Benvenuto Cellini was ‘hissed
with exemplary precision and energy’ at its 1838 Paris premiere, presumably
owing to its blend of strikingly modern music with an unconventional
central figure and a style which, like La Damnation de Faust,
would be most accurately described as ‘a concert opera.’ It’s exactly
the kind of piece that a Music Festival such as the Proms should be
offering: infrequently given, yet possessing many beauties, difficult
of execution yet highly successful when the cast is equal to it. This
evening attracted a fairly small but unusually attentive audience, and
they were not disappointed - Norrington directed a fiery performance
of startling energy, and drew from the chorus and soloists some of the
most committed singing I’ve heard on this stage.
Benvenuto Cellini himself has
just about everything required to be a romantic hero, including a strong
leaning towards the ‘anti’ side of heroism, combined with the creative
artist’s mercurial temperament, the ‘about to mount Pegasus’ / ‘divine
afflatus’ aura, and above all the deliberate desire to go beyond the
accepted boundaries of art, thought and behaviour. The work at which
he is the centre may be a strange conglomeration of the buffa and
the seria, but it also brings out the desire of the creative
artist for some kind of serenity – a desire very much to the fore in
this performance, since I’ve seldom been so aware of the more sensitive
side of the character. Like many of Handel’s heroes, this Renaissance
man’s strongest desire is to escape to a pastoral idyll in the company
of his beloved, an idyll far from the brash and brassy Court and city
which much of the music so vividly depicts.
Bruce Ford’s Cellini was strongly
focussed on this side of the character, perhaps necessarily so, since
his wonderful, ringing tenor voice did not sound quite the instrument
it used to be – however, he could have been affected by the usual swelter
inside the hall (I always wish singers could just rip off those penguin
suits & sing in a T shirt and shorts, cooling themselves with Chinese
paper fans during the pauses…) or maybe it was just a less than perfect
day for his voice. However, Ford is the genuine article: he may have
ducked a couple of the more stratospheric notes, and he may have rushed
a line or two, but he remains one of the very few tenors who can truly
be described as a Haute – contre, and hearing him reminds you
how ludicrous it is to pin that label on so many others who just don’t
have the required timbre, agility and deportment. He was superb during
his tender duets with Teresa, unfailingly elegant in his narratives,
and both incisive and fiery in his faster passages: of the set pieces,
‘Une heure encore’ had many beautiful moments, especially ‘Le mien sera
le plus joyeux,’ but he had tired by the time ‘Seul pour lutter’ had
arrived: nevertheless, his wonderfully even emission of that slightly
reedy, other-worldly tone, his quietly elegant turns and his depiction
of a troubled and complex character remain close to the ideal in this
music.
Laura Claycomb’s heroine was very
finely sung, with bright, open tone and excellent diction: the character
does not give a singer much to work with, but she did all she could
to portray this capricious 17 year old: ‘Quand j’aurai votre âge’
may not have displayed much vocal colour but the music was articulated
with impressive skill, and ‘Mère de tendresse’ was beautifully
phrased. Ms Claycomb has real stage presence, too, and she and Ford
would have brought the house down with their blazing ‘Quand des sommets
de la montagne’ if most of them hadn’t been dozing off by that time,
not from any ennui but simply from the heat.
Christopher Maltman continues
to pop up everywhere, and one is always glad to see him: of course,
the role of Fieramosca is made for him, or rather he for it. His French
is excellent these days, and his familiarly committed acting a delight:
‘Ah! Qui pourrait me résister?’ showed his energetic phrasing
and burnished tone at their best – who, indeed, could? The other ‘star’
role here is that of Ascanio, quite possibly the fourth most irritating
character in all opera - the others being, in ascending order, Octavian
as Mariandel, Olga (Onegin) and Oscar (Ballo) – indeed, Ascanio has
much in common with that pesky latter: Monica Groop sang the part very
sweetly, and gave the dramatic elements plenty of commitment – no mean
feat.
There were no real weaknesses
in this cast – Franz Hawlata’s wonderfully sonorous bass shone as Balducci,
Ralf Lukas managed to present Clement VII as a convincing character,
Johannes Chum displayed a bright, confident tenor as Francesco, Ekkehard
Wagner was an endearingly preposterous Innkeeper, and even the smallest
roles of Bernardino, Pompeo and the Officer were cast from strength
with Reinhard Mayr, Matthias Hoffmann and Ekkehard Vogler.
I have not previously heard this
choir or this orchestra, and both were superb: from the extreme contrasts
in the overture, with its massive use of brass, to the blazing finale,
the playing was engrossing in every detail: Norrington brought out all
the tenderness and mercurial quality of Berlioz’ music in his shaping
of the arias, and the high drama and low comedy were both brilliantly
etched by the orchestra. I am one of those with a tendency to drift
away mentally during silly bits: my own habit is to think of something
much more serious & therefore more agreeable to me – on this occasion
it was Domingo singing ‘Gia della notte densa’ to Margaret Price – but
I have to say that this Choir’s singing kept my inattention to the very
minimum during all those metal – workers choruses and to-ings and fro
– ings – their incisive attack and amazingly clear French are a credit
to the chorus-master, Howard Arman.
Victor Hugo wrote of Shakespeare,
whom Berlioz revered, that he ‘…is drama – drama which blends the grotesque
and the sublime, the terrible and the farcical, tragedy and comedy.’
The same could be said of Benvenuto Cellini, a work whose mixture
of styles and grandiose actions might seem to render it problematic
to stage in these straitened times, although I would love to see what
Peter Sellars would do with the great climax where Cellini’s bronze
statue of Perseus finally breaks from its mould: this Prom performance
may have been only the next best thing to a full staging, but it was
an unusually vivid, committed and enjoyable one.
Melanie Eskenazi
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