James Karas
Imagine Donald Trump, Harvey Weinstein, Judge Roy Moore and a couple of
dozen other sexual predators with women available to them in a milieu where
they are the law unto themselves. The result would be an orgy where the men can
use and abuse the women as if they were objects and discard them at will.
That describes the opening scene of Rigoletto as directed by David
McVicar in a revival of his 2001 production at the Royal Opera House, Covent
Garden. When the lights go on, a disheveled woman comes out holding her clothes
against her body. She starts crying and we know that she has just been raped or
at least sexually abused. We will soon learn that she is the daughter of the
courtier Monterone in the court of the Duke of Mantua where an orgy is in
progress. The predatory men chase woman, grab them sexually, simulate coitus
and act in an animalistic manner that is as frightful as it is abhorrent.
The women’s breasts are exposed, one man is undressed completely and the
courtiers crawl on all fours as if they are jackals. Rigoletto ridicules
Monterone about his daughter’s and his humiliation. Monterone’s daughter on
stage is McVicar’s invention and we will see her several times crouching on the
floor and being abused by the pigs of Mantua. She is damaged goods and men can
do whatever their animalism inspires and their imagination conceives.
Dimitri Platanias and cast of Rigoletto. Photo: Mark Douet
Rigoletto is about
the Duke’s deformed court jester who amuses his lecherous employer by ridiculing
the other courtiers. It is a bad job for a man who is hiding his beautiful
daughter from the moral black hole of the court.
The production has an extraordinary cast that fulfills the vocal and
emotional requirements of the opera to the hilt. Baritone Dimitri Platanias has
a big voice that can express contempt and deep emotion with exceptional
resonance. This Rigoletto, in addition to being hunchbacked, has crippled legs
and needs two canes to hobble around the stage. He expresses his scorn and ridicule
of the courtiers, his deep love of his daughter Gilda, his terror at being
cursed and his hatred (a major gamut of emotions) with astonishing finesse and
range.
Soprano Lucy Crowe as Gilda is the picture of beauty, innocence, indeed
purity, with her blonde hair and simple but attractive white dress. No wonder
the Duke says he is in love with her. Crowe matches those physical attributes
with a clarion voice of splendor and luster.
Tenor Michael Fabiano as the Duke and chief predator is completely
amoral and feels entitled to do whatever he wants with whoever he wants.
Fabiano’s vocal power and strutting leave no doubt about the Duke’s abusive
abilities. He has a strong voice that he commands like a fine-tuned instrument.
A delight to the ears.
Bass Andrea Mastroni has a deep, sonorous voice quite becoming to a
principled assassin who provides a public service. Well, sort of, but if you
must hire one, go to him as Sparaficile but make sure his sister, the slutty
Maddalena (well dome by Nadia Krasteva) is on holiday in Bulgaria.
The set by Michael Vale is in keeping with McVicar’s raunchy
interpretation. The ducal palace looks more like a large steel shed. There is
not a single indication of elegance or wealth let alone civilization. Sparafucile’s
place of business is understandably grungy and his street office is logically
in the down-market part of town.
I should note that the revival director is Justin Way. Stats-crazy
operaphiles, may want to know that McVicar’s 2001 production has been revived
seven times. The most recent revival before the current one was in 2014.
Alexander Joel led the Orchestra of the Royal Opera House in a vigorous
performance of the score in a richly thought out, nuanced and superb production
of Verdi’s chestnut.
And if you don’t see this production, you will have to settle for lurid
stories about American politicians, business executives and stars without the
benefit of music, singing and a great night at the opera.
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