September 1976: La Scala is making its first visit to the United States, bringing the Abbado / Strehler Macbeth. Critics are almost as unanimous in disapproval of the production – too spare, too dark, too Bayreuth – as in approval of the singing. Fast forward 49 years to Verdi’s birthday and the Emerson Colonial Theatre, where Boston Lyric Opera opens its season with a Macbeth whose musically strong production, while free of anything “Bayreuth”, suffers from a more current staging syndrome: a stark unit set where tables, chairs and crates deployed by various cast members suffice for scene changes and set decoration.
In Steve Maler’s production white panels, bisected by a jagged crack, splattered with blood and mottled with mold, tower over the rear of the stage. Furniture piled against them gives the floor level the appearance of a disordered attic. Four hidden doors allow for entrances and exits. In the first scene of Act 4, the wall parts along its crack at the mention of Birnam Wood to reveal the naked tree branches. Occasionally a chandelier descends from the flies and, when lowered to the floor in Act 3, becomes a convincing witches’ cauldron. The noble characters dress in white with smudges of ash or mold on their garments (make of that what you will). The rest of the cast is in the soiled earth tones of refugees.
When the curtain rises during the prelude, it reveals the chorus standing stock still downstage in a straight line, creating a stage picture reminiscent of Giovanni Pellizza da Volpedo’s The Fourth Estate. They are similarly massed for “Patria oppressa” but this time either carrying candles or proffering photos, like Argentina’s Madres de Plaza de Mayo. Whether this trope is an attempt to shoehorn current events into the mix or not, it is definitely a distraction and cause for wondering: why? Other questionable choices frequently blunt the dramatic effect of a scene. Why is Lady Macbeth at her most animated when she should be walking in her sleep? Why do the Macbeths look completely oblivious to the fact that they are calling down the wrath of God on their own heads at the end of Act 1? Why choose to have Banquo’s ghost mount the banquet table in Act 2, thus necessitating the setting of an incongruous ramp at the table’s end? Indeed, why have so many characters awkwardly interacting on tables at all?
The Emerson Colonial seats 1,700 – somewhat more than the 1847 capacity of the Teatro della Pergola, site of Macbeth’s premiere – so the sotto voce intimacy Verdi emphasized when preparing the opera was easily replicated by the singers. When they opened up, it counted for something. Verdi also continually urged his singers to let the words inspire their dramatic choices. Closer attention to the text here would have allowed several characters to be more fully and convincingly realized.
Overall, though, the opera was well sung. Norman Garrett’s oaky baritone had the proper weight and colors to limn his character’s turmoil and disintegration and the warmth to earn sympathy when none is really warranted in “Pietà, rispetto amore”. Alexandra Lobianco’s Lady Macbeth took some time to come into focus vocally. Initially, runs up to high notes were tentative and some of those notes barely there, but this was understandable given the fact that this was her first major staged role since being sidelined by a vocal cord hemorrhage three years ago. As the evening progressed, her confidence grew and her performance steadied and blossomed. Zaikuan Song’s imposing bass and paternal warmth kept Banquo from fading into the background, while David Junghoon Kim revealed a tenor with power, ping and baritonal colors, making his Macduff an ardent, commanding presence. As always at the Colonial, David Angus had his players facing to the right in the theater’s shallow pit. He led a taut, spirited performance. Too bad, then, that staging miscalculations blurred the focus and diluted the drama.
