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Calaf vanquishes the Deep State Venezia
Teatro La Fenice
08/30/2024 - & September 3, 8*, 14, 18, 2024
Giacomo Puccini: Turandot
Saioa Hernández (Turandot), Selene Zanetti (Liù), Roberto Aronica (Calaf), Michele Pertusi (Timur), Marcello Nardis (L’Imperatore Altoum), Simone Alberghini (Ping), Valentino Buzza (Pang), Paolo Antognetti (Pong), Armando Gabba (Un Mandarino), Massimo Squizzato*/Alessio Zanetti (Il Principe di Persia)
Coro del Teatro La Fenice, Alfonso Caiani (chorus master), Piccoli Cantori Veneziani, Diana D’Alessio (chorus master). Orchestra del Teatro La Fenice, Francesco Ivan Ciampa (conductor)
Cecilia Ligorio (stage director), Alessia Colosso (sets), Simone Valsecchi (costumes), Fabio Barettin (lighting)
(© Michele Crosera)
Having enjoyed this work in Paris last November, in Barcelona in December, and in New York in March, this Venice production marks my fifth Turandot in less than a year. This can be unsettling, as one is inevitably assaulted by a loud Teutonic, Scandinavian or Slavic ice princess singing in unintelligible Italian, with little affinity for either the language of Dante or the music of Puccini. As for staging, it’s either excessive chinoiserie à la Zeffirelli or a barebones “modern” staging which confuses austerity with boredom.
Luckily, neither prospect awaited me at La Fenice, to my mind the most beautiful opera house in the world. Luckily for me, the soprano they’d booked for the role of Turandot was unexpectedly indisposed, and replaced by one of the most exciting singers of our day, Spain’s Saioa Hernández, hugely admired last season in Madrid and Geneva. As for this 2019 staging by Cecilia Ligorio, it landed somewhere between orientalist and modern. Most interestingly, it showed insight in line with Puccini’s sensibilities, and it also foreshadows political excesses through societal control in the present day.
Set in an undefined place evocative of 1920s China, when Puccini created the opera, it looked like a European-controlled “concession,” such as Tianjin, Hankou, Guangzhou, Harbin or Shanghai, where Western powers such as Britain, France, the United States, Russia, Germany, Austria-Hungary and Italy ran entire cities or sections of cities as a “capitulation” following the 1901 Boxers Rebellion. The opera’s characters, the Mandarin, and even the three bureaucrats, Ping, Pang and Pong, were dressed in European clothes, with Turandot herself and Emperor Altoum clad in traditional Chinese style, with the Chinese populace in uniformly nondescript attire.
This was mixed with a dystopian cautionary message. The country seemed controlled by the Mandarin, a possible allegory to the “deep state,” who ran the show, while the Emperor was a figurehead puppet. As in the Hunger Games series, or several Korean dystopian television serials, the masses are kept distracted by some ongoing contest or game. The “game” here is Turandot and her riddles, and the price is paid by foreign princes eager to try their luck.
Ligorio staged her singers impeccably, including the minor character of the Persian Prince (Massimo Squizzato). Despite his dearth of lines, for once this character was memorable. His rapturous and proud resignation at facing death for having had the chance of wedding Turandot seemed to haunt Calaf. In Ligorio’s vision, this would seem to be what triggered Calaf’s curiosity and determination to conquer the “ice princess”.
To confirm the “deep state” idea, Emperor Altoum, brilliantly acted by tenor Marcello Nardis, seemed truly distressed by the execution of the Persian Prince and Calaf’s insistence on facing the challenge. During the riddle scene, he rejoiced at every one of Calaf’s correct answers. Moreover, his dark imperial garb changed to white at the opera’s joyous end. For once, Altoum was not the celestial distant Emperor. He was a sad powerless monarch who interacted with his people, especially the children. Likewise, the children wore uniformly drab gray clothes throughout the opera, which changed to white once Calaf had triumphed. In this staging, the children were separated from their parents (apparently to be brought up by the state) and were only intermittently reunited with them at special events, such as witnessing an execution or a new contestant’s attempt at the riddles. At the end of the opera, children and parents are happily reunited.
Saioa Hernández was miraculous in this role. Finally, we have a true dramatic soprano able to confront the role’s high tessitura with extreme ease. Moreover, as a Spaniard, her understanding of Italian is complete. This is a welcome change from the many Wagnerians who often sing the role. In her glorious Act II aria, “In questa reggia”, she managed to covey both tenderness and rage when Turandot evokes her ancestor Lo‑u‑Ling, abducted and raped by a foreign invader (the genesis for her eternal vendetta against men). It wasn’t only her “In questa reggia,” the evening’s most riveting moment, but Hernández’ every utterance was thrilling. Hopefully, other major companies will engage this colossal talent.
Italian tenor Roberto Aronica may not have been the ideal choice for the role of Calaf, especially opposite such a magnificent Turandot. Nonetheless, he acquitted himself well. More a lyric tenor, Aronica has been taking on heavier roles in recent years. His “Nessun dorma” was more than adequate, despite a lacklustre final high note. It did not generate as much applause as it usually does. His acting, on the other hand, was first‑rate. He showed deep emotion at Liù’s death and convincingly conveyed his obsessive fascination with Turandot.
Italian soprano Selene Zanetti was a touching Liù, endowed with a beautiful timbre and great acting skills. Her first aria, “Signore, ascolta” was moving and elegantly sung, though one would have preferred a more sustained final pianissimo at its conclusion. Her Act III aria, “Tu che di gel sei cinta” was truly touching and expressive. At Liù’s death, the constellation of stars illuminating the night sky were extinguished. At the end of the opera, a hopeful bright orange sun filled the sky.
Veteran Italian bass Michele Pertusi was a noble Timur, regal despite his shabby attire. Pertusi still possesses an impressive and powerful voice. As always, his clear diction and stage presence are impressive.
The role of Emperor Altoum, Turandot’s father, is a minor one that demands a character singer. Hence, it’s often given to older tenors past their prime, who are unfortunately sometimes inadequate. Italian tenor Marcello Nardis showed he was anything but! His great acting made this secondary role infinitely more memorable.
Simone Alberghini, Valentino Buzza and Paolo Antognetti, respectively Ping, Pang and Pong, were delightful. Ligorio dispensed with the commedia dell’arte antics of the three Imperial bureaucrats, despite the fact that Count Carlo Gozzi’s 1762 play (on which the opera is based) is deeply entrenched in that art form. Nonetheless, they were funny enough to serve as a respite from the main story of Calaf and Turandot and a gloomy deep state-controlled China.
Armando Gabba was an appropriately dour Mandarin, carrying a bureaucrat’s briefcase, bespectacled and dashing in his trench coat. If he represented the “deep state,” we didn’t see him end tragically. Subtlety is preferable to blatant overkill.
Francesco Ivan Ciampa conducted the score with passion. He emphasized the work’s extremes, from violent dramatic moments to dreamy lyrical passages. He paid close attention to the score’s complex texture. His singers seemed subjugated by his passionate reading, which explains why they were at their best. Despite his vigour, he never drowned out the singers, an easy pitfall in this opera.
Puccini died before finishing Turandot, but the work premiered in 1926, fifteen months after his death. These five performances at La Fenice are in honour of the centenary of Puccini’s passing. Though he’d hoped Riccardo Zandonai (1883‑1944) would finish his score, Puccini’s son Tonio opted instead for Franco Alfano (1875‑1954), who was also the preferred choice of publisher Ricordi, as Alfano had recently composed an orientalist opera La leggenda di Sakùntala (1921) with heavy orchestration similar to Turandot.
There is an alarming new tendency to end the opera with Puccini’s last notes (Liù’s death) and having no final love duet or joyous conclusion. Fortunately this was not the case here. Conductor Ciampa opted for what Toscanini chose at the opera’s premiere: a short silence after the end of Puccini’s music, the removal of Liù’s corpse, and all leave the stage except Calaf and Turandot, who then conclude with Alfano’s music. With Alfano’s help, Puccini’s opera triumphed. With Cecilia Ligorio’s and Calaf’s help, the Deep State was vanquished.
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