Reading List: The Real Traviata

René Weis' new monograph on Marie Duplessis makes big claims even before getting past the title page. Marie Duplessis, the charismatic and consumptive courtesan of nineteenth-century Paris, has long fascinated readers of Dumas' novel and lovers of Verdi's opera... to say nothing of Garbo devotees. I'm not exempt from the fascination, and have been disappointed by the comparative dearth of scholarly attention paid to her. I was eager to see what Weis would make of her history and her legend.

Marie Duplessis at the theatre

As should surprise no one, I'm always interested in recovering women's histories from their romanticized legends. Moreover, there are so many layers to the ways in which the character of Marguerite was created and recreated, that -- possibly with professional bias -- I felt eager to read an academic approach to excavating Duplessis' history. The possessions of Marguerite, auctioned in the opening of Dumas' novel, and that of Zeffirelli's Traviata film, are famously based on those of Duplessis. The edition of La Dame aux Camélias I read included a rather sentimental preface, retailing the nineteenth century's fascination with its own romanticized version of Marguerite/Marie's history. Personally, I think Dumas fils and Verdi are both much less sentimental than their reception gives them credit for. On the whole, Weis' work bears testimony to remarkably resourceful research in attempting to create an accurate portrait of Marie, using her own correspondence, the testimonies of contemporaries, and a wealth of detail about the world in which she lived: riding horses, furnishing apartments, and, not least, consuming culture, as a regular attendee of the opera and theatre, and an avid reader. I was fascinated by this vision of an intelligent woman, both sincerely enjoying a variety of pursuits, and crafting, as a demimondaine, an elaborate public persona. The Real Traviata is an impressively researched work; Weis mined multiple archives for diverse sources, and uses Duplessis' laundry lists, library inventories, and shopping receipts take their place alongside her extensive correspondence, and the posthumous narrative sources which are at once challenging and indispensable. The book is available here, for 30% off the list price with this code: AAFLYG6

La Traviata with the Twentieth-Century Blues

It was on an impulse that I went to see the first of two Oxford performances of Opera Up Close's presentation of La Traviata. Having spotted a poster and purchased a ticket on my lunch break, I had an unexpectedly cathartic Thursday evening discovering the company's creative adaptation of Verdi's masterpiece. (I'm not using that word glibly; among other things, the performance reminded me of just how brilliantly insightful and well-constructed the opera is.) This evening's presentation was not only a transladaptation of the libretto, but an adaptation of the score for piano trio by Harry Blake. I was more than a little skeptical about the latter, but found it, in the event, to be creative, elegant, and expressive. The colors of piano, clarinet, and cello were thoughtfully used to mark both nuances in the drama, and its overall shape. Wagnerite that I am, I kept listening for particular associations of instrument to mood; I don't think these were there. I was, to be honest, also expecting perhaps some jazzy allusions in the adaptation; but musical references to the interwar setting were limited to an apt interpolation of I Ain't Got Nobody in the party scene of Act II. Performing the herculean task of evoking a Verdian orchestra, Elspeth Wilkes (coordinating from the piano,) Sarah Douglas (clarinet,) and William Rudge (cello,) all played with remarkable subtlety, as well as remarkable stamina.

I'm on record as being ambivalent towards opera in translation. In translating/adapting the libretto for an interwar setting, I thought Robin Norton-Hale was wise to take considerable freedoms. This provided some compensation for the loss of some of the rich resonances of the original, and the inherent difficulties of fitting English consonant clusters into Verdian lines. Moreover, it added poignancy to Violetta's quest for freedom to have an initial opposition between her dogmatically pursued independence and Alfredo's old-fashioned ideas about her needing a man to cherish her. Their extramarital establishment somewhere in the outskirts of London thus represents an adjustment in worldview for each of them (and happiness! sniff!) Tangentially: I say London, because Flora's use of "dollars" and "honey" were almost the only markers of the piece's ostensibly American setting, and by the time these made their appearance, everyone's English accents had placed the piece, for me. There's also a late reference to New York... but I'm not sure why the action was in the US rather than England. The latter made more sense to me, as having social codes both stricter and more subtly enforced (generally) and definitely, in the 1920s, more access to free-flowing champagne. I found the adaptation very successful on the whole, though, and creative without being heavy-handed. Credit is also due to Norton-Hale for thoughtful direction of the singers.

Questa donna conoscete? La Traviata in Mainz

The dark side of diva worship: Mikneviciute and ensemble, Act I (Photo © Martina Pipprich)

On Tuesday, I got to see the second of four performances of La Traviata in Mainz's new production by Vera Nemirova, whose Tannhäuser I found so impressive. Both the production and performances (as well as the Programmheft) bore witness to the kind of thoughtful engagement which Verdi's opera so richly deserves and too seldom receives. In Nemirova's staging, Violetta is an opera singer. And choosing this path to deal with the themes of how she is objectified, and how both celebrity and sex are commodified by the society around her--around us--proved enormously effective. Her body is fetishized; her behavior is policed. This is especially striking in the finale of Act II, where all sing of how great her sacrifice is; of how great she is; and Violetta herself is left entirely alone while they do so. In this environment, symbols are fluid and sex is a game. Even life is treated as a game, as Flora's guests wait for the next adrenaline rush, or the next scandal. Annina, who truly loves Violetta, dreams of the impossible fiction in which the course of true love runs from romantic encounter to ecstatic reconciliation. But Violetta is more complicated than this… and Nemirova not only implies, but creates audience complicity in making assumptions about her. I, at least, had my assumptions disproved twice: the weary but resolved woman who comes on stage during the overture, to sit at the opera star's dressing table and put on her wig, is Annina; the woman who enters Flora's party on Gaston's arm, defiant and brittle in her flirtatiousness, clad as a strip dancer, is not Violetta either (she enters later, bundled in furs, equally brittle.) I felt that the opening of Act II was not as strongly staged as the rest; but the dramatic momentum of the opera was maintained well through the chilling finale. As Violetta dies, delirious and abandoned, Verdi's aching orchestral elegy was greeted with stricken silence.

Della traviata sorridi al desio

Willy Decker's Traviata--intelligent, elegant, and brutally direct--is, to my mind, one of the most satisfying productions I've seen at the Met. The rigidity of social convention against which Violetta and Alfredo are pitted was particularly apparent in this iteration, but more on that anon. I was very pleased to note positive reactions to the production from older opera-goers around me, as well. The indefatigable Fabio Luisi led the orchestra in an account which was admirably responsive to the singers. The prelude to Act I was leisurely, but tempi quickened thereafter. This rapidity served the ensembles well, working with the tone of the production to give a sense of unresting activity, if not of inexorable fate. The feverishly intense gambling scene was an orchestral highlight. In Act III, both for "Largo al quadrupedo" and "Prendi, quest'è l'immagine," the orchestra was forcefully ominous, almost to a fault. The woodwinds distinguished themselves, with the oboe part in "Addio del passato" beautifully done. The clarinet solo in Act II as Violetta is writing her letter to Alfredo actually made me tear up. A quibble would be that I could have wished a greater sense of dramatic continuity from the orchestra, but  the effect of this vignette-oriented approach is one I am still mulling.

Among the heartless party guests, Kyle Pfortmiller distinguished himself as the Marchese d'Obigny, with a distinctive, richly-colored sound. Luigi Roni's Grenvil had forceful presence, and nuanced the tone of his silent interactions with Dessay well; it caused a shiver when he finally sang. Maria Zifchak was a vocally solid and sympathetic Annina. Dmitri Hvorostovsky did not seem to be at his effortless-sounding best but still sang a charismatic, vocally rich and dramatically nuanced Germont père. His interpretation offered chilling insights. A question begged by the libretto is, if Papa Germont knows how great the sacrifice he asks of Violetta is, if his opinion of her is transformed, what keeps him from reconsidering? Hvorostovsky answers this question: he really doesn't believe her. All Violetta's utterances are interpreted through what he "knows" about her already. He laughs at her--laughs!--when she says she's dying; for him, speaking of her sacrifice is a charade of good manners, helping her maintain a polite fiction of virtue. It is only at the very end--"Addio"--that his confidence is shaken, as he turns for an instant to regard her, his hat already in his hand. His scene with Alfredo I found very moving. Hvorostovsky's pause at the threshold, contemplating the stripped furniture, raised the possibility that he had come back to stop Violetta; at the least, he's surprised to find her already gone. "Di Provenza il mar il suol" was luxuriant, with the radiant sun of Alfredo's native soil in his father's voice. Not without reason, Germont is convinced that his plea to his son cannot fail. This aristocratic assurance was equally apparent in the finale of Act II, and aptly shaken in Act III, although the dignity of his bearing and authority of his sound were undimmed.

È'un fior che nasce e muore: NYCO Traviata

David Pomeroy (Alfredo) and Laquita Mitchell (Violetta) Photo (c) Pavel Antonov

New York City Opera, now peripatetic, but at least functioning, has started its spring season with La Traviata. The production was tame, the seats were subsidized, and the house was full. Laquita Mitchell led the cast with a spirited portrayal of Verdi's doomed courtesan. Jonathan Miller's production was created in 2009 to be shared by Glimmerglass and Vancouver; in this revival, at least, it was little more than a washed-out backdrop to the events of the plot. Perhaps in part because of patchy and slipshod supertitles, quite a number of first-time opera goers around me were left somewhat confused as to what was actually going on. (To the friend I had taken along for her second opera, I explained during the interval, which came in the middle of Act II, that Alfredo had a sister.) Under conductor Steven White, the orchestra gave a very fine performance, which helped the emotional energy of the evening considerably. The intensely felt passions of the drama were most fully present in the warm strings, the passionate and tender woodwinds, the reckless brass.

L'uomo implacabile per lei sarà

The current run of Traviata at the Met is very well served by its principals, gifted and expressive singers all.  Moreover, Willy Decker's sleek, striking 2005 Salzburg production restores to the opera what Verdi wanted it to have: shock value.  Dress rehearsal pictures here; lots of opening night photos here.  Decker's production uses simple visual language for a straightforward, if not literalistic, reading of the Verdi/Piave drama, relentlessly emphasizing the voyeuristic, greedy nature of the chorus (male-dominated society), the artificiality of Violetta's pompose feste, and the tragedy of the disease which haunts her.  Update: Gentle Reader asperias notes that the 15 Jan. performance will be available for listening online from the BBC at 18:00 GMT.  Update II: the BBC does not, in fact, have the performance available for repeat listening; sorry about that.  Gentle Reader S. has a list of other options in the comments section.

Prendi, quest'è l'immagine

Squeezed into sold-out standing room at the top of the Met on Wednesday night, I finally made it to "La Traviata" (photo New York Post)! Update: production photos may be found here. My opera glasses were virtually glued to my face... except of course for when I was plying my handkerchief. The production was, often almost-too-literally, dazzling (I was reminded again of how much Franco Zeffirelli likes glitter.) ETRO was credited in the program for providing fabrics for Violetta's apartments... and it showed. I coveted her pillows like anything. (Perusing their website did not reveal a "Buy Traviata pillows here!" link; clearly an oversight!!) I do like Decker's production; "the old order changeth, yielding place to new, / lest one good custom should corrupt the world" and all that, but I am glad to have seen this in all its borderline-kitschy resplendence. The gowns were a sight to behold, but Alfredo's costumes were gorgeous. I want his blue coat! And his boots! Maybe when I am an eccentric professor. Also, I have no quarrel with ornate 1850s demi-mondaine apartments and country houses. Oil portraits in Act I vs. watercolor landscape medallions in Act II; hazy, gilt-framed mirrors vs. natural light pouring in from the garden... nice touches, I thought. Here is a collage of musical excerpts, with pictures.

Hier nimm dies Kleinod

Almost as good as a magic Glockenspiel: the Met's electronic brochure for the 2010-11 season! I expected this to be merely an electronic version of the publication which my mailbox so eagerly awaits, but no! it is more! Over 70 pages of exciting pictures and production details are augmented by audio clips and video excerpts! I have resisted the temptation to listen and watch from cover to cover, but among other gems, this contains Garanca-for-Alagna's "Seguidille," which is one of the sexiest I've seen. It also contains provocative quotes like Willy Decker's assertion that Violetta is the only character of La Traviata "who truly loves, selflessly." Hmmm. But if Alfredo doesn't love her selflessly, the opera is so much less emotionally satisfying/devastating! She does come off best, there's no denying it; and one could make much of "Amami, Alfredo! Amami quanto io t'amo!" All the same, isn't it best if we believe all three of the principal characters when they lament their partial culpability in the third act? I'd be interested to see a production with an "Alfredo is actually rather pathetic and projects as much on to her as everyone else, just in different ways" slant... but at least at this moment in time, the "tragedy unleashed by misunderstandings (and consumption)" version is dearer to my heart.