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The Apotheosis of Genova’s Doge in Rome Roma
Teatro Costanzi
11/24/2024 - & November 27, 29, 30, December 1, 3, 4, 5*, 2024
Giuseppe Verdi : Simon Boccanegra
Luca Salsi*/Claudio Sgura (Simon Boccanegra), Eleanora Buratto*/Maria Motolygina (Amelia Grimaldi), Michele Pertusi*/Riccardo Zanellato (Jacopo Fiesco), Stefan Pop*/Anthony Ciaramitaro (Gabriele Adorno), Gevorg Hakobyan (Paolo Albiani), Luciano Leoni (Pietro), Angela Nicoli*/Caterina d’Angelo (A handmaid of Amelia), Michael Alfonsi*/Enrico Porcarelli (Captain of the crossbowmen)
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)
Richard Jones (Stage Director), Antony McDonald (Sets & Costumes), Adam Silverman (Lighting), Sarah Fahie (Choreography)
L. Salsi, E. Buratto (© Fabrizio Sansoni/Teatro dell’Opera di Roma)
Genova, where Simon Boccanegra takes place, is rarely featured in opera. Despite its glorious history and stunning monuments, it rarely registers with tourists visiting Italy. Many know Genova as the birthplace of Christopher Columbus (1451‑1506) and as the origin city for the culinary magic of garlic, pine nuts, basil leaves and grated cheese, known as pesto. Yet, the ubiquitous blue jeans that we wear are named after bleu de Gênes, the French appellation of a blue dye made in a nearby town and exported through Genova. The material of which jeans are made, denim (de Nîmes), is named after the French city of Nîmes. It was the Genovese who introduced the sturdy material dyed with bleu de Gênes on their ships. Moreover, England’s famed national flag of Saint George’s, a red cross against a white background, was copied from the Genovese. In the Middle Ages, Genova, Venice, Amalfi and Pisa were mighty maritime republics that controlled much of the trade with Asia and Africa. English vessels in Mediterranean waters are believed to have adopted the Genovese flag to get the protection it afforded. A few centuries later, it was Genovese shipbuilders who built a fleet for the English that sank the Spanish Armada in 1588.
Simon Boccanegra is recognized today as one of Verdi’s most powerful works, despite having had a rough start in its original 1857 version. This was due to a cumbersome libretto by Francesco Maria Piave (1810 876), librettist for ten of Verdi’s twenty eight operas. Despite Simon Boccanegra’s initial lack of success, Verdi remained attached to it, and was to revisit it with the brilliant Arrigo Boito (1842‑1918), librettist to Verdi’s ultimate two works, Otello (1887) and Falstaff (1893). The outcome was the outstanding 1881 reconstructed masterpiece that we now enjoy.
Simon Boccanegra is an ingenious work that combines political intrigue with paternal and romantic love. In fourteenth century Genova, the pirate Boccanegra becomes the plebeian choice for the position of Doge of the Genovese republic, in the hope that this political consecration will make him worthy of Maria, daughter of the patrician Giacopo Fiesco. Disapproving of his daughter’s affair with Simon Boccanegra, Fiesco sequesters Maria, who soon dies of a broken heart.
Fiesco blames Boccanegra for his daughter’s death, with revenge becoming his raison d’être. Twenty‑five years later, Amelia, daughter of Boccanegra and Maria, long thought lost or dead, is revealed to be the adoptive child of the noble Grimaldis. If this weren’t enough, she is also in love with patrician Gabriele Adorno, who conspires with Fiesco and other patricians to eliminate Boccanegra. The plot is indeed complicated, but it successfully combines these various passions.
The reasons for Verdi’s attachment to Simon Boccanegra are twofold. The father/daughter love between Amelia and Boccanegra is as important as the romantic love between Amelia and Gabriele, a rare feature in opera. Paternal love was a theme that haunted Verdi ever since his infant children’s death earlier in his career. The other reason is the nobility and patriotic sense of Boccanegra. Not only does he reconcile patricians and plebeians in Genova in the opera’s famous Council Chamber scene in Act I, but he firmly stands against the fratricidal wars between the two maritime republics of Genova and Venice. Two letters that Petrarch (1304‑1374) sent to the historical figure of Boccanegra and to Venice’s Doge implore both to avert war, reminding both they are sons of Italy. To cite such an early reference to Italian nationalism was in the spirit of the times. After all, Verdi was an ardent supporter of Italy’s unification.
The differences between the 1857 debut and the reconstructed 1881 version are substantial, and in all respects, for the better. Verdi’s revisiting of the work twenty‑three years after its premiere is reminiscent of his reworking of Macbeth (1847) for the Paris Opera two decades later into a more effective French version, rarely performed, and recently seen in Parma. The glaring early Verdi “Umpapa” rhythms are mostly subdued and Boito’s much more effective reworking of the libretto makes for a less convoluted plot. Though dramatically moving, it’s disconcerting that the intense Act III Boccanegra-Fiesco duet, “Come un fantasma, Fiesco t’appar,” is set to a tempo di Valzer. Masterfully, conductor Michele Mariotti, arguably Italy’s leading opera conductor, was able to hold the reins of the orchestra and to all but eliminate these unpleasant “banda” sounds of the score.
Simon Boccanegra is one of my favourite Verdi operas. Though this production is a modern one, set in the 1950s or 1960s with unappealing costumes, it’s nonetheless one of the most effective I’ve seen. Instead of a conflict between plebeians and patricians, we have a labour conflict between the harbour’s workers and the executives. The tumultuous mood evokes Kazan’s On the Waterfront (1954) with its bleak, gritty portrayal of longshoremen.
The sets for the prologue and the final scene, originally set in a piazza in front of a patrician palace for the former, and inside the Doge’s palace for the latter, are set in a piazza inspired by the designs of Giorgio De Chirico (1888‑1978). The elongated structure with a De Chirico sense of depth and perspective enhances a sense of solitude and desolation appropriate for both scenes.
The Doge’s “palace” is not a regal one, but rather a modest dwelling evocative of a doll’s house. Sparsely furnished and visually disturbing, it exudes an appropriate sense of anxiety. This modesty is meant to accentuate Boccanegra’s noble, unassuming nature. This may be a flawed vision by stage director Richard Jones. Part of the complexity of the character of Boccanegra is his goodness and sagacity, despite his tyranny. To make the Genovese Doge too saintly renders the opera’s plot somewhat puerile.
Visually, the most successful enactment was Act II’s Council Chamber scene, with the patricians and plebeians on opposite sides. Interestingly, the latter were in modern garb and the former in historical dress, insinuating the outmoded patrician outlook.
The most visually haunting scene took place on the beach, in the garden of the Grimaldis’ palace where Amelia lives. Antony McDonald’s sets deftly conjured the rocky Ligurian coast. A white lighthouse contrasted with the dark rocks and even darker skies, typical of Mediterranean nights. Adam Silverman’s lighting was truly brilliant, oppressively dark, contrasting with the white lighthouse, evoking danger with the Paolo Albiani menacingly lurking. However, for an opera that takes place in Genova revolving around power in the maritime republic, the Mediterranean Sea itself was glaringly absent.
Another intelligent idea, occasionally seen in other productions, was to show Maria, Boccanegra’s beloved (and Fiesco’s daughter), though she is not a character in the opera. We see her sequestered in a room in Fiesco’s palace, attended by nuns. The discreet nuns are to portray the family’s shame at her affair. As previously mentioned, the final scene is at the same location as the opening, though this is contrary to the plotline. Boccanegra dies painfully by poisoning, administered by the vicious Paolo Albiani, due to the Doge’s refusal to let him marry Amelia, now recognized by Boccanegra as his own daughter. During his ultimate moments, he repairs to the same bed on which Maria died, surrounded by the same nuns.
One “innovative” idea was having a young girl (presumably the daughter of Boccanegra and Maria) appear at the beginning and the end of the opera. It’s evocative of the 2022 Parma production, where Fiesco held a doll, symbolizing his late daughter or his lost granddaughter during the moving “Il lacerato spirito”. The same young girl appears at the end of the opera while Boccanegra is dying, symbolizing his serenity at having found his long‑lost child. Successful in the case of the recurring nuns, the jeux de miroir in the case of the child was needless overkill.
While the public were not unanimously delighted with the staging of this performance, they were with the high quality of the singers. Indeed, it was miraculous to have assembled these four leading singers for one production.
The uncontested star was Italian baritone Luca Salsi, in the title role. Renowned for his powerful but dry voice, he surprised with his strong yet subtle portrayal. Recently admired for his excellent acting as Baron Scarpia in Parma and Falstaff in Vienna, Salsi proved once again that he’s an exceptional singing actor. Though Boccanegra requires a more velvety voice, Salsi compensated thanks to his nuanced interpretation. His Doge was more human and vulnerable than most. This quality made Act I’s recognition scene with Amelia, “M’abbraccia, o figlia mia”, where she recognizes the portrait of her mother, his most moving and effective one. Likewise, his death scene, especially the aria, “Oh rifrigerio!...la marina brezza,” was truly moving. He was somewhat less convincing in the scenes where the Doge was at his most choleric.
Eleanora Buratto had the ideal voice for Amelia, a pure and ethereal yet powerful lyric soprano with a beautiful hue conveying femininity but also character. Buratto’s voice, already impressive last year as Maria Stuarda in Valencia, is in transition towards lirico spinto. Amelia is no damsel in distress. She endured a traumatic childhood where her old guardian died when she was a small child. She never knew her mother who died in childbirth. Though she was adopted by a kind patrician family, she has no idea who her parents are. She is aware and disapproving of Fiesco’s machinations. Buratto was able to convey the different facets of Amelia: loving and hopeful in the Act I aria, “Come in quest’ora bruna” and her duet with Gabriele Adorno “Ti veggo alfin...Perché si tardi giungi”, defiant in the Act I aria “Nell’ora soave,” where she describes her abduction and escape, and vulnerable yet joyful in the recognition scene.
Romania’s Stefan Pop is among today’s most prominent lyric tenors’ and is admired for his ease in the upper register. While he’s known for his Donizetti and Bellini roles, he has recently been singing heavier Verdi and Puccini roles. His bel canto training has produced inspired elegance and impeccable phrasing. His lyric tenor is youthful sounding, conveying passion and ardour. In his Act II aria, “Sento avvampar nell’anima”, he expresses his jealousy vehemently, without lapsing into parody.
Italian bass Michele Pertusi is a busy and versatile singer. Admired in recent months in vastly different roles, such as Moses in Mosè in Egitto in Piacenza, Banquo in the French version of Macbeth in Parma, Timur in Turandot in Venice and Basilio in Il barbiere di Siviglia in Pesaro, he impressed as the patrician Jacopo Fiesco. Despite his rage against plebeian Boccanegra for his tyrannical exile of the city’s noblemen, the confiscation of their property and, most of all, due to the death of his daughter, Pertusi portrayed the old, angry Fiesco soberly and with subtlety. Despite conveying the old man’s fury and desire for vengeance, his aristocratic comportment and elegance never brand him a true villain. His movingly performed “Il lacerato spirito,” from the Prologue, one of Verdi’s best arias for bass, was shattering.
Armenian baritone Gevorg Hakobyan was an appropriately menacing Paolo Albiani. With excellent makeup, a harsh facial expression and a powerful voice, he was evil and perfidy incarnate, though he did not resort to caricature.
Needless to say, the public were generous with their applause by the opera’s end. With such thrilling singing, together with Michele Mariotti’s masterful conducting, the enthusiasm was well deserved.
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