Vivaldi's Il Bajazet, also known as Il Tamerlano, exemplifies the Baroque tradition of the “pasticcio.” This genre involved setting renowned texts and libretti to music, sometimes under a different title, with compositions borrowed from other operas – and even other composers. Audiences delighted in a series of famous arias, loosely following familiar stories, enhanced by splendid costumes and stage settings. In Il Bajazet, Vivaldi incorporated pieces from prominent contemporaries like Johann Adolph Hasse, Geminiano Giacomelli and Riccardo Broschi (Farinelli’s brother). The plot of such an opera is not meant to be taken too seriously, a perspective embraced by director Fabio Ceresa, who offered an intelligent interpretation well-suited to the Baroque ethos.
The six singers performed the recitatives, which advance the narrative, while seated at the front of the stage, reading from their scores and dressed in everyday clothes, reminiscent of a prova all’italiana. Mid-stage, a secondary stage is set up where the various arias are performed (sets by Massimo Cecchetto), each as a distinct “sketch” whose plot makes little or no connection to the main story. The concept is bold, but it perfectly embodies the sense of wonder of Baroque theatre. It's challenging to describe the variety, the excess and the sheer splendour of these scenes, particularly the utterly camp exaggeration of the costumes by Giuseppe Palella. Some costumes were in perfect Baroque style: Bajazet donned colourful, glittering “Turkish” attire, with mimes reclining lavishly on golden pillows. However, as the evening progressed, the sketches increasingly incorporated references to modern cultural tropes: Jack the Ripper, My Fair Lady, Jessica Rabbit... While it did become a bit silly, even the most outrageous ideas were always guided by the score, with the short narratives on stage perfectly complementing the style of the music.
Conductor Federico Maria Sardelli, an internationally renowned expert on Vivaldi, selected Bernardo Ticci’s 2019 critical edition, adding only a few cuts and newly introduced arias to fill in the gaps of the incomplete original score. The orchestra's composition might have appeared unusual, notably lacking theorbos or similar instruments. However, as Sardelli explains, theorbos had already fallen out of fashion in Venice by 1735 and would not have been part of the continuo. This highlights how some “historically informed” performances may actually reflect contemporary tastes and habits rather than historical accuracy. Sardelli’s tempi were on the fast side, infusing the performance with energy, while maintaining a balanced dynamic between the pit and the stage. The La Fenice orchestra delivered a performance that was beautifully full, powerful, and emotional rather than strictly academic.
Renato Dolcini excelled as Bajazet, the defeated Ottoman leader. His profound understanding of the style was evident in both the lyrical and fiery arias, where his coloratura was clear and stylish. His bass-baritone was well projected over a wildly vast range. He even managed to sing his final aria, “Verrò crudel spietato”, while dressed as Super Mario and running against a backdrop of the video game, without missing a beat!
Sonia Prina portrayed Tamerlano, the victorious Mongol leader, reaffirming her credibility in en travesti roles of powerful men. Her contralto was confident, precise, and well-projected, though perhaps a bit dry at the top, where some acidity was noticeable. Director Ceresa capitalised on her natural aesthetic, creating a memorable motorcycle scene, but also depicting her as a jealous 1950s housewife with a hilarious wig in an act with Raffaele Pe.
Loriana Castellano portrayed Adraspe, Bajazet’s fierce daughter, with a mezzo of burnished, sweet beauty. Ceresa took creative liberties with her character, depicting her in various provocative roles, including a sado-masochistic dominatrix during the aria “Stringi le mie catene”, where she repeatedly calls her lover Andronico an idiot. Castellano's coloratura was impeccable; perhaps her singing lacked some charisma. Nonetheless, her stage presence was remarkable.
Lucia Cirillo showcased her prowess as Irene, Tamerlano’s fiancée. In “Qual guerriero in campo armato” from Broschi’s Idaspe, she truly put on a show, delivering coloratura that included fast repeated notes, wild jumps of over an octave and forays into the tenor range. Her rendition of “Sposa, son disprezzata” (from Giacomelli’s Merope) was both poignantly lyrical and powerful, set against a strong accompaniment from the orchestra, and a dreamy Venetian landscape complete with a gondola and fog. As Andronico, Adraspe’s lover, Raffaele Pe was more successful in the arias than in the recitatives. In the latter, the part seemed too high for him, causing his countertenor to become squeezed and edgy, losing its smoothness.
The cast was rounded out by Valeria La Grotta, who portrayed Idaspe, Andronico’s confidant. Her silvery, youthful soprano was perfect for the soubrette roles envisioned by the director. She performed admirably in the numerous coloratura arias, displaying great style and spirit.
