Giacomo Puccini’s final opus interruptus is and shall always remain my favorite opera. The reasons for this preference are so varied and numerous that if they were printed and bound the volume would most assuredly require its own stand.
 

As with anything we hold close there are also things that rancor me about it as well. For instance; the common mispronunciation of the title character’s name. Don’t even start with me on dotty old Dame Eva Turner. I refer you all to Mosco Carner’s definitive biography of the composer where the specific enunciation of the final ‘t’ is elucidated in a page long footnote. If, however, there remain any climatic-T-deniers left among you, I cite the Maria Callas recording conducted by none other than Tullio Serafin who, having also led the Met premiere, must have certainly been aware of the composer’s wishes and where that troublesome T is clearly audible.

Far more heinous is the completely disgraceful practice by some of the world’s greatest (ossia  laziest) sopranos of omitting Turandot’s final aria of contrition, “Dal primo pianto, leaving a gaping lack of clarity in a plot already so fantastical that credulity is strained to its utmost.

Ultimately there is the even larger problem of the finale. We know that after the death of the of the slave-girl Liu in the story (spoiler) Puccini himself died leaving behind only sketches from that point forward. Franco Alfano was charged with the thankless task of cobbling together a denouement from the remaining musical fragments.

Arturo Toscanini, espying not enough Puccini in his Alfano, cut from the the final score its most evocative and original music right before the premiere he conducted at La Scala. He shortened the “kiss” motif by half, cleaned up what he perceived as rhythmic imbalances throughout, but most especially in Calaf’s arioso of revelation, excised a deliciously crunchy trumpet fanfare and female chorus during the change of the mis-en-scene, and deleted the loving couples final clarion phrases that skyrocket out over the chorus at the ultimo.

The only complete recording of the uncut Alfano I know of is on a Josephine Barstow CD called “Opera Finales” with Lando Bartolini and the Scottish Opera Orchestra and Chorus led by John Mauceri. For fans of the opera I highly recommend acquiring it.

The Puccini family even allowed the composer Luciano Berio another crack at the Turandot finale in 2001 and the U.S. premiere was here at LA Opera. I vividly recall the words of the gentlemen sitting next to me as the curtain fell, summing up the experience beautifully with; ”What the hell was that?”

Thus excited was I when I received not one, but two, new DVD releases in the mail from our beloved La Cieca since I live in hope that someday my prayers of hearing the first Alfano finale in performance will at last be answered. . . and they almost were.

We begin in Italy where Dynamic has released a performance filmed in December of 2012 from the Teatro Carlo Felice in Genoa. It’s primary pleasures are an orchestra steeped in the proper style and an ensemble who are certainly as organic if a tad ragged here and there.

Sets by Luciano Ricceri and costumes by Elisabetta Montaldo Bocciardo are so noncomittally Asian it’s almost as if the design train broke down somewhere betwixt Myanmar and Tibet. The costumes themselves look especially utilitarian as if they could serve a number of other productions, reaccessorized. The unit set, on a turntable, also seems destined to provide the same fluency of function. A few splashes of paint here and there and we’re ready to go with Pearl Fishers or Lakmé. The lighting design of Luciano Novelli isn’t up to much either.

Not to take away anything from the accomplishment level of the local artisans involved here, but it’s the kind of performance were the singers completely abandon all pretense of dramatic involvement, plant themselves in the acoustic sweet spots on stage, and bellow directly at the audience.

Let us simply say that nuance is in short supply. The Mandarin of Fabrizio Beggi sounds determined to be heard outside the Teatro Carlo Felice as well as in. Francesco Verna, Enrico Salsi and Manuel Pierattelli display ample voices and good musicality as the Masks and do manage to make something lovely of their great scena opening Act II. Still they don’t get much more intimate than mezzo-forte.

The Timur of Ramaz Chikviladze constantly sings straight out across the footlights, ignoring his colleagues. But, after all, the character is supposed to be blind.

Roberta Canzian (Liu) has nearly everything you’d want in the role: a solid technical foundation, a full, native timbre with a good top, clean diction, and the theatrical confidence to stand in the three-quarter position so that she at least gives the appearance of being dramatically engaged. What she lacks in polish and pathos she makes up for in spirit, as when she bunny-hops across the stage during the riddle scene to sing “e per l’amore” directly to Calaf.

Mario Malagnini as the Unknown Prince seems cut from the same rural cloth as his colleagues, boasting a strong, masculine spinto tenor, with a bit of a burr in the middle and firm breath control. Here and there the odd phrase comes out with an odd harmonic option and you’re not sure if it’s nerves or something learned wrong. He sings the “Operatic National Anthem” in the last act well enough and during the Riddle Scene makes a mighty effort suggest he is thinking.

Which brings us to our Principessa, and the apparent raison d’etre for this dvd, Daniela Dessi. I have admired Ms. Dessi in a number of roles, most especially her Tosca, during her long international career. She’s an old-school italian diva with a solid ethnic sound and the grandezza to go with it. Now she seems to have entered the penultimate “throw caution to the wind” phase of her career antecedent to retirement, academia or, worse, character roles.

Her performance here is unfortunate. Whether due to indisposition, nerves, or, dare I say it, sheer unsuitability to the role, she makes it impossible for the conductor to either follow her or anticipate her next phrase. Dramatically, she seems preoccupied with driving her voice ever harder and higher.

Donato Renzetti conducts the Orchestra and Chorus of the Teatro San Carlo Felice in a capable and professional reading. The tricky timpani and percussion moments all land in the right places, the strings have a lovely mellow quality, and he keeps the big ensembles together, which is no small accomplishment. The chorus has a lovely, full, sound in spite of the occasionally mistimed cut off or entrance.

The picture isn’t razor-sharp but sound is warm and natural with Dolby Digital 5.1 and 6 subtitle options. Camera work is on the dull side, as the set itself is deep and hard to capture.

Traveling north now, we find ourselves at the Bregenz Festival in Austria on the shores of Lake Constance with its famous floating stage the for a performance filmed in July of this year and now released by C-Major. An entirely different experience awaits us here for a number of reasons.

The technological marvel that is this production’s set would best be described as a fanciful rendering of the Great Wall of China with a round playing space on a turntable in front of it that opens like a giant makeup compact to reveal the wonders of a Jumbotron screen on the inside lid. Got it? Now picture a phalanx of terra cotta warriors swooping down the far side of the stage, then emerging from the moat area of the massive amphitheatre. Fountains gush from the battlements at the finale. (It’s like the Arena di Verona decided it wasn’t trying hard enough.

The opening credits caught my eye when I saw that two gentlemen were credited as “sound designers,” then it immediately became clear why. My hats off to Gernot Gögele and Alwin Bösch for perhaps the most voluptuous DTS soundscape I think I’ve ever heard from a live performance DVD. It’s like you’re listening to each element separately and together at the same time in near perfect balance.

The Vienna Philharmonic, hired gun here for the festival, actually plays in an adjacent building. (Lucky for them too because it rains intermittently throughout the performance.) I assume that the Prague Philharmonic Choir and the Bregenz Festival Choir were snug and dry in the same quarters so most of the onstage ensemble was comprised of supernumeraries. The principals sported body mics like they were singing backup on Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation tour.

It’s a curious hybrid of Regietheater and Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Some choice moments of storytelling include Puccini as Calaf, the chorus dressed like Mao Walking Dead with a sole commedia del ’arte clown wandering about, and Turandot bringing on a representation of Princess Lou-Ling (like bringing Mother Bates to the engagement party), donning her clothes, and then having the riddle scene turn into a game of strip poker. And did I mention that Ping, Pang and Pong keep the heads of the dead princes in glass jars in their laboratory under the turntable?

The cast is a bit of an international mixed bag with the standout being the Liu of Guanqun Yu. Her lovely voice, aggressively miked, boasts a secure bright top with a splendid messa di voce on the b-flat finale in the first aria. I call unnecessary gruesomeness in the torture scene in the last act which surprisingly did little to up her sympathy quotient.

The Calaf of Riccardo Massi could be a serious contender he dries off behind the ears. He manages his fresh, middleweight tenor voice by occasionally dispensing with all linguistic pretenses at the top of the staff a la Zinka Milanov. I mean, not a consonant to be heard.

Mlada Khudoley is yet another singer who’s reasoned “sure, why the hell not?” when offered the part of the vengeful virago. At first you’re not sure is going to make it through the role and then she surprises you by singing all the notes strongly in the most unpleasant fashion.  She fakes a lot of the riddle scene. In what was maybe this production’s sole intellegent visual idea, she makes her appearance in Act I from a barge.

The three Masks, André Schuen, Taylan Reinhard,and Cosmin Ifrim, manage to keep their ensembles together in spite of some of the macabre business they’re undertaking. Luckily there’s a moat between the stage and the audience to cut down on any nausea. We at home aren’t as fortunate.

To be sure, director/designer Marco Arturo Marelli might have made this production a lot more brutal. Anything would have been better than the hodgepodge of visuals he concocted without a  single unifying concept. It’s impossible to blame the singers for not being able to act their way out of this extravaganza.

After Liu was carried off I realized I was listening to the first version of the Alfano finale and I was barely able to contain my excitement. I scanned the program booklet for any mention of a new musical edition, and while they talk in detail about the marvel that is the set (with diagrams and weights and measures no less), there’s no mention of conductor Paolo Carignani’s making a fresh decision on the finale. After the kiss, though, the score to Alfano II, vivisecting “Del primo pianto” in the ugliest most unmusical way I have ever heard. By the time the Prince and Princess were enjoying their happy ending I’m was bitter and betrayed on my sofa.

The costumes of Constance Hoffman are all over the place and I can’t say I was impressed with any of it except maybe the spats on Ping, Pang, and Pong which were a nice touch. Lighting is what you’d expect from any ice rink show. Felix Breisach’s video direction finds the camera in awkward places at times and not always following the action. Picture is very sharp and the aforementioned obscenely lush DTS 5.1 won’t disappoint anyone unless they insist on a plausible soundscape.

Neither performance is recommended, though if you’re a fan of La Dessi you might want to choose the Bregenz DVD.