L’Orfeo was composed by Claudio Monteverdi in 1607; not quite the first opera ever written, by just a few years, it is certainly the oldest one which arrived to us with a continuous performance history. This mother of all operas could not be missing from this Whitsun Festival in Salzburg, dedicated to Orpheus, but the unusual decision here was to present it as a marionette performance. The Compagnia Marionettistica Carlo Colla & Figli has worked on performances inspired by the main Italian operas since the beginning of the 20th century, representing the stories of the most famous works, incorporating music into their shows.
A small marionette theatre is built on the stage of the Haus für Mozart, where the action takes place, while the singers and the chorus are in the pit with the orchestra. In the small theatre we saw all the devices of Baroque performances: painted backdrops, flamboyant costumes, machinery carrying the Deus ex Machina, puppet animals, all of which helped getting a feeling of what a show in the 17th century might have looked like.
The marionettes are about a metre tall, which presents some problems, even in a relatively small theatre; from about halfway through the orchestra stalls it wasn’t easy to discern details – this is one of those rare cases where video support might have helped the performance. The skills of the puppeteers, however, are such that the marionettes really came alive, their delicate gestures and movements perfectly attuned with the singing (some of them more expressive than many live singers one sees on stage!). The sets and lighting are beautiful, in an extremely traditional production (Franco Citterio and Giovanni Schiavolin, with costumes by Cecilia di Marco and Maria Grazia Citterio).
At the beginning we see Monteverdi himself thinking, awaiting inspiration, finally giving the attack to the orchestra. At the end, after Orfeo loses Euridice forever in the underworld, we see him again, as if pondering how to end the opera. Then comes the god Apollo – Orfeo’s father, in some versions of the myth – carrying his son to the heavens in his golden chariot. Particularly effective is the scene between Pluto and Proserpina (rulers of the underworld), in a red and gold cave populated by very believable bats and dragons.
Gianluca Capuano returns to his origins with this 17th-century opera, having spent most of his pre-Bartoli years immersed in early Italian music. It was easy to recognise how at home he felt, the ease in his approach to the (nowadays) unusual musical paradigms. Les Musiciens du Prince came out in a “special occasions” line-up: two theorbos, two trumpets, five trombones, two cornettos, two harpsichords, an organ, and a plethora of percussion. It was glorious. The brass and cornettos impressed with precision and brilliant sound, the strings almost “speaking” with the singers. Having all the performers in the pit gave remarkable unity to the performance.
The singers, including most of the chorus, were all Italian specialists of this style and the mother tongue, alas, helps in this repertoire: they all had such natural expressiveness in shaping the words and the sentences, it was a delight of “recitar cantando”. Renato Dolcini sang Orfeo, a part often given to tenors, despite sitting somewhat in between the tenor and baritone ranges. Dolcini had the necessary depth and warmth in the low passages, but also easy high notes: his voice was very suited to the role. He was enchanting in his entrance “Rosa del ciel”.
The spectacular Sara Mingardo sang La messaggera and La speranza: the first tells Orfeo about Euridice’s death – acted on stage, in this production, in the background while she sings; the second accompanies Orfeo to the underworld. Mingardo’s deep, mellow mezzo was moving and emotional in her retelling of Euridice’s death. Carlotta Colombo lent her bright soprano to Euridice and La musica, while Elena Carzaniga as Proserpina managed a sensual tone in her high soprano while seducing her husband Pluto (baritone Marco Saccardin) into releasing Euridice back to life. As an aside, the seduction in the text and the music is much more explicit than one is used to in 19th-century opera (“My dear husband, what can I possibly do to repay you for such favour!” wink wink). Salvo Vitale was a booming Caronte, his marionette with burning red eyes. I want to mention all the other singers, most enlivening two or three characters, nymphs and shepherds: Massimo Altieri, Massimo Lombardi, Francesca Cassinari and Jacopo Facchini, also leader of the chorus Il Canto di Orfeo, which completed the performance with incredible elegance and phrasing.