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La Cenerentola, ossia Maria Kataeva in trionfo (despite the staging) Barcelona
Teatro Liceu
05/16/2024 - & May 18, 19, 21, 24, 28, 29*, 30, 31, June 1, 2024
Gioachino Rossini: La Cenerentola, ossia La bontà in trionfo
Maria Kataeva*/Carol García (Cenerentola), Javier Camarena*/Sunnyboy Dladla (Don Ramiro), Florian Sempey/Carles Pachón* (Dandini), Paolo Bordogna*/Pablo Ruiz (Don Magnifico), Isabella Gaudí (Clorinda), Marina Pinchuk (Tisbe), Erwin Schrott*/Marko Mimica (Alidoro)
Cor Madrigal, Pere Lluís Biosca (chorus master), Orquestra Simfonica del Gran Teatre del Liceu, Giacomo Sagripanti (conductor)
Emma Dante (stage director), Carmine Maringola (sets & costumes), Christian Zucaro (lighting), Manuela Lo Sicco (choreography)
J. Camarena, M. Kataeva (© Antoni Bofill)
For a Rossini fan, seeing yet another version of one of his most frequently performed operas is appealing only if the cast is superlative. Happily, this was the case for this production of La Cenerentola at Barcelona’s venerable Teatro Liceu.
Rossini’s take on the iconic tale of Cinderella is bereft of fairy godmother, magic carriage or glass slippers. Some maintain it’s thanks to the Enlightenment that this tale, beloved by children for centuries had by Rossini’s time become more rational. However, I believe the explanation lies rather in the culture. Mediterranean children’s tales traditionally inculcate valour, honour, honesty and pragmatism rather than the supernatural. Dragons and fairies dwell more comfortably in the mist and cold than under the warm rays of the sun.
In lieu of the fairy godmother, Rossini’s opera has Alidoro, the Prince’s tutor, who poses as a beggar to be chased away by Cenerentola’s stepsisters, but he’s given food and coffee by the kind maiden. This is how Alidoro discovers the girl’s goodness, deems her a good potential bride for Prince Ramiro and decides to help her win his heart.
There is no wicked stepmother either. Instead, there’s a stepfather who treats Cenerentola as a servant. As for the glass slippers, they are replaced by a pair of diamond bracelets. Cenerentola gives the Prince one of them to identify her. To test the mettle of her stepsisters, stepfather and even Cenerentola herself, the Prince resorts to a subterfuge where he poses as his own valet and vice versa.
The revelation of the show was Russian mezzo Maria Kataeva, a singer endowed with an exceptionally dark mezzo, with a hue of contralto. Hers is a voice with truly distinct colouring, blessed with natural trills. Her diction was good but not yet perfect, though it’s only a matter of time. This is a singer to watch.
First heard in recital at last summer’s Rossini Opera Festival at Pesaro, it was clear Kataeva would establish herself as a leading Rossini mezzo. Unfortunately, the crowded stage and the misguided staging reduced her charisma as well as that of the other singers. It’s hard to impress when you share the stage with six clones of yourself.
Mexican tenor Javier Camarena is no stranger to the Teatro Liceu’s audience, as was clear by the generous applause. A master of bel canto, he impressed with his ease in the upper register. His Act II aria “Si ritrovarla io giuro” was brilliant, though the high notes in its cabaletta were somewhat forced. Dramatically, he was less at ease than one would have hoped. Most likely, he felt self‑conscious in his clownish pastel outfit and crowded by his silly robotic clones. At moments of tenderness and charm such as his Act I duet with Cenerentola “Un soave non so che,” the onstage chaos took from its intimacy.
Spanish baritone Carles Pachón was an absolute luxury as Dandini. The young singer, a rising star who specializes in Mozart and Rossini, has immense stage presence and true comic flair. Despite the heavy‑handed staging, almost all the smiles generated in this production were thanks to him. Blessed with a beautiful, youthful baritone, one wished he’d had more to sing.
Italian bass-baritone Paolo Bordogna is also very much in demand in comic opera. Though his humour is more slapstick than Pachón’s more subtle brand, he nonetheless has great stage presence and his deeper voice accentuates the buffo.
The great surprise of the evening was the heartthrob Uruguayan baritone Erwin Schrott, a leading Don Giovanni a decade or two ago, who played the philosopher and tutor to Prince Ramiro, Alidoro. This is a relatively small role and it is gracious and fortuitous that Schrott has taken it. His dry humour contrasted with Pachón and Bordogna, and was perhaps the most compelling. He elicited the only true laughter of the evening when he spread his coat as if exposing himself in order to show the town’s civil registry with the names of three daughters in the household. It seems the brilliant Mr. Schrott has tapped into a new facet of his talent. Hopefully, we’ll see him in further comic roles.
Despite one of the best possible casts for the opera, the production chosen was an unfortunate import from the Teatro dell’Opera di Roma, from director Emma Dante. I first encountered her work in a misguided production of Dvorák’s Rusalka at La Scala. The mermaid was made into an octopus, and the fairy tale was turned into a gruesome spectacle. Alas, here Dante does much the same to this fairy tale, albeit with less impressive sets than for Rusalka.
In a clin d’œil to Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette (2006), Cenerentola’s stepsisters, the daughters of the impoverished nobleman Don Magnifico, are clad in white wigs, and their crumbling home is given a Rococo layer of paint, resulting in ugly pastel colours.
The overture was used to explain Cenerentola’s suffering, by providing half a dozen mechanical clones that, when wound up, become living creatures that aid with endless household chores. This innovation would have sufficed during the overture. Alas, the cumbersome clones remained onstage for much of the opera. Enter Prince Ramiro and his valet Dandini, who are in turn accompanied by clones of themselves. This is unexplained, they don’t have infinite chores to perform. This is Dante’s lazy approach to filling the stage. The cutesy clones of Ramiro are gauche and rigid mechanical robots, and flirt ad nauseam with the female clones. Intended to solicit laughter, they didn’t even generate a smile, judging from the faces in the audience.
More troubling than the director’s mauvais gout is her penchant for gratuitous violence. Cenerentola is held in chains and beaten violently by her stepsisters and stepfather. During the ball, women aspiring for Ramiro’s attention are furious at her. Throughout the scene, they point guns at Cenerentola and finally – in despair – shoot themselves. In Act II, their cadavers are still onstage. If the intent was to remove any innocence from the fairy tale, it succeeded.
Cenerentola’s dress at the ball was truly hideous: a black widow’s outfit exposed from the front to reveal tight leggings underneath, a bizarre hybrid of Barbarella from the homonymous film (1968) and Cruella de Vil from 101 Dalmatians (2001). Such a distortion, coupled with her penchant for unexplained gratuitous violence are the director’s heavy‑handed and unsuccessful attempt at social critique.
As with the octopus mermaid inflicted on the public in La Scala’s Rusalka, Emma Dante creates monstrosities that divert attention from the action onstage. This horror show continues mercilessly throughout the performance. Even during the opera’s most popular musical excerpt, the glorious aria and rondo “Nacqui all’affanno...Non più mesta,” the clones continue annoyingly. This is the dénouement of the opera that is meant to exemplify the triumph of goodness (la bontà in trionfo) as noted in the opera’s title. Normally it’s a moment of sublime euphoria, where time is suspended, but Ms. Dante keeps on the distraction. This is truly a pity, as well as a waste, given the exceptional singers on hand. Let’s hope a sound recording of this vocally glorious performance is preserved. The visual is best forgotten.
Ossama el Naggar
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