Umberto Eco's novel Il nome della rosa (The Name of the Rose) marked a momentous event in Italy’s cultural history, the author creating a monumental work whose structure mirrors the labyrinthine complexity of the abbey itself, layered with multiple levels of meaning — from the detective story, to theological debates, to the adolescent turmoil of young Adso as he seeks sense and meaning in life. Now, the Teatro alla Scala presents the world premiere of a new opera composed by Francesco Filidei, who also co-wrote the libretto (with Stefano Busellato), in a production by Damiano Michieletto, a co-commission with the Opéra de Paris and the Teatro Carlo Felice in Genoa. At the premiere, the air was electric with anticipation.
Filidei succeeds in capturing the full range of hidden meanings within the story, employing a variety of tools and expressive techniques. His music is deeply rooted within the operatic tradition, often utilising the closed forms of recitatives and arias, and is rich with quotations – listeners can discern echoes of Messiaen, Berg and, more explicitly, Puccini, a composer particularly dear to Filidei’s heart. When the Inquisitor Bernardo Gui storms into the abbey amid a commotion in the kitchen, he shouts “Un tal baccano in cucina!”, openly parodying Scarpia’s entrance line “Un tal baccano in chiesa!” from Tosca. In one of the most successful scenes, the theological diatribe on the poverty of Christ becomes a rough brawl perfectly expressed in a tight concertato.
Yet the underlying structure of Filidei’s music seems to be grounded in symmetry: the story is organised into seven ‘stanzas’, plus a prologue and epilogue, each centred on a different note — the first on C, the second on C sharp, and so forth. The soundscape features hissing, cracking, shimmering and dark rattling noises from the orchestra: a kind of music without conventional melody or harmony, or even sound.
The result is highly engaging and, at times, profoundly moving, thanks in no small part to conductor Ingo Metzmacher, who led the La Scala Orchestra with commitment and great intensity. The chorus plays a central role in the opera, featuring more than 100 singers alongside 50 children in the voci bianche. Their singing forms the foundation of the musical performance; the elderly Adso speaks (unfortunately through amplification) via the chorus positioned backstage, alternating between declamations and whispers, while monks and novices, dressed entirely in black, sing Gregorian-like chants from elevated choir seats. As they turn the pages of their scores, brief flashes of white light punctuate the darkness in Fabio Barettin's lighting designs. Paolo Fantin's set, framed by these choir seats, is dominated by a large cross illuminated by neon lights, while a gauze labyrinth looms overhead, eventually descending onto the stage in the final scenes. The monks wear traditional robes, occasionally in vivid colours (costumes by Carla Teti), and the illuminated initials of medieval manuscripts spring to life on stage as grotesque, animated creatures.
The cast features around 20 singers, all of whom contributed significantly to the success of the evening. Given that the story is set in a medieval abbey, there is the risk of an overwhelming dominance of male voices; however, Filidei, who shows considerable experience in writing for the human voice, wisely incorporates countertenors and women en travesti to create a more balanced and pleasant vocal palette.
Kate Lindsey shone as Adso da Melk, her mezzo warm and vibrant, delivering an intense and emotionally charged portrayal of the young monk. Lucas Meachem embodied Guglielmo da Baskerville, the Franciscan tasked with investigating the mysterious deaths in the abbey, with commanding authority; his lyric baritone was smooth, powerful and well-projected. Daniela Barcellona was a formidable presence as the Grand inquisitor, Bernardo Gui, plunging with relish into the lower register of her mezzo and imbuing the role with true villainous flair.
Giorgio Berrugi gave a moving, pathos-filled performance as Remigio da Varagine, the cellarer accused of heresy, his tenor both powerful and expressive. His co-conspirator, Salvatore, a deformed monk who speaks a bizarre mishmash of European and Italian dialects, was portrayed with humour and deep commitment by Roberto Frontali, particularly affecting in the torture scene. Among the many strong performances, Carlo Vistoli stood out in the dual role of Berengario, the librarian’s assistant, and Adelmo, the first murder victim; his countertenor was both strong and sweet. Gianluca Buratto portrayed Jorge da Burgos, the fanatical murderer, with a resonant and assured bass, impressively so despite an announcement that he was unwell.