Deborah Warner’s new production of La Traviata for the Wiener Festwochen is dotted with dramatic ideas to much the same extent as flowers are strewn and champagne is uncorked in the Act I ‘Brindisi’ (drinking song), which is to say sparingly. A minor updating of look, done on the cheap if costumes and props are anything to go by, proceeds according to Verdi’s conception of a contemporary tale, but seems at odds with Warner’s reluctance to pursue the work’s modern resonances. Patriarchal structures dominate late capitalism but manipulate and stifle individual will in different ways to the social conventions which play out in the narrative-propelling Violetta-Germont scene, and presenting these unmediated in a updated setting without finding appropriate modern parallels takes us down an illogical path. In Act II Violetta and Alfredo are shown living the permissive good life: Violetta, having it all, can continue to have vapid ‘joy’ as personal shopper Annina drops by regularly with bagfuls of Dior fabulousness, while Alfredo is independently wealthy and determined to live as a free spirit in the woods indefinitely. What patriarchal leverage Germont has here is unclear.
Those woods fill out of the back of a bare stage and split the space into two symbolic areas, one standing for freedom and bliss in Alfredo and Violetta’s private Eden, the other a void in which they find themselves when separated. When happiness blooms the trees shift downstage; when all hope appears lost their gladed bolthole is obscured. Lurking amid the foliage is a man whom we are led to believe is one of Violetta’s suitors (although none Verdi wrote a part for; Warner has inserted this non-singing role, credited as ‘the man’, for actor Stephen Kennedy). In the ‘Brindisi’ he had been making awkward plays for Violetta, and is made out to represent the nothing-much-to-look-at, ‘safe’ choice she might be advised to make over Alfredo. He appears in three further guises: as the aforementioned Act II stalker; as a bull who must chase a gypsy dressed as Violetta in the matador scene, which made for one of those embarrassing moments when the actor loses their dignity rather than the character; and as a male nurse in a (literally) clinical take on the final scene – though honestly I think by this point the conceit had been dropped and he was just another supernumerary. Here it was too clumsy and confused to mean anything, but could the idea that Violetta might be ‘rescued’ by a ‘realistic’ partner perhaps go somewhere? I’m not sure. But given the obvious feminist objection and the dramaturgical unavoidability of Violetta’s death it would seem to have more of a natural home as one of many ideas in a properly deconstructive staging rather than this timid offering, which only ever looks uncomfortable in its vaguely contemporary skin.