Don Giovanni at Glyndebourne showcases Clément’s sharp eye
“I am NOTJoyce DiDonato”. I denied it. Thrice. No cock crowed.
“In a situation like this I can only speak for myself, and I am only speaking for myself,” I’d heard someone else under pressure tautologising recently. She with the large tent recently erected in her Glasgow front garden. Good line!
I don’t ever recall self-identifying as a mezzo-soprano. Understandable case of mistaken identity? Nah! She’s taller. We style our hair differently. Joyce doesn’t use my tailor. Quite a difficult error, for anyone with eyesight sufficiently acute to retain a driving licence, to make.
The insistent cab driver in the foyer of Essen’s Sheraton Hotel was having none of it. He kept stabbing at a text message on his mobile. I asked for a peek. Indeed, he had been instructed to pick up Miss DiDonato. For a moment the mischief-devil crouched on my shoulder whispered in my ear …… But I was rescued from anarchic temptation by my own driver, who appeared in the nick of time to whisk me to Dusseldorf Airport.
I was all for hanging around for a bit, to see if my doppelganger materialised. But I was whacked over metaphorical knuckles by friends and bundled into the back of the taxi.
I had been in Essen for the innovative, Cupido/Satyr-infested Floris Visser production of The Marriage of Figaro. I can only assume the globally renowned mezzo was in the “hood” for a performance of Eden, her world-enhancing, environment-improving, uplifting, solo tour de force that is packing them in all over this planet she is determined to save.
If even occasional readers of this column haven’t yet sussed that I consider Mis DiDonato a bit of a good thing opera-wise, you haven’t been paying attention. Dusseldorf? Joyce? No contest.
Yet, Dusseldorf it had to be, back to Blighty, and a clunky link to British Summer Time Glyndebourne for more Mozart, Don Giovanni, courtesy of another of this era’s most thoughtful directors, Mariame Clément.
Without doubt Mozart’s three Leonardo da Ponte operas, The Marriage of Figaro, 1786, Don Giovanni, 1787 and Cosi fan tutte, 1790 form a trilogy of pure genius. His earlier works are musically beautiful but theatrically static and are products of an earlier era and tradition.
Da Ponte drew Mozart away from classical, heroic themes – such as Mitridate, re de Ponti and Idomeneo, re de Creta – and grounded his operas in the literature of the day, Beaumarchais, the Spanish myth of Don Juan and a score snaffled from Mozart’s alleged rival, Antonio Salieri.
Much more audience involving. They all poke fun at social norms, examine human passion and frailty and are subversive. Masters outwitted by servants. Illicit relationships exposed to ridicule. Great theatre.
I was first sucked into the black hole of opera – no escape likely soon – when I crossed the Don Giovanni event horizon with Scottish Opera in the 1960s. What new could French director, Clément bring to the Commendatore’s familiar, fatal dinner party?
As it turned out, plenty. Including an enormous cake. A towering, tiered monster, 15 feet high sporting raspberries and covered in gooey white icing. Crowned with a glitter-flag bearing the legend, 2075, it was not an anniversary kuchen, but a celebration of the Don’s conquests. Libretto nerds who do the math on Leporello’s famous List aria will come up with a 2075 total.
As well as providing a cautionary reminder of the scale of his conquests, the cake was symbolically sampled by the guests at the party – Giovanni envy? – and symbolised the Don’s fantasy of freedom without limits, sexual licence, excess, even the ability to commit murder without a scintilla of guilt. And, an addiction to very fattening metaphor cake.
When in Act II Don Giovanni appeared akimbo the cake, by now half consumed, it was clear that the rake was having his cake and eating it. A stone effigy of the murdered Commendatore interrupting his life orgy was the last thing on his mind.
A full synopsis of cake-related onstage activities can be found here.
Clément set the scene in a hotel, with the action taking place in tiered rooms. The rape of Donna Anna, the seduction of Zerlina, the staging of stag and hen parties pre the wedding of Masetto and Zerlina.
The murdered Commendatore’s corpse was outlined, before it’s removal, in chalk on the floor – a Philip Marlowe crime scene touch. The image was light sensitive and brought in and out of play as the action demanded.
After seeing the zillionth Don Giovanni, the characters can seem stereotyped. Donna Anna, violated and outraged by her father’s murder, Donna Anna, a stood-up bride, out for #metoo vengeance, Don Ottavio, Donna Anna’s never-to-be-married fiancé, a wet wimp.
But that is not what Mozart’s music is telling us. Dalla sua pace, Don Ottavio’s Act I showstopper aria reveals a man of remarkable sensitivity. Just read the libretto:
On her, my treasure, all joy dependeth,
Life hath no pleasure, but that she sendeth,
Sorrows that grieve her, torture my heart,
E’en when she sigheth, my sighs awaken,
And joy it dieth, by her forsaken;
Oh, worst of torments, from her to part!
This is modern man speaking to us down the centuries before the term was invented. Clément sees this and gives his character room to flower throughout the performance. The final scene “brush off”, when the Don is gone, the Commendatore avenged and Ottavio suggests now he and Anna can finally tie the knot, but she says “wait another year” – which usually raises a laugh – is treated as another manifestation of Ottavio’s sensitive devotion.
Marianne Clémentin’s conversation with Isabelle Kettle, a fellow director, explains this treatment. There are other examples of her sharp eye. Leporello’s ambivalence about being in service to a corrupt master, yet constantly returning to service on the production of a bag of ducats is beautifully portrayed. The famous valet is agonisingly conflicted.
Most importantly, Donna Elvira’s contradictory role as conquest, jilted wife, missionary determined to redeem her Giovanni and, finally, coming to terms with his well-deserved fate, leaving her distraught, adds consequence to the character. This Elvira is no vitriolic banshee bent on straightforward revenge.
The Orchestra of The Age of Enlightenment under the baton of Evan Rogister, principal conductor of Washington National Opera, was impeccable. Ideally suited to the Glyndebourne space. Rogister enjoys a career that spans the Atlantic. His regular appearances range from the Met to Welsh National Opera.
Glyndebourne had assembled a brilliant cast. Standout was Norwegian – Nicaraguan soprano, Victoria Randem as Zerlina. The role of Zerlina requires freshness, gleaming tone and an arch approach to the dummkopf fiancé, Masetto. Randem was perfect for the role, bubbling with life and entrancing the audience.
The leaving emotion on heading back to repack hampers, fold the chairs and join the queue for the exit was, for me, thoughtful joy.
For in the last moments of the opera, Clément had a final trick up her sleeve. As the notes of the overwhelming, final sextet died away, the characters went their separate ways – Zerlina and Masetto to a prosaic dinner. Except Leporello and Donna Elvira.
The two characters most involved with the dissolute Don simply stood, silent, apart from each other. Both aware that love him, loathe him, or certainly condemn him, their lives would never be the same now he was in the bowels of enfer.
And Another Thing!
Last week Essen’sThe Marriage of Figaro was, readers will recall, Cupido free. Love detained in traffic. Floris Visser, as promised, sent me a recording of the Essen Figaro premiere, complete with both his invented characters, Satyr and Cupido. So, an update is in order. Together they are hilarious walk on additions to Mozart’s opera.
But …. There is a “but”. Has adding fictional characters become a Visser “signature”, following the hugely successful introduction of Death in last season’s La bohème at Glyndebourne? If so, I think my cautious advice is, quit while you’re ahead.
Much of the action – like a pillow fight between Lust and Love – was very funny. But, what exactly was the point of them constantly circling the action, with often no observable impact? Not so, however, in the final scene when their forces were physically pulling the characters hither and thither.
Did the characters ultimately add much to the scheme of things? Visser in his own words: “It indeed makes a big difference. It makes the internal struggle of the different characters and metaphysical battle between love/monogamy marriage, and lust/unbound and animalistic, totally clear with the two allegories.”
And, a continuity spot! In the premiere, the green heart playfully painted on the wall by lovestruck Cherubino – and transformed charmingly into a fruit later on in the final show with the judicious addition of a leaf – was more daringly changed into a set of genitals, with the addition, atop the heart, of a graphic phallus. Clearly, Figaro with knobs on held little appeal for the good burghers of Essen.
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