For no other opera is the gap between scholars and public opinion so wide. Since 1876, when Amilcare Ponchielli’s La Gioconda debuted at La Scala in Milan with a success of unheard-of proportions, every time this drama is set up in some Italian theatre, its popular fortune is renewed. Yet also the diffidence of the musicography in this colourful work, taken from Angelo, tyran de Padoue that Victor Hugo had written forty years before, remains unchanged. Nevertheless, audiences are subjugated by the opulence of the music of this small-town grand opera, which is not devoid of sections of undoubted effect and a wise musical construction. The problem is that in La Gioconda the characters have minimal psychological depth, being more like the representation of extreme feelings rather than credible dramatic characters.
Only part of the plot of Hugo’s historical drama is respected by the librettist Arrigo Boito, who identified himself as Tobia Gorrio in this work. In his convoluted verses and in Ponchielli’s music the main protagonist is the city of Venice, “great and terrible, full of darkness, where one does not die on the scaffold, but disappears” in the Orphan Canal or in the Dead Canal.
A director of La Gioconda today can choose two antithetical approaches for its mise en scène: either a parody of the story by staging “something else” (one wonders what Claus Guth or Krzysztof Warlikowski or even Damiano Michieletto might do with this plot!) or a traditional interpretation, a postcard design of Venice. Federico Bertolani doesn’t choose the first way, but takes into account the increasingly limited theatre budget with a simplified staging purified of tinsel and papier-mâché. Andrea Belli’s scenery tended to hint at rather than to describe the lagoon city: the water element was always present – even if from the stalls the spectators could not notice it, were it not for the light reflections and the splashes. Wooden walkways formed the scenery of Acts 1 and 4. A mast, two sails and ropes were the brigantine on which not only Laura’s perdition took place in Act 2, but also Gioconda’s transformation into a vindictive female. This was not the only conversion: she then became a compassionate woman and finally a martyr. Act 3 was less effective: the Ca’ d’Oro was made up with too many red drapes that conflicted with the ugly, translucent plastic sheeting that elsewhere was effective in hinting at the liquid element of the city. What’s more, forcing Laura to lie a good half hour stretched on her catafalque covered with a red cloth is hardly justifiable from a dramatic point of view.
Conductor Daniele Callegari reinstated all the pages of this complex score, even those that are traditionally cut. He delivered an infectious performance, underlining the dark and sombre moments, but also not skimping on the sound volumes when necessary, without ever prevaricating on the singers. Too bad that the three intervals diluted the dramatic tension and made some spectators go home after more than four hours of the performance. The total of 60 minutes of intervals for the changes of an essentially minimalist scenery seemed hardly justified.
Gioconda has three climaxes in the opera: the duet with the rival Laura, the moment of the excruciating “Suicidio!” and the final scene. In all three Saioa Hernández showed great temperament and vocal technique along with a particular, powerful timbre that makes her suitable for this repertoire. The other highlight of the evening was the character of Enzo Grimaldo, here sung by Francesco Meli whose characteristic commitment was appreciated by the audience, which responded with thunderous applause. Great experience and temperament are Anna Maria Chiuri’s talents and, despite some harshness in the low register, she effectively portrayed a tortured Laura. Giacomo Prestia’s performance as Alvise Badoero was generous , even if his bass is a bit worn. After his treacherous Giovanni in Marco Tutino’s Two Women, Sebastian Catana returned to another villain; his Barnaba a sort of Iago whose perfidy here was even stronger. The rest of the supporting singers and the two choirs were equally good.
The choreographer Monica Casadei and the company Artemis effectively performed the famous “Dance of the Hours”, a naive concession to the conventions of the Transalpine grand opera of the time. In the small space between the chorus and the orchestra pit, only six dancers illustrated with apt movements the gears and the hands of a clock in the the galloping and frisky themes of this page, whose character is totally remote from the nocturnal and mysterious atmospheres of the rest of the opera.
La Gioconda a Modena: un grand-opéra di provincia sempre popolare
Per nessun'altra opera è così netto il divario tra i giudizi della critica e del pubblico. Dal 1876, quando La Gioconda di Amilcare Ponchielli fu presentata alla Scala di Milano con un successo di inaudite proporzioni, ogni volta che questo drammone viene allestito in qualche teatro italiano si rinnova la sua fortuna popolare. Ma immutate rimangono anche le riserve della musicografia su questo feuilleton a forti tinte tratto da Angelo, tyran de Padoue che Victor Hugo aveva scritto quarant'anni prima. Il pubblico rimane comunque soggiogato dall'opulenza della musica di questo grand-opéra di provincia di sapiente costruzione musicale cui non mancano pagine di indubbio effetto. Il fatto è che i personaggi de La Gioconda hanno uno spessore psicologico minimo, essendo più che altro la rappresentazione in scena di sentimenti estremi più che personaggi dalla drammaturgia credibile.