Miren Urbieta-Vega / Рецензии

A huge work by the narrator, the soloists and the orchestra (also the choir, despite the fact that the distance and the mask prevent us from fully enjoying it) is presupposed when one is missing neither costumes nor decorations; and that the libretto, even if it is well written, does not have much in particular. Here there are the usual conflicts, marriageable girls, recalcitrant masturbation, love affairs, heartbreak and, above all, a lot of humor. A pretext, we would say, to make unique and very varied music. Maestro Luna plays many styles, which reminds us of Falla as well as George Gershwin, and takes us from habaneras to cancán, passing through fandango and waltz. The Orchestra of the Community of Madrid is masterful, skilfully commanded by a Guillermo García Calvo with a wide sound and efficient rhythm. The music asked for a stable pulse and a lively rhythm, and most of the time it was Javier Franco's turn to face the songs that were more rhythmically committed. The Galician baritone does not lack tables to come out of the challenge gracefully, and project a rigorous and credible character, even when they were seen with low registers that perhaps would have benefited from a slightly less exultant orchestral accompaniment. Lola Casariego played the widowed Marchioness with correction, and she was solvent and balanced in the interventions with Javier Franco. On the other side, the daughters of the Marquesa, Isabel and Cristina, played by Lucía Tavira and Miren Urbieta-Vega, along with their suitors and sycophants. The tenor Andeka Gorrotxategi caught our attention with his power and self-confidence., who boldly interpreted the rascal Carlos Alberto, undoubtedly a voice without fissures to deal with the power exerted by the orchestra.

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.