Anna Bolena
Metropolitan Opera
Opening Night Gala
September 26, 2011
Applause was surprisingly sparse at the much anticipated Metropolitan Opera's opening night premiere of Donizetti's Anna Bolena, and there could have been no greater compliment for director David McVicar and the sunburst of the 2011-2012 season, Anna Netrebko.
Bel canto operas can fall victim to the dramatic stagnancy that is built into the structure: each number, whether it be an aria, ensemble, or scene, can stand on its own with a clear beginning and ending; rarely do the numbers bleed into another musically, as they do in later Verdi or Wagner. The musical cadence signifies the end of the piece and invites the audience to take themselves out of the moment to applaud; likewise the singers usually stop the drama by freezing for the applause, beginning again only when the music for the next scene begins. This results in dramatic nausea, that terrible sickness that is the result of starting and stopping, entering and re-entering. In his Anna Bolena David McVicar provides the remedy for that: staging and intent that weaves through the pauses, threading dramatic situation to dramatic situation, the result is an audience that is so engaged in the story on stage that they're more interested in what is going to happen next than providing polite applause.
The success of McVicar's Anna Bolena also lies in his nuanced concentration of the main characters: Anne Boleyn, Jane Seymour, and Henry VIII. The popularity of Showtime's The Tudors has enlivened the perennial fascination with these characters, but whereas Showtime gives us a sensationalized, sexy, and sordid portrayal of these monsters of history, McVicar extracts the humanity from Felice Romani's libretto and Donizetti's score and makes that the focus of this production. The characters on stage are not historical archetypes or, better yet, caricatures, they are fully realized, multi-dimensional people who live on the stage in front of us. The characters are public personas, which is interesting enough, but, even more compelling in our age of celebrity voyeurism, we see their private lives. As is appropriate for the sheer size of the Metropolitan Opera, the sets were cavernous and bathed in different shades of gray. The enormity of space enhanced the foreboding grandeur of the choral scenes, especially the Act II confrontation between Anne, Henry, and Percy, but they it contrasted magnificently with the more intimate private scenes: Jane and Henry’s clandestine meeting in Act I, the anxiously passionate duet between Anne and Percy, and, most effectively, Anne’s prayer and the following duet/confrontation with Jane. The looming starkness of the sets coupled with the lush and equally monochromatic costumes to bring each character’s individual sense of isolation, insecurity, and betrayal to the forefront. The theatrical world that we are entering is cold, dangerous and ruthless. Donizetti's score, especially the choruses, can sometimes be jocular and celebratory at the most serious of moments. The stage, draped in sixteenth century suspicion, once again takes advantage of this incongruity so that when the chorus responds to Smeaton's confession or Anne's condemnation with a bouncy refrain, the inhumanity of Henry and the indifference of the courtiers is that more pungent. Henry, who frequently and understandably emerges as a one-dimensional villain, is given dimension by McVicar's staging. It is moments like this when McVicar's nuanced study of the score, the drama, and history beams through. When the mood of the music or a character's vocal gestures change, McVicar's staging responds accordingly, not in a predictable, hackneyed way, but with organic directness.
All of McVicar's attention to situational and psychological detail would be meaningless without a soprano who can embody the dramatic and musical complexity of the title character. With Anne Boleyn, Anna Netrebko has reached her artistic maturity. I was initially unimpressed by her singing in the first act - I thought it too lugubrious in attack, timid, resigned even, but when she released her full forces in the Act I finale and again in the remarkable duet with Jane at the beginning of Act II, I realized that this was the arch of Anne as a character. When we first encounter her she is literally suffocated with anxiety. She ascended to the throne with ruthless ambition, and now it is her turn to be replaced. Her desperation to keep the throne and her life weigh on her soul and rob her of her former fire. She is oppressed by the memory of Percy and the true love that she forsook in favor of her royal ambitions, the fruits of which are now forsaking her. So it makes sense that Netrebko waits until Anne's bitter-drenched retort at Henry "Giudici ad Anna!" to release the dormant fire of Anne Boleyn. It is important to note that the jagged vocal line on "Ah, segnata e la mia morte" is the first time in the opera that Anne sings does not sing a smooth, ponderous legato line. Netrebko let loose all her repressed venom at this moment, and the climatic realization of the anticipation was explosive.
Not surprisingly the opera's massive mad scene encapsulated all of Netrebko's strengths into an irresistibly engaging, heart-breaking, and even inspiring psychological window into every aspect of Anne's mind. Netrebko had graced us with her sublime pianissimi before in the opera, but her interpolated high C at the end of the aria "Al dolce guidami" seemed endless in its gossamer dolefulness. She unleashed her venom yet again in her dual condemnation and pardon of Henry and Jane, "Coppia ini qua," descending into a dark, sultry chest voice colored with the rattle of death and attacking the many high B-flats and Cs with fearless precision and stentorian control. The most dramatically satisfying aspect of this scene, and the opera as a whole, was the lack of extraneous acuti and florid filigree that so often morph Anne's resolve into the girlish instability of Donizetti's most famous heroine, Lucia di Lammermoor.
But Anna Bolena is not La voix humaine: Netrebko one fourth of a thrilling ensemble cast. The Russian mezzo-soprano Ekaterina Gubanova sang Jane Seymour with a femininity and tenderness that was amplified by her large and colorful instrument. Georgian bass Ildar Abdrazakov was demonically sexy and thoroughly convinced the audience of the attraction to Henry VIII. American tenor Stephen Costello sang the unforgiving role of Riccardo Percy as best he could. Written for the half-tenor/half-freak of nature Giovanni Rubini, whose range extended to the notorious high F of Bellini’s I Puritani, the role of Percy is almost impossible to sing without transposition or extensive cuts. Costello possesses a voice with immense heart, including a palpitating vibrato, and a great sense of style. His voice looses its rich core above a B-natural, and the many high B’s and C’s, most notably in Percy’s tower scene, are disconnected from his otherwise resonant voice.
If there is one cast member who matches Anna Netrebko in vocal voluptuousness, it is the mezzo-soprano Tamara Mumford who sang the pants role of Smeton, Anne’s page who falsely accuses her thinking that he will save her life. The role of Smeton isn’t particularly interesting: he is a less adorable Cherubino; however, Mumford’s endless range of vocal color, full of youthful joy in her Act I arias, and heartbreaking pathos when she briefly appears during the mad scene, is addictive. I like to avoid comparing current singers to singers of the past, but I can give Ms. Mumford no greater compliment than to say that she combines the best qualities of Marilyn Horne and Tatiana Troyanos.
In the wrong hands, Anna Bolena can be a static diva vehicle, devoid of a compelling dramatic pace and real living characters. This production at the Metropolitan Opera is not a theatrical museum piece, resurrected to showcase a popular prima donna. It is storytelling and communication at their very best. It challenges us rethink our opinion on the bel canto repertoire and, more importantly, asks us to reflect on the destructive influence of power and the effective it has on the private lives of our leaders and celebrities when the Twitter and Facebook accounts are off.
- Steven Jude Tietjen
