Past Production Reviews
3“Madama Butterfly”, a perennial favorite with the opera-going public, seems to be, for good or ill, immune to large-scale meddling from directors attempting to impose their own reading on, what is by opera standards, a well-known story. Rarely do productions step outside late 19th/early 20th century Japan, replete with kanzashi hairstyles, colorful kimonos and obi, houses with paper walls adorned with cherry blossom over the entrances, with well-placed bonsai trees and ornate bridges over water features. Not that this has, of course, in any way dimmed audiences’ enthusiasm for Puccini’s masterpiece, with its glorious and easily accessible music, along with its numerous opportunities to view the great divas displaying their artistry. However, as this historical epoch fades further into the past, and the fascination Japan held over Europeans in the latter half of the 19th century is lost, this type of production is becoming increasingly jaded, and its stereotypical images are weighing more heavily upon the work, leading to “Madama Butterfly” becoming overly sentimental and irrelevant. Moreover, the situation has not been helped by Puccini himself, who as a master in the art of stagecraft, took every opportunity to squeeze the last drop of emotion from the piece. Think of Butterfly’s emotionally powerful suicide scene, which on its own is enough to induce tears from the audience. Puccini, however, realizing that it is possible to ratchet up the emotions further, has the young blindfolded child present on stage as a witness to his mother’s death.
The action is therefore planted on a bare stage and under harsh lights, with a backdrop dotted with black tubes or crimson spots (designed by the painter Frederic Amat), on which stand out the characters dressed in ageless allegorical outfits. in parsimonious gestures. The events which bring together the actors of the drama, the mythological one of Iphigénie confronted with avenging oracles, therefore remain confined to the metaphorical stature. Rather attractive! The musical side, it seems that the approach is of the same order. Since it uses the theater orchestra holds more customary repertoire of the XIX th and XX th centuries. On the contrary , other baroque productions in this house, such as the Durón diptych seen last season with García Alarcón's Cappella Mediterranea (2) or Viento es la dicha de Amor, by the same Nebra, performed in 2013 with the excellent Baroque Orchestra of Seville. In addition to the forty or so instrumentalists of a traditional “Mozart” formation, there is however a continuo, with cello and harpsichord, as well as natural winds, in a completely period style. A way of treating Nebra like a classic, like we treat Mozart. Why not? ... Especially that the lively direction of Francesc Prat knows how to find the carried accents which innervate a splendid score, whose brilliant exuberance returns to soloists who defend it without counting. The merits of María Bayo (photo) are no longer to be singled out, who plays the title role with the vocal authority that we know her. But Auxiliadora Toledano, Ruth González, Erika Escribá-Astaburuaga and Lidia Vinyes-Curtis, also experienced in baroque singing, give it a proud reply.
Daniel Bianco’s settings, with their sliding lattices and Persian arches, are surprisingly close to the 1923 originals, replacing painted backcloths with equally colourful modern back projections. Is this, I wonder, his olive branch to traditional audiences, or a tongue-in-cheek exercise in post-modernism? No matter: paired with Gabriela Salaverri’s bold, technicolour diaphony of costumes and Albert Faura’s poetic lighting (some of the best I’ve seen at Teatro de la Zarzuela) they cook up an enchanting visual soufflé. The Good is the choreographed, musical-theatre style staging of the musical numbers, fluid and wittily in period. Viana also plays the ‘first comedian’ role of Abedul, with unexpectedly quiet, self-absorbed whimsy, rather than the verbal and physical skills we expect in such roles. Francisco J. Sánchez is a well-projected captain of the Janissaries, Gerardo Bullón and Gerardo López contrast drolly as the ‘butch’ and ‘fem’ suitors for Benamor’s hand (their catchy entry number is deliciously moved by Castejón). Irene Palazón’s lustily forthright Netetis reminds me of a young Amelia Font – easy to bring to mind when the original is also here, breezily strutting her stuff as the royals’ mother, Pantea. How nice to see her back where she belongs. Emilio Sánchez is another blessedly familiar face, precise and characterful as ever, in the role of the slave-trader Babilón. Esther Ruiz, in the acting role of the harem slave Cachemira, provides one of the show’s edgiest moments when breaking away terror-stricken from Princess Benamor’s unexpectedly ardent embraces. The outstanding vocalist on the night was undoubtedly Carol García, whose creamy mezzo-soprano is in demand throughout Europe, for everything from baroque to modern opera. Her gentle presence and touching confusion of identity kept her ‘Sultan’ Darió in the mind long after the curtain fell, and her soaring line in the love duet with del Castillo’s Juan capped her contribution to the evening, as well as the composer’s own.
