Geoffroy Schied

Pietro Mascagni’s 1890 melodramatic Cavalleria Rusticana and Ruggero Leoncavallo’s 1892 verismo Pagliacci are almost always presented together as a double bill. But such a programming move should not be taken for granted given the works’ stylistic and tonal differences. (New York City Opera’s 2016 Pagliacci/Aleko was, for example, an alternate intriguing pairing). Francesco Micheli’s new production at the Bayerische Staatsoper in Munich (the first in nearly 50 years) tries to blend the two stories together to mixed results. Including a stellar cast and a robust orchestra, the production’s engagement with themes of immigration, belonging, and social norms had a handful of new insights into both works.

In this production, Cavalleria Rusticana begins and ends with a cheesy voiceover explaining how this was a story of a man dishonored. The first frame is a 1960 nostalgic postcard of Lola and Turiddu on the Sicilian coast embracing, yet soon the latter leaves to earn money in Germany while the former is brutally assaulted and forced into marriage to the local Mafia boss, Alfio. Ivan Gyngazov’s Turiddu, therefore, aptly portrayed a sense of betrayal and pain.

A particularly poignant directorial decision was when Yulia Matochkina’s Santuzza, Turiddu’s lover whom he abandons to return to Lola, tells him to “listen,” not just to her pleas but to the heartbeat of their future child. Matochkina (who will sing the role in November in Chicago) shone in the score’s moments of anguish, her voice soaring while pleading for mercy during the Easter Hymn.

The Mafia and betrayal framing did not quite work as a device when considering all the opera’s characters. Wolfgang Koch as Alfio took a while to warm up and showcase machismo as the Mafia boss in his opening aria, but then later showed surprise and sympathy when Santuzza tells him of her betrayal. Ekaterine Buachidze’s Lola is portrayed as a victim of leering townspeople and mafiosi yet is given little to do in Micheli’s staging when confronting Turiddu and Santuzza.

Turiddu’s mother Lucia shows disdain for Santuzza and pays off Alfio. While initially struggling in the lower register, Rosalind Plowright’s Lucia evolved into a more sympathetic character with vocal warmth who supports Santuzza’s child and helps Turridu escape from Alfio. This directorial decision altered the iconic final line, “Hanno ammazzato compare Turiddu,” now just another spoken voiceover from loudspeaker: Turridu’s identity no longer exists.

Years later by 1970, Turridu has transformed into Pagliacci’s Canio, an immigrant laborer who works at Silvio’s Italian restaurant in the Bavarian capital, where — after a brief return for Mamma Lucia’s funeral (shown in the Cavalleria interlude) — he meets Nedda, a young waitress from Turkey. For Micheli, this second chapter is about “looking for a Heimat” yet Canio is “too intoxicated by a previous life that he is not able to recreate.”

Fragments of Canio’s past life are shown throughout Pagliacci—Lola appears in a bridal gown as he first warns Nedda against infidelity. He cheers for Italy while watching a nostalgic broadcast of the 1970 World Cup semi-final versus Germany, eliciting chuckles from the audience and “look, there’s Beckenbauer” from someone sitting near me. Yet Canio feels increasingly alienated and, after supposedly murdering Nedda and Silvio in a fit of jealous rage (though Micheli uses the cliché trope of supposedly dead characters standing up), he once again takes his suitcase and leaves.

Geoffroy Schied

Pagliacci’s cast had star power fit for the compact story of jealousy and murder: Jonas Kaufmann as Canio, Ailyn Pérez as Nedda, and Wolfgang Koch returned as Tonio.

Kaufmann’s mellow timbre suited the famous “Vesti la giubba” considering the Canio-as-Turiddu conceit, a man broken by cycles of violence and dishonor. His sharp diction and piercing upper register added to the character’s sense of grief and loss. Perez shone particularly in her ballatella, imitating birdsong. Her light voice also matched the fake playfulness of her theater character Colombina, trying to continue the show in the face of Canio’s drunken rage. Koch played the fellow actor Tonio with a sense of sarcasm and cynicism — the character is also an Italian immigrant — firs putting on a clown outfit during “Vesti la giubba” as if teaching Canio about their new lowly status.

The chorus served an important role in both works, peering behind enormous Venetian blinds and lingering around tables on set designer Edoardo Sanchi’s enormous revolving stage, as if denying the main characters any sense of privacy. Another highlight of the evening was incoming Met Principal Guest Conductor Daniele Rustioni’s control of the pit. The orchestra was not overtly sentimental for much of Cavalleria Rusticana, Rustioni preferring transparent sonorities instead of over-the-top lush melodies to highlight the story’s avoidable tragedy. Pagliacci was similarly restrained until the end of “Vesti la giubba” and the opening bars of the interlude, signaling Canio’s rupture with ferocious intensity.

Overall, Micheli’s concept for the double-bill gestures towards important contemporary issues, but its nostalgic attempts to connect the two stories was bogged down in its own world-building, ultimately reducing the impact of both works. Nevertheless, the well-rounded cast and orchestral forces helped elevate the performance.

This week, the Bavarian State Opera also presented a revival of Martin Kusej’s 2010 production of Rusalka. Inspired by the horrific 2008 Fritzl case, Kušej’s take on Dvorak’s opera similar points to themes of abuse and displacement. Rusalka and her water nymph sisters live in a suffocating basement, abused by their Water Goblin father. After she is turned human by her mother Jezibaba, Rusalka is also shocked and alienated by the carnal violence of the human world — the prince and his entourage offer no relief. Her father is eventually arrested, the prince commits suicide out of grief, and Rusalka and her sisters are institutionalized (another Regietheater trope).

Svetlana Aksenova admirably performed the physically demanding role of the alienated title character. Although her ability to project suffered somewhat in her opening “Song to the Moon” aria, Aksenova impressive vocal range and expressivity shined in later scenes. (Asmik Grigorian will perform the title role when it returns in next month’s summer festival.) Slovak tenor Pavol Breslik convincingly portrayed the Prince’s chauvinism and his ultimate desperation in the final aria. Christof Fischesser was a menacing Water Goblin, his towering presence haunting his daughter’s quest for happiness. Mezzo-soprano Christine Rice as Jezibaba and soprano Elena Guseva as the Foreign Princess both had rich vocal timbres that suited their small but important roles in further alienating Rusalka.

W. Hösl

Another expert in the respective repertoire, conductor Edward Gardner kept Dvorak’s score full of movement. Gardner’s energetic style (check out his excellent recordings of Britten and Janacek) matched the vigor required for moments like Jezibaba’s spellcasting and the Act II polonaise —here a macabre dance with animal carcasses.

Despite Kusej’s production somewhat showing its age by alluding to past news events in unsubtle ways (it was recorded on DVD at its 2010 premiere), it nevertheless continues to provide insights into the complex relations of the story. Its bleak perspective on the opera seemingly ignores the potential for redemption embedded in Dvorak and Kvapil’s libretto, but like Micheli’s Cavalleria Rusticana/Pagliacci, it tries to foreground the modern issues of belonging and interpersonal violence that continue to affect contemporary society. While Micheli’s 1960s nostalgic and Kusej’s newscast aesthetics might not be the best way to explore these questions, they still offer fresh experiences for audiences.