There is something fitting about I masnadieri being performed in German at the Volksoper. Not only was the opera Verdi’s first foreign commission – the opera premiered in London in 1847 under the composer’s baton – but the Andrea Maffei's libretto is based on a Schiller play, Die Räuber. The plot is full of intrigue, violence and – spoiler alert – does not end well. The first act is dedicated to laying out the four main characters: King Massimiliano (Kurt Rydl), his two problematic sons, Francesco (Boaz Daniel)and Carlo (Vincent Schirrmacher), and Amalia (Sofia Solovly), who is both Carlo’s love interest and cousin. Atypically for Verdi, the entire first act is exclusively aria and duet-centric, with brief interpolations from the bandit male chorus and supporting character Arminio (David Sitka), Francesco’s servant.
The Volksoper’s new production by Alexander Schulin focuses on the broken family dynamic, and the overture features a beautiful cello solo (Roland Lindenthal) played from the stage, with young versions of Carlo, Francesco and Amalia at his feet. It was one of the most effective visual moments in an otherwise minimalist stage design (Bettina Meyer).
The action opens on Carlo, who has made some poor life choices and fallen in with bandits. His father has threatened to disown him and Carlo is awaiting an answer to his letter of apology. In the second scene we meet Francesco, the family’s bad boy, whose schemes ruin his brother and aim to put their father into an early grave. Amalia and Massimiliano are introduced thereafter. Amalia is madly in love with Carlo, lusted after by Francesco, but also perfectly loyal to Massimiliano despite him having banished her love; just one the knots in a libretto for which a suspension of disbelief is key. Carlo and Massimiliano both end up duped by Francesco, who imprisons Massimiliano, declaring him dead and himself the new Count. By the end of the evening, Francesco’s tangled web has come undone and robbers led by Carlo revenge themselves on Francesco and release Massimiliano. Finally, because swearing an oath of loyalty to a band of robbers apparently trumps all other relationships and moral restrictions, Carlo acquiesces to Amalia’s request to kill her. The curtain closes on him running offstage to live what I like to assume is a full and unhappy life of murder and mayhem while Massimiliano is probably left contemplating where exactly he went wrong in his children’s upbringing.
Despite the weakness of the libretto, the twists, turns and juxtapositions of fate and love open the door for some fabulous dramatic and musical possibilities. Innovative instrumental moments are easy to spot in the various interludes, and the closing ensemble number, for example, is vintage Verdi. The orchestra sounded sprightly under Jac van Steen’s baton, and balance was appropriate thanks to the strength and focus of all lead voices as well as Verdi’s effective instrumentation. Amalia’s duet with harp in the second, underlining her angelic nature, is a beautiful moment, and her reunion with Carlo in the third act against the backdrop of the robbers juxtaposes fateful dotted motifs in the male chorus against a soaring love duet.