"Otello" at the Met

Otello is generally considered Verdi's dramatic masterpiece, and even though I am not the composer's biggest fan, the drama and power of his penultimate opera is undeniable. Gone are the clear recitatives, arias, and ensembles that marked his previous works; Verdi creates an environment in which the music and action evolve seamlessly. Many people can whistle Verdi's famous melodies, but leaving the theater after seeing Otello, you probably won't have any of its tunes stuck in your head. If you're anything like me, however, the tragedy will simply leave you stunned and emotionally exhausted.

The title role makes tremendous vocal demands on any singer, but the acting requirements are even greater. Otello's entrance as the victorious hero and loving husband quickly deteriorates into the suspicion of his wife's infidelity before culminating in a murderous rage, and the tenor must project this psychological spiral. It's no surprise that the Moor of Venice has been a signature role for singers like Placido Domingo and Jon Vickers, two men who brought both a strong voice and powerful emotions to the stage.

In the Metropolitan Opera's current production of Otello, South African tenor Johan Botha undertakes this challenge and succeeds only partially. His voice was beautiful, with power and pure, golden tone, yet I never felt Otello's paranoia or fury. The climatic scene in Desdemona's bedroom was a particular letdown. As Otello accuses his wife of betrayal and sentences her to death, Desdemona begs for her life, but to no avail. Otello's hysteria builds, and he murders her. At this most frenzied instant, Botha seemed cold and detached–a heartless executioner more than a betrayed husband. (By comparison, at this moment in a 1971 live performance with Herbert von Karajan at the Vienna State Opera, Vickers seems to literally go insane right on stage–one of the most truly horrifying moments I have ever heard.)

Much like Botha's Otello, the Iago of baritone Carlo Guelfi was technically well-sung but lacking in spirit. Iago is surely one of the most vile characters in the opera repertoire–he even refers to himself as "primordial slime"–but Guelfi never explored those emotions. It's not about singing the all right notes; he does that beautifully and resonantly. For me, it's about creating an entire personal. This can be done in any number of ways: the manner in which you carry yourself on stage, a specific inflection on a revealing word or phrase, a special quality to the voice, etc. I despised Iago for his jealous and destructive manipulations, yet Guelfi could have pushed his character much further, into even greater depths of evil.

Renée Fleming, on the other hand, excelled vocally and dramatically as Desdemona. For a singer of her stature, it almost goes without saying that her voice is gorgeous, but unlike Botha, she was willing to sacrifice sonic quality when appropriate, particularly as she prayed for forgiveness and compassion in her poignant "Willow Song" and "Ave Maria" at the beginning of Act IV. In fact, in her several duets with Botha, Fleming's charisma and magnetism overwhelmed her co-star.

The rest of the cast and chorus were all very good, if unspectacular. Conductor Semyon Bychkov kept the Met Orchestra on a short leash, never really allowing their full might to be released. After hearing James Levine and Lorin Maazel conduct the orchestra in January, I know it's capable of far greater levels of expression. His tempos were fairly brisk, and the orchestra did achieve a full-blooded climax as Otello smothers Desdemona. But there were many other significant moments leading up to that point that I felt were dramatically underplayed.

Despite my complains, I have to admit that the production had a great effect on me. Such is the visceral power of the music and the story. Some have suggested that Verdi's setting of Otello is an improvement on Shakespeare's original place, and, while that's a limb I'm not willing to venture out on, the opera is unlike anything I've ever experience. Its brutal portrayal of jealousy and shame will remain with me, a reminder of the darkness of the human soul.

(Photo of Placido Domingo as Otello at the Vienna State Opera)

Syracuse Opera's "Rigoletto"

An opera can survive a few technical flaws. But when the singers are overmatched and emotionally disengaged, any production will fail.

Syracuse Opera opened its new season Friday night with a lifeless production of Verdi's Rigoletto. To succeed, this opera requires three strong voices in the leading roles. A single weak link is damaging, but this triumvirate was catastrophic.

As Gilda, soprano Judy Berry displayed the strongest voice, albeit a somewhat unpleasant one. Her glaring botched high note at the end of Act II was unfortunate, but predictable: Throughout the night, every high note--the moment at which arias culminate and audiences rejoice--was an uncomfortable stretch for her.

Baritone Constantinos Yiannoudes, as Rigoletto, and tenor Marc Schreiner, as the Duke of Mantua, seemed completely overwhelmed by their roles, unable to project into the hall. Schreiner in particular was frustrating. Maybe he was saving his voice for the third act, but even "La donna e mobile," one of the core arias of any tenor's repertoire, was a disappointment. If, at this moment, he doesn't sing out in full voice, when would he? Truth is, he probably doesn't have the voice to handle such a demanding role in such a large hall.

The Syraucse Symphony Orchestra tried valiantly to avoid covering the singers, but to no avail. Conductor John Mario Di Costanzo kept the orchestra's dynamics so low, the drama and color of Verdi's score was mostly lost. And the singers still couldn't be heard.

But more distressing was the lack emotion on stage. Opening night jitters could be to blame, but the singers appeared cautious and stiff, making sure they were always making the correct gesture in the correct spot on stage. In only one moment--Rigoletto's "Cortigiani, vil razza dannata" in Act II--did one of the principals let down his guard. As Rigoletto sang of his love for his daughter Gilda, Yiannoudes engaged the audience with gestures and singing that seemed spontaneous and genuine. The crowd felt his pain and devastation, and responded immediately, rewarding Yiannoudes with the evening's loudest ovation. But as the opera deteriorated into a climax of murder and deceit, the cast never reached those emotional depths.

Rigoletto is such a dramatic story, with the fundamental themes of love, betrayal, and vengeance. But the even keel of Syracuse Opera's current production robbed the audience from the full range of Verdi's emotional journey.