One of the star exhibits in Bergamo’s Accademia Carrara is Francesco Hayez’s Caterina Cornaro receives the announcement of her deposition from the Kingdom of Cyprus. It was painted in 1842, the same year in which Bergamo’s favourite musical son, Gaetano Donizetti, began work on his opera Caterina Cornaro, which depicts her ascent to the throne of Cyprus rather than her deposition. A new production by Francesco Micheli provided a stylish, if controversial, opening to this year’s Donizetti Opera festival.
Caterina Cornaro has a chequered history. Donizetti himself never saw it performed. Originally intended for Vienna, the opera ended up being premiered in Naples (1844) where the libretto fell victim to the censors and, in the absence of the composer, it flopped. Revisions were made for a reprisal in Parma (1845), which met with considerable success, but the opera never found a footing in the repertoire. This production uses a new edition by Eleonora Di Cintio, which focuses on Donizetti’s original thoughts, with the shorter, revised Parma ending.
The opera tells the tale of Caterina, daughter of a Venetian nobleman, whose wedding to a young Frenchman, Gerardo, is called off at the last minute because the Venetian ambassador Mocenigo informs her father that she needs to marry Lusignano, King of Cyprus instead, for political reasons. Mocenigo’s malevolent manoeuvring results in him poisoning the king and mounting a Venetian attack on Cyprus, but the jilted Gerardo comes to Lusignano’s aid. The Cypriots are victorious, but the king dies, leaving Caterina to rule alone.
Micheli, however, adds another Caterina to the story, set in the present day, who sees parallels to the historical Caterina. We are in a hospital waiting room where a pregnant wife awaits news on her sick husband (Lusignano), who is about to be operated on by a dishy doctor (Gerardo, giving off George Clooney vibes). Matteo Paoletti Franzato’s set rotates between a Renaissance palazzo façade and a hospital, characters slipping into and out of period costumes.
After a clunky start, where the present-day opening feels like a forced attempt at ‘relevance’, not aided by a voiceover which, mercifully, never returns, the two worlds start to mesh together better. I warmed to it considerably, although Micheli’s vision is not without its problems. While it’s fun to see Gerardo’s call to arms envisaged as a surgeon scrubbing up, wielding a scalpel instead of a sword, it’s ludicrous for the chorus to declare victory when the patient still winds up dead.
Musically, the opera is lop-sided – the Prologue is longer than Act 2, which tumbles to its conclusion in a blur – but it contains some very fine music. Riccardo Frizza, now Musical and Artistic Director at the festival, drew spirited playing from the Donizetti Opera Orchestra and kept tempi on the lively side.
Vito Priante was the pick of the cast, bringing dignity to the role of Lusignano, his noble baritone perfectly pitched, his stage presence commanding. Riccardo Fassi brought his rich bass to the scheming Mocenigo with relish, accompanied by a posse of menacing cut-throats.
Enea Scala’s tenor is always quite tight, but his singing gets better and better, here a convincing Gerardo, especially thrilling in his ringing Act 2 cabaletta. Even if her soprano isn’t ideally beautiful, Carmela Remigio sang Caterina with commitment and stylish phrasing, switching between personas with ease. Her duets with Scala were another highlight. Fulvio Valenti was reliable as the put-upon Cornaro and the rest of the all-Italian cast did well. The Accademia Teatro alla Scala Chorus added their usual verve to proceedings. It was good to see the busy technical crew take a curtain call bow.
Opportunities to see Caterina Cornaro are rare, so Micheli’s stylish, if controversial, staging – a co-production with Madrid’s Teatro Real – is welcome, especially performed with such panache.
Mark's press trip was funded by the Fondazione Donizetti
