La Scala holds a place close to the heart of all opera lovers, whether or not they have ever been there to hear a performance. Dating from the 18th century, the theater’s acoustics are legendary and its history is indelibly associated with the great names of Italian opera–Bellini, Donizetti, Verdi. From January 1, 2002 until (at least) December, 2004 the house is closed for renovation, but performances continue at a brand new venue, the ultramodern Teatro degli Arcimboldi, which opened in January,2002 so that there was no interruption in the company’s performance schedule.
While the temporary location is missing the cachet and exclusivity of the old, its larger capacity (2,400) and sleek design suggest an opening up of the institution to a broader public, a democratization with parallels to Paris’ Opera Bastille. Of course, the Bastille is a permanent home for the Paris Opera, while La Scala will return to its historic base.
The Marriage of Figaro premiered in 1786, but did not have its first performance at La Scala until 1815. It is an opera that perfectly represents the international nature of the form: composer Mozart, an Austrian; librettist da Ponte, an Italian; the original play by Beaumarchais, a Frenchman. (Da Ponte also played a major role in bringing opera to the United States.)
The humanity of the opera’s characters is universal and its fearlessly revolutionary themes are appreciated by all who value the ideals of democracy. The Beaumarchais play was banned in Paris and the Mozart/da Ponte operapreceded the French Revolution (1789). Yet it presents a servant as hero. Figaro outwits his aristocratic master who meets humbling defeat for his presumptuous assertion of privilege. Mozart, consistent in character, cleverly chose this work not only for its politics, but for the controversy it would inevitably generate and the impetus it would provide to his career in Italian opera.
The current production at La Scala is as handsome to look at as the high fashion shop windows of Milan; it seems almost calculated to please the stylish Milanese opera subscribers. The minimalist unit set (Ezio Frigerio) uses a few architectural elements and a minimum of furnishings, all rendered in washed out, mostly neutral colors. The costumes (Franca Squarciapino) are elegant interpretations of the period, also in mostly understated colors, with the exception of the countess’ gowns, rendered in golden yellows for the boudoir scene, dusty rose later on. It’s all extremely tasteful, chic, more haute than thou. Once the tone is established, however, it is adhered to with unrelieved discipline and offers nothing in the way of theatrical delight or surprise as the evening wears on.
Even the slavish single-mindedness of the physical production would not have mattered if the performance itself generated some of the liveliness inherent in and essential to the high-jinks of Mozart’s deliciously satirical comedy. Alas, for the first two acts there was a defeating flatness to the proceedings on stage. Rather than energetic interactions among the characters, there was a noticeable lack of an ensemble sensibility; each aria felt more like a set piece in a recital than part of a vital drama.
The singing, too, initially lacked energy and seemed unfocused. Cherubino’s big first act aria, Non so piu, was rendered by Monica Bacelli in a strangely breathy delivery and what seemed like oddly varying tempos from line to line. It was met at its conclusion, as, indeed, were most arias of the first two acts, by dead silence from the discriminating Milanese audience. The Figaro, Ildebrano d’Arcangelo, has a pleasingly rich basso instrument and a dashing, virile presence on stage. Here, however, he seemed like a caged lion, trapped by the miscalculated tone of the production.
Things picked up in the second half of the evening with Barbara Frittoli offering a touching Dove sono (though the audience withheld approval here, too). By the fourth act, the Susanna of Tatiana Lisnic finally warmed up sufficiently to deliver a charming reading of her final aria, which was well received.
In all, this attempt to impose upon Mozart’s joyously boisterous masterpiece a severely understatedstyle, both in its visual aspects and in the stage direction, sacrificed the essence of its theatricality. While there were moments of beautiful music-making, the misconceived emphasis on high style bled the life from the evening, leaving a dessicated mannequin where a breathing, pulsating work of art should have flourished.
