I Masnadieri,
Royal Opera House, London
Daylight robbery
By Edward Seckerson
07 October 2002
The Independent
Schiller wrote the original melodrama, Die R?uber (The Robbers); Verdi gaveLondon the opera, I masnadieri. But a brigand's life is not a happy one, andthat in itself should have been an omen. Verdi's librettist, Andrea Maffei,made a pig's ear of the silk purse, and not even Verdi's burgeoning talentcould salvage much dignity from it. There's a glimmer of originality in thedarkly tearful cello concertino of the prelude. There are flashes of magisterial fire. But, for the most part, abject misery turns to unfetteredjoy - and vice versa - in a bar or less of Verdi's jauntiestaccompagnamenti; for the most part, this is opera-by-numbers and it needsall the help it can get. But not here, not now, at the Royal Opera.Elijah Moshinsky's production - first seen in Baden-Baden, Savonlinna andEdinburgh - is new to London, though any evidence that Moshinsky, or indeedany competent stage director, has been anywhere near it is sadly lacking. Tocall the evening theatrically moribund would be to suggest that there hadonce been life in it - and that I doubt. It's thoughtless, it's lazy, it'severything that opera can no longer be. No excuses. Imaginative directionand design can inject vitality into the lamest material. But here, even PaulBrown, the normally talented designer, is at a loss. A wall of windows - presumably suggestive of the fragile divide between respectability and thelife of crime and deception to which the hero, Carlo, has been banished - is laboriously hand-turned by groups of costumed stagehands. Their bodylanguage suggests that they've worked on this production before - in anotherlife. They move with the weariness and disengagement of the undead. Raintrickles down the glass. Tears? Before bedtime, certainly.There's really not much else to say about the staging. Except that it makesthe singers look bad even when they're not. Three members of the originalcast, from four years back, recreate their roles. The odds against themdoing so again must be fairly high. On this showing, I masnadieri was bornand may die in London. Franco Farina, in the hefty tenor role of Carlo,should take some credit for his stamina. But try as he may (and he does, hereally does), elegance eludes him. The voice suffers drop-out syndrome whenhe takes the sound away (too much can belto in big houses); intonation isnot negotiable, but on occasions he appears to think it is. Paula Delligattiadopts what I would call the "big frock" approach with Amalia. Her singingis all about appearances, all about the notes and not nearly enough aboutwhat they tell us. And even the notes are cautious. Except the top "money"notes, unlovely and pushed enough to threaten the glasswork. Someinwardness, some intensity, would have been nice.The lower voices both scored heavily in that regard. The sonorous Rene Papemade much of too little as the duped father Count Massimiliano, and his duetwith Carlo is a glorious premonition of Verdian heartbreak to come. In anevening where even that great Verdi advocate Edward Downes seemed a littlebelow par, this was a moment to seize upon. Others were provided by the onetrue star of the evening, Dmitri Hvorostovsky as Carlo's brother, thevindictive Francesco - Iago in embryo. What this fine artist always gives usis value to the bitter end of every note. No short-changing. His vocal charisma comes not just from a vibrant and seductive instrument but from afierce intensity. "I've just had a terrible dream," he sings in hisclimactic scene. But it is no dream. He really is singing in this terribleproduction. Now that a new era has dawned at the Royal Opera, qualitycontrol should be stepped up to avoid dogs like this slipping through.Better a concert performance of I masnadieri than this.