasant enough. Maria Agresta looked stupendous as Venus. Again, military men burst into the scene for no clear reason.
The Epilogue, where Faust is on the verge of dying, takes place in a retirement home where the residents are paraplegics. The nurses are ostentatiously and atypically loving. It seems this setting has transformed Faust, making him realize the futility of further youthful adventures offered by Mefistofele. Contrary to Goethe and to Boito, this Faust does not seize the Bible, asking for God’s succour. Stone’s variation is that human salvation comes through community support and love. The scene might as well have been transposed to a sixties hippy commune.
Some warhorses are indestructible. Carmen, La Bohème and Rigoletto could be served in almost any sauce and they would survive, and perhaps even flourish, depending on the director’s vision. But less familiar works are fragile. As they are not iconic, they first need to be properly presented and understood to be appreciated. What the Roman public was subjected to was truncated, to the point of becoming more aptly “Scenes from Goethe’s Faust.” By removing the metaphysical and emphasizing the shock factor, via blood, sex, alcohol and Las Vegas, it’s doubtful those uninitiated with Goethe’s Faust could fathom the meaning of Helen of Troy in Act IV.
Lastly, regarding intermissions, this opera, lasting a reasonable two and a half hours, was stretched to Wagnerian proportions with two thirty minute intermissions. A recent Don Carlo (Verdi’s longest opera), lasted just as long, thanks to a single intermission. Thankfully, the days of three intermissions over four acts are largely over (think Manon Lescaut and La Bohème).
In this production, the time needed to change the meager sets cannot explain the pauses taken. Viewer fatigue contributes to lack of appreciation.
Despite its fatuous and visually hideous staging, this production was a musical triumph for its three protagonists (notably the splendid Maria Agresta), conductor Michele Mariotti, the orchestra, and most of all the chorus, marvellously prepared by its director, Ciro Visco. A telecast of the premiere was shown on Italian television. Try to find it, but a warning: listen without watching!
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