In common with many operagoers, I imagine, I’ve seen more revivals of Richard Eyre’s 32-year-old La traviata than of any other production. Significantly more, indeed, because it’s rarely out of The Royal Opera’s repertoire for more than a few months at a time. Please believe me, then, when I say that this is one of the best yet. A pearl. House favourite Ermonela Jaho, forever Violetta, is back in the role that made her name 18 years ago when she jumped in for an ailing Anna Netrebko and never looked back.
Around that time, The Royal Opera took to mounting extended runs of its number one money-spinner, usually with a trio of consecutive casts. This tradition ensures that even Cast C (C for Cash Cow?) fills the auditorium and helps finance more high-risk operatic ventures. Jaho, who led one such cast back in the day, has returned in triumph and will be succeeded in due course by Pretty Yende and Rachel Willis-Sørensen – a sturdy trio of stars and a vote of confidence in the production’s longevity.
What makes this one so special? Let me count the ways. Jaho, of course, who never prettifies her performance and even incorporated an alarming death rattle into her final scene. She allowed her voice to fade in places, then to come back strongly, always with dramatic intent. Her performance was so intelligent, so deeply considered, that it transcended mere beauty and even, in places, audibility. Her reactions and interactions were subtle yet truthful, as witness the eloquence of her silence when the irascible Giorgio Germont (Aleksei Isaev) fails to heed her announcement that she’s dying.
Equally special was the baton work of Antonello Manacorda, whose fleeting tenuti and scrupulous dynamics were breathtaking from the opening bars. The Orchestra of the Royal Opera House responded to his warp and weft with an ache that encompassed despair and radiance with equal beauty, while William Spaulding’s choristers lived and breathed their contributions as much as he did. It’s a shame that the Italian conductor has only been engaged for the first six performances.
Third among equals was Simon Iorio, who has addressed his responsibilities as revival director in a hundred subtle ways. When Giorgio Germont sings his simplistic paean to Provence, ‘Di Provenza il mar, il suol’, his son, Alfredo, listens as though affronted that his father should so patronise and infantilise him. Indeed, has the old man ever seemed such a buffoon as here? It’s his lack of empathy (a common failing in Verdi’s world) that’s the catalyst for the opera’s tragedy, and Iorio recognises that. Germont’s well-intentioned line to the dying Violetta (‘Take care of yourself, you deserve a better future’) makes us howl inwardly.
The gambling party chez Flora Bervoix is inherently chaotic yet Iorio (as Eyre before him, of course) guides his audience confidently through the action. We always know where to look, and the sweet tenor timbre of Giovanni Sala’s animated Alfredo drew the ear as well as the eye when the dumb-headed young man humiliates the woman who loves him. This scene was uncommonly harrowing thanks to a superbly delineated relationship between the two lovers. Incidentally, the gambling sequence itself was a showcase for Manacorda’s skills as he created a musical tension every bit as palpable as the dramatic jeopardy.
Bob Crowley’s imposing sets remain a trump card (even though the cramped environment for Act 1 is looking its age) and the supporting players were cast from strength throughout, with stand-out work by Barnaby Rea as Doctor Grenvil and Sam Hird as Baron Douphol. Transcending all of them, however, the three principals formed an unforgettable alliance, with blissful harmonies and a shared dynamic beauty that was anything but routine.
