| Transcript |
vol. 3, no. 8
GAY AUSTIN
may 1979 13
PERFORMING ART&
by Gary Reese
One of the best kept secrets of this, or any, season of Houston's
Grand Opera was the scenery and costumes which Paris-born stage
director Jean-Pierre Ponelle had created for the company's new
production of Verdi's La Traviata. HGO officials weren't allowing
very much, but one thing they did release in advance was the price —
half a million dollars, more than twice the cost of HGO's opulent
mounting of Der Rosenkavalier, revived earlier this year — and a
hefty escalation, even considering today's inflation rates.
Ponelle and his costume designer Pat Halmen brought with them
a dramatic conception rarely realized in this country — where abstract, symbolic elements mingle with starkly realistic settings to
create a total theatrical effect. In Ponelle's own words, "I am always
going from the score." But, in the same breath, he explained that
the composer's original intentions could not always be honored:
"An immediate approach is not possible today" — the sensitivity
of the 19th century and its customs are too far away. At times, the
tension between these two polarized approaches to staging the
opera created the sparks that brought the drama to life, and yet,
very often, the director's intentions worked at cross purposes,
producing absurd, even comical effects.
The basic set design was itself a visual delight: a grisaille of white,
grey and tan which extended into the wings and included numerous
stairways and entrances hung with scrim or faced with mirrors.
Ponelle refrained from abstract stage settings with minimal props,
preferring lush cinematic detail: even in the final act, when Violetta
has sold most of her belongings, there was nothing the director had
forgotten to place on her bedtable — all in tasteful Second Empire
style.
Ponelle's dramatic conception was also cinematic, the opera's
act I prelude staged as a sort of flashback. Around a darkened stage
before full-length mirrors wandered an invisible figure holding a
candle and lighting the candelabra. Presumably, the action of the
drama has already happened and the figure is actually Violetta's
ghost. The figure eventually reached the dining table and, under dim
spotlights, uncovered the courtesan's corpse stretched out upon it.
Then, as the strains of the prelude died away, the corpse was again
covered up, the stage bathed in light — footlights, no less — and the
party guests sat down to dinner. (I thoroughly enjoyed this touch,
but couldn't stifle a devilish wish that one of the principals would
ad-lib, "E preparata la cena?" — "What's for dinner?"
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Ponelle handled the chorus in a way that, for the most part, I
hope will set a precedent for subsequent HGO productions. They
never became just a sonic backdrop for the action, or worse, selfconsciously in the way. They added atmosphere in the first act,
singing, dancing and mingling behind entranceways and created
an illusion of merriment and partying on a grand scale. They participated in the basic stage action, reacting and pointing at the principals. In some scattered instances, this became a bit ludicrous, as
when the chorus bounced up and down to the music in act I, but
the dimension this approach adds to the drama is immeasurable if
judiciously applied. Of particular note in the gambling scene, Ponelle
transformed the opening choruses from fatuous divertissements into
a critical commentary on bourgeoisie playing at being gypsies and
matadors.
In keeping with the visual emphasis of the production, the cast
was exceptionally handsome. No woman has ever worn black quite
as stunningly as Catherine Malfitano in the gambling scene. Malfi-
tano has a pleasant mezza voce which fills every corner ofthe house
and a nice way with pianissimos, but hers is a voice that begins to
kick when put under the slightest strain. Dramatic outbursts were
delivered in a very thin, nasal tone and whenever she attempted to
swell a proper crescendo, the voice lost both its focus and its pitch.
Added to this, Malfitano wandered off pitch consistently and slid
and edged onto notes where attack on the phrases should be clean.
It made me wonder if Malfitano was able to hear hrself singing from
the stage. To her credit, Malfitano is a "thinking" soprano, not
afraid to try unorthodox vocal and dramatic touches on a working
horse role like Violetta, and could turn it to her favor once she
settles into the coloratura of "Sempre libera" on her own terms
and avoids overuse of her chest register, which is most unattractive.
As Violetta's lover Alfredo, Louis Luma enjoyed most ofthe same
advantages and disadvantages of her partner in "demi-monderie." He
cut an attractive figure as the impetuous young artist and has an
equally attractive tenor voice — medium-sized, burnished tone,
even if not entirely under control. While Luma's singing in his
middle and lower registers was impeccable, his approaches to the
top notes were only occasionally, successful and he wisely avoided
the interpolated high-C at the end of Alfredo's act II cabaletta. (I
discovered later that this was after Ponelle's directive that the score
be strictly observed — no cuts, no interpolations. This makes even
more dramatic and musical sense in Violetta's case, where Malfitano sang the cadenza to "Sempre libera" as written, ending on
middle A and foregoing the stratospheric E-flat above high-C which
is customary in performance.)
Ponelle's presentation of Alfredo's father, Giorgio — who breaks
up the romance and precipitates the tragedy - was the most surprising single aspect of the drama. Usually portrayed as paternally
burly, albeit loveable, baritone Brent Ellis played him as a provincial petit bourgeois, palsied and addled. The Sunday matinee audience didn't know quite what to make of this approach and greeted
his unsteady entrances with nervous laughter. There was nothing
unsteady about Ellis's singing. He offered a firm line and flowing
cantabile in his first scene with Violetta ("Pura siccome un angelo")
even if he did not rise to the occasion of his scene with Alfredo
("Di provenza il mar").
Nevertheless, all roads lead to Rome and any successful presentation of La Traviata must logically culminate in the final act with
Violetta's death scene. Here the succession of opulent sets which
had escalated in brilliance with each scene ground to a halt, Violetta's bed and nightstand before the divested central set piece
forming a sort of "auditorium bedroom." What Ponelle had saved
up for last was some interesting stage business that didn't always
meet its mark and was ultimately unsuccessful. I especially liked
the "hallucination" when the revellers, usually kept discreetly
offstage, invaded the bedroom and danced with the dying Violetta,
showering her with camellias. But the letter recitation — Verdi's
own kind of "flashback" written into the score — was dispatched
Continued on page 19
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