|
Back
Love and Revenge in the Time of Civil War Hannover
Staatsoper
06/13/2026 - & June 8*, 17, 20, 25, 28, 2026
Giuseppe Verdi: Il trovatore
Grga Peros (Conte di Luna), Joseph Dahdah (Manrico), Silvia Beltrami*/Alina Dragnea (Azucena), Cristiana Oliveira (Leonora), Shavleg Armasi (Ferrando), Luisa Müller (Ines), Antonio Fernández Brixis (Ruiz), Sang‑Ho Lee/Mohsen Rashidkhan* (Vecchio zingaro), Steffen Thole (Messo)
Chor der Staatsoper Hannover, Lorenzo Da Rio (chorus master), Niedersächsisches Staatsorchester Hannover, Masaru Kumakura (conductor)
Wolfgang Nägele (stage director), Lisa Dässler (sets), Irina Speckelmeyer (costumes), Holger Klede (lighting), Clemens Heidrich (videography), Anne do Paço (dramaturgy)
J. Dahdah, S. Beltrami (© Bettina Stöss)
Il Trovatore is one of Verdi’s most enduring operas. Melodically rich, it’s built on the foundation of four great roles: Manrico, the Troubadour, a tenor; Leonora, a soprano; the gypsy Azucena, a mezzo; and il Conte di Luna, a baritone. The arias, duets and trios written for these voices eclipse much of Verdi’s previous operatic output.
Dramatically, it’s intense but highly implausible. It’s easy to ridicule an opera whose plot originates with a nobleman burning a gypsy woman at the stake and her daughter Azucena then seeking revenge by attempting to burn alive the killer’s child and mistakenly burning her own child instead. She then escapes with the nobleman’s baby, raising him as her own, calling him Manrico. All this happens before the opera even starts. At its conclusion, the work sees the nobleman’s other son, il Conte di Luna, killing Manrico, his love rival for the noblewoman Leonora, only to find out from Azucena that he’s killed his own brother.
The plot’s implausibility makes Il Trovatore the cliché of a madcap opera, complete with convoluted plot, to the extent that it was repeated in the Marx Brothers’ A Night at the Opera (1935). It was also utilized as a backdrop for the opening scene of Luchino Visconti’s epic film, Senso (1954). Visconti evoked the Venetians’ struggle against the ruling Austrians in 1866, shortly before its liberation by the young Kingdom of Italy. Visconti saw a parallel between the opera’s doomed lovers and the film’s protagonists, a Venetian countess and an Austrian lieutenant. The riveting opening scene takes place at Venice’s stunning opera house La Fenice.
Despite its odd libretto, Il Trovatore’s setting is historically correct. It’s the civil war that followed the death of King Martin of Aragon in 1410. Il Conte di Luna and Manrico champion opposite sides vying for succession. Di Luna’s camp has the support of the Queen and the aristocracy, while Manrico’s side bets on the underdog James of Urgell, who has no choice but to recruit bandits and gypsies. This very divide, the classic struggle between official power and the oppressed, offers myriad possibilities for stage direction. Sadly, few directors employ this historical fact to energize their stagecraft.
Director Wolfgang Nägele has opted to update to the present day in a country plagued by civil war, which is close enough to the original plot. Ferrando, di Luna’s henchman and propagandist, morphs to a TV anchorman, which was quite effective. Converting the band of gypsies into tourists did not convince, however, unless Nägele was shooting for the now en vogue “disaster tourism”. Leonora proceeding to a convent as a result of her thinking Manrico dead would be a stretch of the imagination for any post‑1800 setting. Armed with pistols, certain chivalrous behaviour (e.g. not shooting Manrico on the spot in Act I’s trio) looked highly implausible in a contemporary setting, but opera is not realism. Still, pushing the limits of an opera with an unrealistic plot is rather extravagant.
Legendary tenor Enrico Caruso (1873-1921) once said it takes the world’s four greatest singers for any successful Il Trovatore. This is indeed the case, as the four roles are demanding. Il trovatore (written in 1853) is often thought of as the last bel canto opera, for Verdi’s style changed substantially with his next opera, La traviata, written the same year. The noblewoman Leonora is a bel canto role, full of ornamentations, requiring masterful technique. The problem lies in the ideal voice for this role. Many think of a spinto or even a dramatic soprano as the voice most suited for Leonora. However, this role requires more agility than Verdi’s spinto roles. Often coloraturas have portrayed this tragic heroine with mixed results, as most are too lightweight for such a tragic role. The ideal Leonora must be a first‑rate lyric soprano capable of fulfilling the role’s demands.
Heard three years ago in the same role in Lisbon, Portuguese soprano Cristiana Oliveira was an ideal Leonora, thanks to her gorgeous lyric soprano and her impeccable technique, and her dark, distinct timbre which added gravitas to the tragic role. Gifted with a compelling stage presence, her rendition of Act I’s “Tacea la notte placida” was one of the evening’s highlights, delivered with crystal clear diction and movingly nuanced. Since her 2023 interpretation of Leonora in Lisbon, Oliveira’s lyric soprano has darkened, possibly due to her taking on heavier roles, but she still has total ease in her upper register.
In the finale of Act II, Leonora, believing Manrico to be killed in battle, is set to enter a convent. Di Luna awaits at the gate of the convent to abduct her. In the present setting, using an electric chainsaw, di Luna fells a huge tree to block access to the convent by car (a Mercedes, naturally). Manrico rushes to the rescue; the bewildered and ecstatic Leonora is incredulous in Act II’s intense finale, “E deggio e posso crederlo”. Oliveira managed to convey Leonora’s immense joy at seeing Manrico alive, despite the ensuing duel (here, a gunfight) with di Luna. Her phrasing of one of Verdi’s greatest lines for soprano was beautifully delivered. However, the onstage chaos diminished the lyric intensity of the scene.
Last January, I heard Lebanese tenor Joseph Dahdah for the first time, as Don José in Carmen in the North Italian city of Pavia. Dahdah was an ideal Don José, the best I’ve heard in over a decade, endowed with just the right timbre for the role, robust and youthful. Given his age, this lyric tenor may well grow into a dramatic one. Gifted with amazingly secure high notes, he is utterly breathtaking to watch in action as either Don José or Manrico. Given his superlative technique, one needn’t worry that he’d damage his voice in the process, as is often the case.
In his debut in the role, Dahdah was an exuberant Manrico, exuding youth and vigour. The contemporary updating suited him perfectly; he moved well onstage and was credible as a modern day rebel or freedom fighter. He impressed in the Act I trio “Di geloso amor sprezzato,” where despite his clarion voice and youthful vigour, he did not attempt to upstage his colleagues, whether vocally or scenically. He was also equally remarkable in his scene with Azucena, where he questions his own identity. Dahdah managed to convey the young man’s vulnerability through minor inflections in his delivery of the text.
At the aforementioned production of Carmen, I was greatly impressed by his French diction. As a native of Lebanon, he is likely a native French speaker. Again, in the present production, I was utterly impressed by Dahdah’s Italian diction. Beyond mere proper enunciation, the young tenor has a feel for the Italian language. I still have to hear him in German and in Russian to see if his linguistic talent covers all major operatic languages. Dahdah is also blessed with the looks of a jeune premier. This young tenor will go far; he has it all, and then some.
When I found out that the Lebanese tenor was debuting in this thrilling role in Hanover, I knew I had to attend. Alas, my travel plans were already made and I could only attend a dress rehearsal. Still, I got to hear him and the excellent Cristiana Oliveira in two of the most challenging roles in the repertoire.
Act II was interestingly and effectively staged. Usually, Azucena sings among her fellow gypsies. Here, there are no gypsies but tourists visiting the location where Azucena lives in the seemingly war‑stricken country. Understandably, Azucena is marked by her mother having been burnt to death and by her own burning of her child by mistake (and bringing up the child of her mother’s murderer in his place). Needless to say, she is a seriously damaged person suffering from this major trauma. She has kept her dead child’s room intact and this is where her adoptive son Manrico dwells. The room is unusually child‑like for tough kid Manrico, which belabors Manrico’s psychological profile.
Heard as Ulrica in Un ballo in Maschera in Parma in 2019, Italian mezzo Silvia Beltrami was a first rate Azucena, both vocally and dramatically. Thankfully she avoided the histrionics resorted to by too many Azucenas. Yet, she was able to portray a traumatized woman who had burnt her own child and raised her nemesis’s offspring instead. One can imagine the state of mind of such a woman. Her “Stride la vampa” was impassioned with impressive low notes and mercifully without excessive chest notes.
Croatian Grga Peros’s Count di Luna was less convincing, despite his beautiful delivery. His “Il balen del suo sorriso,” possibly Verdi’s most beautiful aria for baritone, was delightfully interpreted, lovelorn in the opening passages and exuding virility in the second part, “Non puote il mondo intero, donna, rapirti a me,” defying his rival and even God. Peros’s voice is attractive and virile but I would not qualify him as a Verdi baritone. One had sympathy for this forlorn lover’s rejection. As a Count in a structured society, he didn’t convey sufficient authority, and his deportment was far from aristocratic. However, this staging is an updated one, and di Luna is no nobleman. So, this di Luna is more the head of a gang or a militia than a nobleman. This considered, we may forgive his non‑aristocratic deportment.
In this updated staging, Ferrando was made into a television anchorman, the modern day equivalent of the regime’s spokesman and propagandist. After all, it is Ferrando who narrates the story (from the Count’s viewpoint) to his followers (and the general public on TV). Georgian bass Shavleg Armasi seemed to enjoy playing the pompous personality puffing his cigar at every opportunity. His only aria “All’erta! All’erta!” had the right authoritative tone in the narration of the gypsy woman’s revenge and theft of the old Count’s child; he set the tone for a tragic story.
Masaru Kumakura conducted masterfully, showing his affinities for both Verdi and opera. Much of the time, he paid special attention to the needs of the singers in this vocally demanding work. At times, his choices of tempi surprised, such as the slower than usual tempo for Ferrando’s aria. This was possibly to convey the anchorman’s pomposity. In all, this was a thoroughly enjoyable performance. My only regret was not having attended the premiere.
Ossama el Naggar
|
