October 14 2003 at 10:36 AM
Renée Fleming Brings Old-Style Glamour Back to the Metropolitan Opera
James C. Taylor
The soprano's triumph in La traviata at the company's season-opening
gala, with Vargas, Hvorostovsky and Gergiev by her side, makes one
think of opera's putative Golden Age.
Verdi: La traviata
Libretto by Francesco Maria Piave after Dumas's La Dame aux camélias
Renée Fleming (soprano) - Violetta Valéry
Ramón Vargas (tenor) - Alfredo Germont
Dmitri Hvorostovsky (baritone) - Giorgio Germont
Jossie Perez (mezzo-soprano) - Flora Bervoix
Thomas Hammons (bass-baritone) - Marquis d'Obigny
James Courtney (bass-baritone) - Baron Douphol
Vaclovas Daunoras (bass) - Dr. Grenville
Eduardo Valdes (tenor) - Gaston
Diane Elias (mezzo-soprano) - Annina
Metropolitan Opera Orchestra and Chorus
Valery Gergiev (conductor)
Franco Zeffirelli (original production and set design)
Laurie Feldman (stage director)
Monday 29 September 2003
Metropolitan Opera House, Lincoln Center, New York City
A production of The Metropolitan Opera
A grand Monday night opening at the old Metropolitan Opera House on 39th Street
and Broadway once represented opera at its most glamorous: stars who came to town made headlines; costumes were
lavish, onstage and off; translations were left to the mind instead of
surtitles. The old house may have been razed years ago, but at the
Met's 2003 season-opening gala, the spirit of that era was alive and well.
As most opera fans in the New York area, if not the entire known universe, are
by now aware, Renée Fleming was making her Met debut in the role of
Violetta Valéry. She may not yet have achieved the star status of such
legends of the old Met stage as Caruso or Callas, but at the moment, Fleming is
the company's biggest box-office draw, and nearly 4,000 people packed the
(current) Metropolitan Opera House for
her first Traviata there. No doubt, some had come hoping for some dramatic
mishap: a cracked high E, an embarrassing costume faux pas or any sort of
stumble that would make the night one of operatic infamy.
That might have made for a better story to tell the grandchildren, but in the
event there were no disasters: the night - for Fleming and for opera lovers -
was close to perfect. Yes, there were minor flaws here and there: Fleming's
voice was a bit raw during some of the big notes in Act I, and her vocal
affectations - beloved by some, loathed by others - were present but rarely
distracting. All things considered, however, this was a carefully prepared and
passionate performance by an artist at the peak of her powers.
This Violetta marks a major step forward vocally for Fleming since her
high-profile ventures in the bel canto repertory in the past few years. In 2002's
Met production of Bellini's Il Pirata as well as on her CD "Bel
Canto," she seemed uneasy with the music. Sure, her plush soprano was up
to most of the technical challenges, but there was never an emotional
connection with the direct and unabashed intensity
of Bellini and Donizetti's scores.
Luckily, Verdi's La traviata comes from just that period when Italian opera was
moving from bel canto to high Romantic style, and so Fleming's struggles with
that earlier repertoire have paid off. She may never conquer Bellini's Norma,
but she sings the florid sections of Violetta's music with considerable skill.
She also seems to have
been working on her Italian. With the exception of Desdemona in Verdi's Otello,
Fleming's finest work has been in the German and French repertoire. But here,
from her first few measures of recitative forward, her diction and expression
were believable and moving.
Naturally, a fallen woman can only be as tragic as the men who surround her,
and the Met dutifully provided Ramón Vargas and Dmitri Hvorostovsky to
accompany their star soprano.
Vargas is quietly surpassing his over-hyped peers and may well become the
reigning tenor of choice. He is not a great actor, and his voice starts to thin
on certain top notes, but Vargas possesses a bright, firm tone - and in these
days where Chéniers and Don Alvaros are in short supply, that makes him
a very welcome presence on stage.
Hvorostovsky's performance was a trickier matter. True, the Siberian baritone
has charm to spare, but Germont père requires more than just swank. The
voice was in fine form and one could not ask for a better-sung "Di
Provenza il mar," but there was little in the way of paternal presence.
Instead of benevolent tenderness between Violetta and her lover's father, there
was the whiff of sexual tension: when
she handed him his coat to leave, it felt as if either might make a pass at the
other. This subtext was interesting, yes, but hardly revelatory in itself (an
older Frenchman with romantic lust? Quel horreur!), and Hvorostovsky didn't mix
it with anything like
nostalgia, futility or self-restraint. He's got the voice and the gray hair; he
just needs experience - if he's still singing in thirty years, he'll own the
role.
Interestingly, amidst all of the festivities, the most surprising element of
the evening seemed to be almost overlooked, even though it was standing in
front of everyone. For the first time in years, James Levine was not at the
Met's podium on opening night. Leading the Met orchestra was principal guest conductor
Valery Gergiev, wearing (in contrast to Levine's standard white-tie-and-tails)
a black shirt with no jacket. Gergiev led a swift account of the score and
there was no evidence of the problems - with Verdi or the Met orchestra - that
the Russian conductor has had in the past. There were almost no instances of
his notoriously wild tempos or exaggerated phrasings; in fact, Gergiev kept to
the written score closely, even excising a number of the traditional vocal
embellishments.
No one seemed to mind. The evening proved not only that love is the heartbeat
of the universe (as the Met Titles flashed on thousands of seat backs), but
that Verdi is the heartbeat of opera. When the composer's work is performed
with such care and faithfulness, it is clear why his operas are performed
(over-performed, perhaps) and
loved by so many people all over the world. (Special credit in this case must
go to stage director Laurie Feldman for uncluttering Franco Zeffirelli's
original excesses.) The action, the emotions, the genuine pull between passion
and familial duty - all of this was vividly alive on stage, simply because
everyone was committed to
putting on Verdi's La traviata as it was written. Such clarity is often
attempted (at the Met and elsewhere) but not so often achieved.
On this particular Monday night, the big names, the formal attire, the
tradition all seemed to work in favor of opera instead of against it. It's nice
to think of the old Met and wonder if those days were always as glamorous and
exciting as legend has it. They probably weren't, but this gala Traviata made
it possible to imagine they were.
© andante Corp. October 2003. All rights reserved.
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