Verdi’s Rigoletto is
based on Victor Hugo’s play ‘Le Roi s’amuse’. In a letter
to his librettist, Francesca Maria Piave, he describes it
as ‘the greatest drama of modern times’. He saw the character
of Tribolet, to become Rigoletto, as a character worthy of
Shakespeare; there was no greater compliment in his own mind
that Verdi could pen. It was to be his seventeenth opera.
The composer was greatly stimulated by the thought of the
composition even during his work on its predecessor, Stiffelio,
and may even have started on its composition before the latter’s
completion. Fearing that the subject of a licentious monarch
might not be to the censor’s liking, he sought assurances
from Piave, a native of Venice, as to its reception from
the authorities. On receipt of those assurances he joined
Piave in Venice, presented the outline and was appalled at
the response. The censor not only objected to a king being
involved, and the general immorality of the story, but also
such minutiae as Rigoletto’s hunchback and the body of Gilda
being on stage in a sack. In high dudgeon with Piave as well
as the censor, Verdi returned home to Busseto and sought
to withdraw his new opera for La Fenice, offering a revised Stiffelio with
a new last act instead. He also threatened to withhold his
librettist’s fee. Piave and the officers of La Fenice worked
on the powers that be in the city and eventually a compromise
was reached which enabled Verdi to keep to the principles
of Victor Hugo’s play.
The premiere came at the Teatro La
Fenice, Venice, on 11 March 1851. The compromise involved
a change from the French court to that of an independent
Duke, but allowed for a historical period most suitable for
scenic and dramatic effect, particularly in respect of the
impact of the curse on Rigoletto’s personal psyche. It is
with the words ‘Ah! La maladezione!’ with which Rigoletto
concludes act 1, as he realises his daughter Gilda has been
abducted. These are his final cry at the conclusion of the
opera as he realises she is dead. This phrase and Rigoletto’s
reaction to it has to be meaningful in any production. A
curse in the year 2004 has little if any meaning. Its significance
is best realised in the contextual relationship of the words
and a jester at a court of an appropriate period. Equally
important is conveying the nature of Rigoletto’s day job
and his role of protective loving father to a daughter who
knows nothing of the nasty nature of his work, its environment,
nor of her family.
This
production is shared between Madrid, Florence, Palermo and
the Gran Teatre del Liceu, Barcelona, where this video originates;
each theatre fielding their own choice of cast. The prelude
opens with Rigoletto seated on a large chair in front of
a vivid red curtain, perhaps symbolic of the blood to be
shed (Ch.2). This chair features throughout the staging.
Rigoletto looks haggard, his face is scarred and the shape
of his head distorted. The centre-stage rotates, another
feature of this production, to reveal the court of the Duke.
Sat around the outside of the curved walls as the stage rotates
are women on stools, perhaps the Duke’s previous amours.
As the courtiers enter, they and the Duke are recognisably
in period in respect of costume; it could well be any period
between the 13th and 16th centuries.
But the first sign of visual discontinuity comes as the courtiers
sit on what looks like a curved row of cinema seats as Rigoletto
taunts Monterone (Ch.9). Also evident is that the Rigoletto
of Carlos Álvarez is not in good voice, with a tendency to vocal dryness
and unsteadiness. The Monterone of Stanislav Shevts is physically
and vocally imposing although his humiliation, and that of
his daughter, is not well handled. As the action moves to
scene two (Ch. 10), Rigoletto is seated once again on that
chair in front of the red curtain and in full light. Sparafucile
enters through the curtain; there is no attempt at the darkness
of their venue and the nature of their conversation, which
is vividly represented in Verdi’s haunting melody at this
point.
Julian Konstantinov acts the role of the assassin
well, but his voice is not wholly steady. Just how unsteady
Carlos Álvarez’s voice is, becomes very evident in the aria Pari
siamo as Rigoletto compares their relative professions
(Ch.11). Before moving into his home, Rigoletto removes his
jesters’ shoes and clothing and puts them in a valise as
the curtain lifts to reveal Gilda in front of a dressing
table in an area with a light well and a fruit tree. Gilda
is dressed in a very appealing blue dress of indeterminate
period. During their duet Gilda bathes Rigoletto’s hump;
a rather grisly scene as this deformity looks more like a
tumour than a scoliosis (Ch.12). Again Carlos Álvarez’s lack
of vocal colour and rawness of tone is a distraction from
Verdi’s melodic music although his diction and acting are
fine. Aided by Gilda’s companion the Duke enters and he and
Gilda sing of their love (Ch.16). In this duet Marcelo Álvarez,
as the Duke, shows the utmost sensitivity, softening his
tone so as to sing to Gilda not at her, as some tenors tend
to do. Although they don’t quite manage to finish together,
it is a vocal highlight. The lovers are disturbed by noise
and the Duke departs (Ch.17). It is the courtiers plotting
Gilda’s abduction and still looking the part. In the aria Gualtier
Maldé! as Gilda muses over her love and over the pseudonym Gualter
Maldé the incognito Duke has given her, Inva Mula sings
with full lyrical soprano tone and good diction. Her coloratura
is somewhat abbreviated and her trill is nothing to speak
of, nonetheless she colours her voice well. As well as her
appealing appearance and good acting she brings character
and meaning to the words. The courtiers arrive to abduct
Gilda, confusing Rigoletto into holding the ladder to scale
the wall of his own house (Chs.19-20). This is not well portrayed
and the courtiers look absolutely ridiculous in coloured
party hats, clown coloured hair and red noses.
Act
2 opens with Marcelo Álvarez’s Duke in his bedroom, which
is complete with large, rotating, ceiling fan. His dressing
gown does little for his portly figure. He sings Ella
mi fu rapita…Parmi veder le lagrime (Ch.21) with good
phrasing, vocal colour and expression. The courtiers arrive,
complete with their stupid noses, hats and hair to tell him
of their actions. He runs off to his bedroom to find Gilda;
the room is complete with modern bed and sheets. The courtiers
view the consequences, as voyeurs, via a window in the bedroom
door. Thankfully they are back in period and sensible state
as Rigoletto pleads to know his daughter’s whereabouts and
berates them in Cotigiani,vil razza dannata (Ch.26)
where his singing is well characterised and his acting exemplary.
Gilda emerges, raped and dress dishevelled from the Duke’s
bedroom to confess all to her father in Tutte la feste (Ch.28).
The full tonal quality evident in her singing in act 1 allows
her to give full vent to her mixed emotions. In the great
father-daughter duet of this scene (Chs.28-29) Rigoletto
does little to comfort his daughter, swearing revenge whilst
she pleads forgiveness. These conflicting emotions probably
explain Rigoletto throwing the Duke’s clothes on the floor
whilst Gilda flings herself back onto the Duke’s bed. The
story of act three shows she loves the Duke and is prepared
to give her life to save him, but at this point she is still
ashamed and not brazenly seeking a repetition of her recent
sexual experience. The stage rotates to show Monterone on
his way to prison and regretting the lack of any result of
his curse.
In
act 3 the circular centre-stage acts as Sparafucile’s home.
It is sparsely furnished with a modern tubular-legged table
and two chairs. The circular stage is at a heavily raked
angle. Outside Rigoletto is showing Gilda what the Duke is
about as he sings, with shapely phrasing and vocal élan,
the most famous aria of the opera, La donna e mobile (Ch.
31). The Duke is dressed in uniform and carries a sword and
is joined by Maddalena in high heels and dressed in an open
vivid yellow dressing gown that reveals her black underskirt
and stockings. She takes her fee as the Duke sings of his
love for her whilst Rigoletto forces Gilda to watch. At this
point Gilda looks as if she has come from the best couturier
in town. She is dressed in a gown, carrying a stole and with
her hair set as if from the best hairdresser. She looks a
bit like a 1920s flapper for whom a bit on the side would
be neither here nor there, rather than a recently and violently
violated virgin. Perhaps she had grown up rather quickly.
It is one interpretation of the words of the quartet as she
pleads with her father to forgive and spare the Duke his
revenge. Her return, dressed as a boy, is more convincing,
while Maddalena’s vamping of the Duke is severely restricted
by having to move about on the raked stage in her stilettos.
The entrance and stabbing of Gilda as she sacrifices herself
to save the Duke is well handled as Jesus
Lopez-Cobos whips up a fairly bland storm. The body in the
sack is taken and dumped on that chair, now centre-stage.
Rigoletto vents his hate on what he thinks is the Duke’s
body with thumps and kicks before tipping it onto the floor.
Only then, as he hears the reprise of the start of La
donna e mobile does he realise that all is not
well. This is dramatically portrayed and sung by Carlos Álvarez
and the final duet is poignant (Ch.38).
I
have gone into some detail about the staging and costumes
for two reasons. First to highlight some of the visual incongruities,
some of which might point to modern situations. Second, to
stress the fact that the setting and costumes have sufficient
time in appropriate period to give validity to Rigoletto’s
day job and his response to the curse. If these are Graham
Vick’s objectives then they are realised and despite some
reservations the staging works.
There is plenty of competition on DVD.
David McVicar’s 2002 Covent Garden’s
production includes Marcelo Álvarez’s
Duke with Paolas Gavanelli’s powerfully
acted and sung Rigoletto. Edward Downes
on the rostrum brings out every nuance
in the music. The costumes are in period
with modernistic representational sets
(BBC/Opus Arte OA0829D). The sparsely
set Verona performance of 2001 with
Nucci as Rigoletto has recently been
re-issued at mid price (TDK DV-OPRIGM
- see a colleague’s original review).
Of older recordings, in the Met production
of 1977 John Dexter took the paintings
of the Venetian painter Giorgione as
a starting point. His evocative re-creating
of the painter’s ‘The Tempest’ during
Levine’s vivid rendering of the storm
is memorable whilst the stabbing of
Gilda is ruthlessly played out. The
performance features a young Domingo
as the Duke, a vivid Rigoletto from
Cornell MacNeil and an affecting Gilda
from Ileana Cotrubas. Although the colours
look their age and it’s in 4:3 the sound
is fine (DG 073 093 9). Pavarotti fans
will find his Duke on the film of the
opera. Set in location, and with period
costume, it is complete with appropriately
misty and murky canal for dumping the
body (DG 00440 073 4166). The Rigoletto
of the Scandinavian baritone Ingvar
Wixell, with his stocky stature and
chubby cheeks, fails to convince me
visually, and taking the sound and picture
quality into consideration, I personally
find the Covent Garden performance the
most satisfying. Marcelo Álvarez is
always going to be a bit wooden in his
acting, but the sound is better balanced
and hasn’t the slightly hard edge of
this Barcelona performance which accentuates
the voices at the expense of the orchestra.
Robert J Farr
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Duke of
Mantua, Marcelo Álvarez (ten); Rigoletto, his jester,
Carlos Álvarez (bar); Gilda, Rigoletto’s daughter, Inva
Mula (sop); Sparafucile, a villain available for hire as
an assassin, Julian Konstantinaov (bass); Maddalena, his
sister, Nino Surguladze (mezzo); Giovanna, Gilda’s Duenna,
Merce Obiol (mezzo); Count Monterone, Stanislav Shevts
(bass); Marullo, a courtier, Joan Martin-Roya (bar); Matteo
Borsa, a courtier, John Plazaola (ten); Count Ceprano,
Davis Rubiera (bar); Contess Ceprano, Sandra Galiano (sop) 
[131:00] 
