Víctor Torres / Anmeldelser

The production makes little attempt to re-create 1stcentury Rome and instead it is suggested in the setting, which is dominated by a stadium-like tiered bank of plastic chairs, on which different groups of spectators move and sit and the nude Drusila (Caligula’s now dead sister and lover) wanders – a concept that works well, in making these spectators part of the action while at the same time drawing in the audience. In such a context modern day dress is of course de rigueur, with Caligula’s Act 3 drag outfit and Helicon’s toga also entirely in keeping. Ira Levin, who holds the position of invited principal director of the Colón orchestra, was in complete command, providing a fluent and well balanced playing from the augmented orchestra. Peter Coleman-Wright gave a masterly – if obviously older than 30 years – performance as Caligula, effectively conveying the perversity and absurdity of the character. Yvonne Howard was similarly effective as Caesonia, particularly her distracted approach to Caligula’s goings on in the first half. Martin Wölfel’s voice was just right for Helicon and after Jurgita Adamonyte’s Scipio, look forward to seeing her in the completely different role of Idamante later in the year. Good work too from Héctor Guedes (Cherea), Fernando Chalabe (Mucius), Victor Torres (Mereia and Lepidus) and Marisú Pavón (Livia), and from the young actress Lara Tressens (Drusila), as apparition-like as she could be, who didnt take a curtain call.

The production was very much a ‘period’ one, dark reflecting the night time, with an airfield like building on one side and a three storey ‘operations centre’ on the other, and with a fence between separating the officials from the public. Projections added to the stormy mood. Il prigioniero (The prisoner), on the other hand, was given a more modern production, even though the setting is much earlier – in the second half of the 16th century. The work, which dates from 1948, portrays a tortured prisoner who is given the means to escape, only to wonder if he might not find his liberty in death at the stake. The connection in this case is rather by association, with the events under the military rule of the late 1970s and early 1980s. The setting used was the same as Volo di notte, although less obviously relevant in this context, and with the addition of a large rotating central cube representing the prisoner’s cell and torture room as the focus of events. Likewise similar and appropriately dark lighting. But there also was the odd addition of acrobatic dancers, supposedly representative of angels of death of that military dictatorship, but ultimately a distraction rather than an addition. Both conveyed well the events and feelings being portrayed with the differences between the two sufficient to well distinguish them. This was also due in no small measure to the two casts. In Volo di notte particularly notable were Daniela Tabernig as the missing airman’s increasingly desperate wife and Victor Torres – unfortunately lost under the orchestra at times – as the insistent but ultimately responsible Riviere. Adrian Mastrangelo well portrayed the Mother in Il prigioniero and Leonardo Estevez was an outstanding prisoner. Christian Baldini showed an affinity with Dallapiccola’s scores, with their varying and complex textures and the chorus responded well.

The six soloists demonstrate, both on stage and on screen, solid acting skills and seem to have obviously taken a certain pleasure in recording the making of projected on the background screen. The disarticulated triptych formed by the parents and the daughter concentrates an important part of the dramatic action. At its head, soprano Sabrina Cirera (Rosine) develops the dry, strong but pitted voice of a hysterical, indecisive and authoritarian mother. Equipped with an elegant vibrato, its colors are tapered and held with ease. The tenor Carlos Ullán uses a high voice, tense as of an animated and inspired theatrical game to plant the embittered character of the father (Alfred) and his relational discomfort, stuck between his wife and his daughter. Laura Pisani's performanceis noticed as much by her limpid and bittersweet inflections as by the virginal freshness of her soprano voice (supposed to be that of Antoinette, a teenager) which imprints her character's gaze on her family and, more generally, on the work itself. From where this good-natured impression which emerges and authorizes laughter, even if the cruelty of the child, animated by hatred towards his parents, sometimes has the appearance of a game of massacre towards them. This trio sees three other characters revolving around him who share their daily life: the mezzo-soprano Alejandra Malvino is Miss Betty, the Teacher, and has a high, bright and clear voice. The timbre, playing on fine nuances in the phrasing, is pleasant and varied depending on the situation. Víctor torressings the role of Georges, the Butler who has a relationship with Betty unmasked by Antoinette. He vibrates his baritone voice, deep, wide and ample, to show his bows and his double playing. The soprano Marisú Pavón finally plays Isabelle, Piano teacher and Antoinette's aunt. The voice of her character, deliberately erratic and tumultuous, is leaping, sometimes strident: it is that of an ironic and caustic gossip. It should be noted that this vocal plateau does not shine by its pronunciation of French: the spectator even takes a certain time before guessing which language the libretto is. The great Hall of the Colón , packed, reserves a very contrasting and unadulterated welcome to this spectacle which leaves no one indifferent, between angry premature desertion and prolonged sustained applause.