Thought-provoking and
excellent just about sums up this Traviata,
heard in the original 1853 version to
mark the re-opening of the Teatro La
Fenice in 2004. Robert Carsen's take
on the Traviata story may shock. It
centres around the corrupting power
of money, which seem to be everywhere
– even on the forest floor. Seen in
this way, Traviata emerges almost
as a pre-echo of Berg's Lulu. And
very disturbing it becomes.
The delicate string
strains of the Act 1 Prelude accompany
a languorous Violetta in a quasi-Ann
Summers see-through number on a dimly-lit
green bed. A man brings her money -
introducing its importance in the action
- paying her, presumably, for 'services
rendered'. He is followed by a procession
of men, all of whom hand her a wad of
cash. Throughout, Violetta exudes a
sort of desolate sadness, as if prefiguring
the last act.
Suddenly we are in
a party, but this is not a bright, glittering
affair. Like some dingy speak-easy,
this is a crowded set, costumes seemingly
dating from the 1970s. We become aware
of Violetta's admirer, Alfredo, who,
dressed in black leather jacket, photographs
her obsessively, like some paparazzo.
Whether or not a piano
works as an accompaniment to the 'Libiamo',
Alfredo sings it well enough. To the
orchestral introduction a white grand
piano is wheeled on, at which Alfredo
pretends to accompany himself. Roberto
Saccà is no Domingo, being several
steps down on the sheer volume and character
front. Amusingly, Violetta lands up
sprawled over the piano lid, Michelle
Pfeiffer-like - in 'The Fabulous Baker
Boys', that is – yes, that scene
– but with onlookers this time. The
ensuing Violetta-Alfredo duet, after
the exeunt of the chorus, is simply
superb. 'Un dì felice' (Saccà)
is wonderfully tender, as Alfredo reveals
a full portfolio of Violetta pics. Ciofi's
pitching in her retorts is beyond criticism.
The silence after the
chorus departs is deafening – 'È
strano' is set into stratospheric relief,
and Ciofi rises to the challenge as
few others. Her emotions are utterly
believable, while technically she is
stunning. Importantly, she sustains
the melodic line through the silences
at 'Ah forsè liu', making it
very, very touching. Singing vocal roulades
lying on one's side cannot be an easy
task but it clearly poses Ciofi no problems.
Given the opening of this staging, no
surprise perhaps to see hard cash making
an appearance at 'Gioir' ... in both
hands, then scattered to the winds.
Alfredo's off-stage contributions are
massively interruptive - as indeed they
should be. They shatter her illusions
and prompt a heartfelt 'Folie' and,
finally, recourse to the amnesiac qualities
of loveless sex.
Act 2 is supposed to
be set in 'a room of the ground floor
of a house outside Paris'. Here however
it takes place outside, leaves on the
floor being provided by bank notes -
continuing the thread of this production.
When left alone, Saccà reveals
how his voice is best suited to the
lyrical line. Act 2 Scene 1 is Annina's
chance to shine, and indeed Elisabetta
Martorana shows herself a singer of
much strength.
Violetta's casual entrance
- shades, light summer dress - is suave
in the extreme; the same cannot be said
for Germont père, Dmitri Hvorostovsky,
looking awkward in tailored suit, immaculate
tie and NHS specs; the latter no doubt
unintentional. His acting is as starched
as his shirt, yet it is the sheer beauty
of his voice that enables forgiveness.
His aria, 'Pura siccome un angelo' is
close to great singing, his legato a
joy to experience. Interestingly, his
later 'Piangi, piangi' is almost injected
with evil intent, yet his 'Di Provenza
il mar' actually sounds rather wooden
- it does open out, in fairness.
The second scene of
this act is set at Flora's party. Of
course this is depicted as debauched,
as was the case in Act 1's hedonistic
activities. It is as great a contrast
to Act 2 Scene 1 as can be imagined.
Glittering and green, this is clearly
a nightclub of some sort, with suspended
glitterball and 'gypsy' girls that are
clearly dancers in a strip joint. Very
well they dance, too, earning their
money - which is pinned to them in traditional
fashion when they scatter in amongst
the audience/punters. The 'Matadors
of Madrid' - here cowboys from the Wild
West - probably can be taken more seriously
if one hasn't seen the film, 'The Full
Monty'. A compère appears to
initiate their story. The girls' imitation
of bulls is worth the price of the DVD
alone – and didn't you just know one
of the cowboys' guns was going to have
its phallic nature made explicit? Again
using stark contrast to fullest effect,
the Alfredo/Violetta scene works superbly.
Ciofi is fantastic here. The more one
watches, the more the whole setting
emerges as rich, rewarding and challenging.
Perhaps the bare squalor
of the setting of the final act should
come as no surprise after the preceding.
We are shown Violetta as the strings
begin their halo of sound, followed
by a montage of memories, over which
rains money. On the floor of her flat,
a TV shows only static, constant and
devoid of meaning. The space itself
is like a Manhattan loft flat that has
been voided of any semblance of human
warmth, a deconstructed shell of an
abode, perhaps mirroring Violetta's
state at this point. Violetta herself
lies on the floor in convulsions, enshrouded
in black, almost as if in drug withdrawal.
Her voice when she sings is pure with
little vibrato; Federico Sacchi's Doctor
is, by contrast, firm and sure. Ciofi's
reading of the letter is simply superb,
her cry of 'E tardi' desperate, her
'Addio del passato' infinitely touching.
The duet with Alfredo ('Parigi, o cara')
is gorgeous on the ear. The couple's
shadows are projected onto a screen
at the back of the stage; the final
death is lit starkly. There is no escape.
A simply fantastic
DVD.
Colin Clarke
Chorus and Orchestra of the Teatro La Fenice/Lorin
Maazel. 
TDK
DV-OPLTLF [146'00] 
