‘Who’s conducting?’
        ‘Harnoncourt.’
        ‘Aha. Long evening, then.’ 
        This little exchange with a musician 
          friend on the previous evening should have alerted me, but I was still 
          unprepared for quite the kind of slowness which we experienced at this 
          performance: four hours and ten minutes is the norm for Wagner or Strauss, 
          but for Mozart’s ‘Dramma giocoso in due Atti?’ Oh well, what’s a bit 
          of muttering ‘This is supposed to be a minuet, not a dirge!’ through 
          gritted teeth, when so much else is the real thing? Whatever indignities 
          Salzburg may have inflicted upon ‘Die Entführung,’ this ‘Don Giovanni’ 
          does Mozart proud with a production which looks fabulous (as well as 
          actually making sense) and some of the finest singers I have ever heard 
          in these roles.
        
        
        As the Vienna philharmonic give 
          us the overture – beautifully if lugubriously – we feast our eyes upon 
          a huge representation of five lissom lovelies, carefully chosen to represent 
          a wide range of skin colours, reclining seductively in their gorgeously 
          lacy hosiery – I looked in vain for the name of ‘Wolford’ amongst the 
          sponsors. That languid, static feeling is replicated in the action, 
          since no one seems to exert themselves very much, certainly not Thomas 
          Hampson as the Don, who strolls through the role in his by now trademark 
          imperial purple, just being ‘der Hampson’ with his air of hauteur and 
          clear personal belief in his own irresistibility to the ladies. This 
          may come as a surprise to him, but just as women over the age of about 
          45 become invisible to most men, so most men over that age are really 
          a bit pathetic when they try on all that ‘ageless charm’ bit, simply 
          coming across as old roués. The ladies come to him, is the implication 
          – well, they might for some of the singing, but it’s fairly varied at 
          the moment. Of course, there are very few baritones around who can caress 
          a line like ‘Là ci darem la mano’ as seductively as he does, 
          and his singing of the Serenade (mostly given in total darkness – extremely 
          effective) was quite beautiful, but there’s more to the role than that: 
          ‘Fin ch’ han dal Vino’ was lacklustre, and his exchanges with Leporello 
          needed much more of a sense of conflict. Above all, there’s nothing 
          risky about this Giovanni, either in his singing or his characterization.
        
        Ildebrando d’Arcangelo’s Leporello 
          is well known to London audiences, and he sings with suppleness and 
          acts with as much vigour as the production allows: his ‘Catalogue’ aria 
          was neatly rather than excitingly sung, all the excitement being in 
          what was going on behind him - a series of stunning tableaux depicting 
          women in various guises of vulnerability, from a society belle through 
          a young woman shaving her legs to, shockingly, a white-clad little girl 
          with a skipping rope. The transition here from aria to following scene 
          was brilliantly done, with the final tableau of wedding-dressed brides 
          becoming Zerlina’s and Masetto’s party: the costumes here, as indeed 
          throughout, were inspired – I wanted to wear almost every dress, and 
          how often can one say that – I would tear up most of what I normally 
          see on stage and give it to my cleaner for dusters.
        
        The veteran Kurt Moll’s Commendatore 
          was effectively staged, his blood shocking against the white walls in 
          Act 1, and at the end his sudden presence, black-tied, at Giovanni’s 
          dinner table provided the frisson it so rarely does. His voice may not 
          quite be what it was when I heard him as Osmin, but he still knows how 
          to phrase a line and give it meaning. Luca Pisaroni’s Masetto was a 
          fully rounded character, not too much of the blockhead and he sang his 
          music with gusto. The Ottavio of Christoph Strehl is very much a work 
          in progress: I was keen to hear him after his superb Walther von der 
          Vogelweide at a London concert ‘Tannhäuser,’ and his is a genuinely 
          lovely voice although rather small for this house and as yet missing 
          some subtlety. The director sees Ottavio as a petulant youth who finds 
          it hard to keep up with what’s required of him, which has some foundation 
          in the music although the best Ottavios bring out something else in 
          the part, namely the selfless nature of that true love which forms the 
          opposite to Giovanni’s soulless adventures. Strehl may have a little 
          way to go, but his voice is lovely and he is a very musical singer with 
          all the right instincts: ‘Il mio Tesoro’ was eloquently delivered with 
          only a trace of strain, and I look forward to hearing more of him.
        
        
        And so to the women, who were 
          simply the best trio I have ever heard on stage in this opera. There 
          are plenty of great recordings, but one so rarely finds all three parts 
          being sung with such genuinely Mozartean style. Melanie Diener is a 
          wonderful Elvira: her voice is absolutely thrilling from top to bottom, 
          her shimmering high notes without a trace of sourness or strain, and 
          her mezza voce caressingly beautiful: her ‘Mì tradi’ was a tour 
          de force of passion, vulnerability and simply wonderful tone – for me, 
          this was the performance of the year. The Armenian-Canadian soprano 
          Isabel Bayrakdarian was in ideal Zerlina: making her Salzburg debut, 
          she has a creamy, mellifluous voice with bright, even projection, and 
          her acting is unaffectedly spirited. 
        
        Anna Netrebko is one of those 
          artists behind whom is a huge publicity machine, with DG displaying 
          her lovely countenance all over the city, but as is too rarely the case, 
          she actually does live up to the hype. Here is a young lady who sings 
          like Rita Hunter and looks like Rachel Weisz – truly, and what more 
          do you want? Both ‘Or sai’ chi l’onore’ and ‘Non Mì Dir’ were 
          sung with gleaming tone and eloquent phrasing, and the ‘Forse un giorno’ 
          cabaletta was beautifully articulated, each note placed with stunning 
          accuracy. As yet, her acting is rudimentary, although she does more 
          than many Annas to convince you of her character’s sincerity, and she 
          looks eye-wateringly beautiful in her costumes, especially that fabulous 
          suit with the ruched hem: she has plenty of time to grow into a more 
          rounded stage character, however, but for now the voice has it all – 
          buoyantly floated high notes, warm, steady middle register, exquisitely 
          shaped phrasing: this choosy audience gave her a huge ovation after 
          ‘Non mì dir,’ which would have been deserved for the cabaletta 
          alone. Brava. 
        
        The production has its detractors, 
          but unlike, say, the recent one at Covent Garden, it allows the narrative 
          to unfold without any daft extrapolations, and most of the scenes are 
          staged with an eye for colour and a feeling for detail: best of all, 
          the singers are allowed to sing without having to manage any idiotic 
          business, yet at the same time there is very little in the way of mere 
          ‘stand and deliver.’ I could see the point of the groups of ladies in 
          varying kinds of underwear, now delectably svelte, now haggardly aged 
          – after all, ‘Don Giovanni’ is partly about what the vicious do to the 
          vulnerable, and this at least was made abundantly clear in those scenes. 
          The party was superbly done, as was the ‘graveyard’ scene, and my only 
          real objection was to the lack of any food in evidence as the Don and 
          his henchman awaited their guest.
        
        Musically speaking, the slowness 
          detracted from many of the more sparkling moments: it is, after all, 
          supposed to be a comedy despite the dark nature of the protagonist. 
          However, Harnoncourt gave the singers the kind of loving support which 
          is so rare in the opera house, with the arias shaped so as to allow 
          them to breathe and to develop their character, and there was much beautiful 
          playing to savour, especially from the ‘cellos and Cor Anglais. 
        
        It’s easy to be swayed by the 
          Festival atmosphere in such a place as this, a fact well known and indeed 
          exploited by many artists who more or less confine their big appearances 
          to such places in the certain knowledge that they will have a much easier 
          ride – in critical terms – than in a more ruthlessly discriminating 
          environment – witness the absurd adulation given to certain singers 
          at the Edinburgh Festival and contrast it with their reception at, say, 
          the Wigmore Hall – but this performance of ‘Don Giovanni’ would please 
          the most discerning of Mozart lovers, especially in terms of the singing 
          of the ‘Three Ladies,’ and certainly made the current ROH production 
          look amateurish by comparison.
        Melanie Eskenazi 
        
        
         
         
        
        Title: Don Giovanni
          Copyright: Hansjörg Michel
          1. Kurt Moll
          2. Thomas Hampson, Melanie Diener
          3. Anna Netrebko, Thomas Hampson