|
FEATURE: LETTER FROM NEW YORK
October 18, 2005
|
By Robert Commanday
Not even poor directing can dim the luster and lessen the sparkle of Verdi's Falstaff, certainly not in a production (heard last Wednesday at New York's Metropolitan Opera House) that features Bryn Terfel in the title role and James Levine conducting, two aces back to back.
Terfel has made this a signature role. He plays Falstaff much more seriously than is customary, never clownish and showy, no caricaturing or loutishness. That makes the more interesting his encounter with Signor Fontana, who he does not realize is really Ford, the husband he is trying to cuckold. At his comeuppance at the end, as the butt of the great burlesque in the forest, Terfel's interpretation of a self-respecting Falstaff, one who has preserved his dignity, makes him more sympathetic and worthier of our affection. Terfel's height — he towers over everyone else — helps in this, and of course his singing is unsurpassed. The grand baritone carries the line with a natural ease and a persuasive lilt that is captivating.
The two leading women were of a vocal and dramatic stature that balanced his: Patricia Racette as Alice Ford and Stephanie Blythe as Mistress Quickly. Racette's soprano, which has grown significantly, bloomed throughout the Met. Its qualities are as exciting as her personality in the role is vivacious and commanding. Blythe is a major presence, her mezzo-soprano deep and possessing. She played the comic majordomo of the plot with an assurance that took over the stage. Hard to think of her as the same person who played the magnificent, proud Fricka in the Seattle Opera's Ring of this past summer, but there it is, breadth of artistry.
Heidi Grant Murphy (Nannetta) Stephanie Blythe (Mrs. Quickly) Patricia Racette (Alice) The third of the Merry Wives of Windsor, the Meg Page, was nicely done by Maria Zifchak and the fourth, Nannetta, was Heidi Grant Murphy. Grant Murphy was excellent in the scenes romancing with Fenton, her voice pure and clear, but, curiously, was in trouble for the song she sings as Queen of the Fairies in Act III, scene 2, in the forest. The Fenton, Gregory Turay was the very picture of her ardent suitor, his tenor smooth and bright in the upper reaches if somewhat bottled in its sound in the middle range. The other four men were disadvantaged by David Kneuss' direction. Unable to work around it properly and follow their own artistic instincts, they just overplayed their roles. The Ford, Robert Frontali, for all the good qualities of his baritone voice, was so hyperactive, gesticulating and prancing around like an antic salesman, that he became a comical figure, a mere accessory. His Ford was unworthy of the grand monologue, which is meant as a serious expression of burning jealousy. Peter Bronder, the Dr. Caius, capering about like a flame-crazed moth while trumpeting at full volume, wore out his welcome halfway through the opening scene (in the tavern). Jean-Paul Fouchécourt, picture-perfect for Bardolfo in his shortness, opposed to the tall, lanky Pistola of Mikhail Petrenko, had equally complementary and well-made voices, but the knockabout comedic turns Kneuss found for them in his catalog of clichés did nothing but make them into the Two Stooges. Kneuss, an experienced routinier, produced not an original idea in a show that is nothing if not an invitation to a happy imagination. The carryings-on of the Merry Wives looked like the performers' improvisations. Ditto the scramble of Ford's servants and associates as they looked for the miscreant, Falstaff, hidden in the laundry basket. And as for the masquerade in Hermes' forest, with the masked fairies, goblins and conspirators out to punish Falstaff, it was simply busier than your neighborhood Hallowe'en and not as charming, the poorest I've seen.
Patricia Racette (Alice) Photos by Ken Howard Verdi's score should suggest and direct a director's planning and imagination — that is, if he hears it. Kneuss' operation was a combination of run and shoot, do-it-yourself, and scramble-amble. The full stage sets he worked to fill were of Zeffirelli's 1964 production. Though renovated, the Met's Falstaff is over-age in grade. Verdi outsmarted all minor opera mechanics and conditions. Properly played, the music makes an end run around the most inept production. With James Levine in charge of his great Met Orchestra, the score lit up the house and illuminated the greatest opera comedy of all time. Just listening to that orchestra tell the story, characterize the persona, and bring Shakespeare/Boito to life, was enough. If there is a more thoroughly enjoyable opera than Falstaff, I don't know what it is. (Robert P. Commanday was the music critic of The San Francisco Chronicle, 1965-93, and before that a conductor and lecturer at the University of California, Berkeley.) ©2005 Robert Commanday, all rights reserved |
Bryn Terfel
