(Credit: Matthias Baus)

My first glimpse of Anna Netrebko was in a performance of Donizetti. She was beautiful, bright, and dynamic — singing while darting around the stage and even somersaulting onto a couch. Here was an opera singer who, in one moment, ended the notion that operatic divas are just singing pieces of furniture. At the Staatsoper Unter den Linden, during her recent run in Verdi’s “Il Trovatore,” she cavorted in quick-time steps around the stage, a la Mark Rylance in “Twelfth Night,” in a hoop skirt, a blonde wig, Pierrot style make-up, and an approach that resembled E.T.A. Hoffmann’s Olympia. But Verdi’s Leonora is no singing doll, and Netrebko enabled us to close our eyes and listen to the breadth and beauty of the music despite the commedia dell’arte parody of the performance.

Distracting Production

The quality of Netrebko’s stage mastery transcended the quirky and disconcerting aims of Philipp Stölzl’s 2013 Verdi production, which comes across as convoluted melodrama. This choice by the director platformed the elemental aspects of the work — lovers, brothers, mothers, and sons — despite straining, at times, to promote its musical richness. The staging, which is a white box, comes across as gimmicky, while having a chorus that ridicules the main story distracts and dilutes the love triangles that make the opera a perennial tearjerker. “Il Trovatore” spins an array of gorgeous and heart-breaking melodies throughout, and it is too bad that all the jokey embellishments aim to mock it. Why let cleverness interfere with what is beautiful and moving? When Manrico and Leonora are singing their hearts out in a moving farewell, Azucena sticks her head out of a trapdoor, hamming it up and comedically emoting in the same moment. It feels like a child’s birthday party — all that is missing is the ice cream cake and pizza. One has to wonder why Stölzl went in this direction.

Bravura Singing

Netrebko sang with guts and gusto, though her voice lacked perfection. Her low registers were sometimes dull, sometimes dark and flat, although they waxed as she climbed up, particularly in ‘D’amor sul’ali rosee,’ when her voice floated into the stratosphere. It was lovely, loving, and gleaming at times. The high point of connection between performer and audience followed this moment, when the audience burst out into spontaneous applause and bravissimi and Netrebko broke the code of non-acknowledgment by smiling, making a heart with her hands, blowing a kiss to all, and bowing. It was appropriate.

Though romancing with her now ex-husband, tenor Yusif Eyvazov, did not convince with sweep-off-your-feet passion, it nevertheless worked, as did many of the other gimmicks on display. With Conte di Luna, sung by baritone George Petean, she appeared to hold off her rawest emotions and simply walked through the prescribed dynamic. However, this still worked. Netrebko stood apart as Leonora, loving and dying with an independence of soul and sound. The whole performance was a self-generated gift. 

Eyvazov performed well. Except for the strange hairpiece that they had attached to his head, and which gave him trouble in the first half of the performance, he was a success. His voice stayed the course and his acting occasionally rose to moving. His voice, however, lacked a certain sheen and richness of color. ‘Di quella pira’ rang out loud and clear — he was there, dedicated, and on course. Did it soar? No, except for his displays of derring-do. During the bows, he drank in whatever appreciation the crowd offered, almost a little beyond what they gave. Nevertheless, hats off to him.

George Petean as Conte di Luna also came through well, and in his big aria he held the course. Asking him to step up on the platform before he sang was awkward, but he sang full and smooth and let his sound fill the air. It did not help that the director wanted his perspective to shine through and Petean was tasked with carrying it off. Conte di Luna’s situation did not seem sympathetic until his final words, when he acknowledged that he had killed his brother. He seemed altogether too much like a puppet sleepwalking through his passion for Leonora. But did the audience feel it? Overall, he conformed to the palette of the performance: he stayed the course without richness or sweep.

Agnieszka Rehlis was Azucena. Verdi considered calling the opera “The Gypsy,” which indicates how central she is to the story. But in a knee-length hoop gown? No way. In a ghoulish wig and makeup to match? Not in the slightest. Nevertheless, Rehlis sang with aplomb and grit. During her big, expository aria, which seemed to go on for a bit too long, the chorus made an aisle for her to march through while singing. This was actually an excellent bit of stage direction. The only thing absent was a sense that Rehlis was taking control of the moment. She walked down the aisle a bit like a reluctant bride. But she got there in the end, and all were glad. Did she strike fear or sorrow into the hearts of the audience? Not at all. But the beauties of many of her tones gave us pause. She gave us what one hopes from an Azucena, and we appreciated the story she told through living it. Like an inverted rendition of Holy Mother Mary, Rehlis showed us the toll taken by suffering when a mother loses her child. This is true Verdi: a composer and purveyor of loss and human grief.

Sandra Laagus as Ines and Riccardo Fassi as Ferrando both held up well.

The orchestra, led by Maestro Alexander Soddy, seemed up to the requirements of the strange production. They were devoted to the so-called ‘narrative line,’ but lacked the passion and emotional sweep that such glorious music deserves. Because human memory is so powerful, no doubt we brought the full range of our own, prior experiences with those gorgeous arias to what was offered. Soddy chose some deliberate pauses that let the rising energy fall too far. Nevertheless, Verdi’s inspired music sang out in the elegant opera house with power and pleasure, whether we got it in full force from the stage or not. The orchestra brought it forth, and we were enveloped by it.

A lot of time and thought no doubt went into the lighting, costumes, and videography. There is no question they were original. The chorus was treated as individualized characters, with an array of color schemes, hats, capris, shoes, and feathers, and they had fun cavorting around the stage. But as a group of frolicking comics killed off the majesty of the music, which came across as discordant. It was not their fault, and they tried their best within the confines of the staging. One cannot blame them for the seeming evocation of “Rigoletto.” But the emotional thrust of the story was dashed by this choice. This should be the human heart, not graffiti. The lights doubled this vision: glaring, jarring, dominating in scenes with red, green, and yellow. This again called attention to the ‘idea’ of the scene, rather than the larger human narrative. It was clear that the production aimed for the ‘idea’ above all else. We might say that Netrebko and Verdi both deserve another go at the story: only this time, the human heart may be allowed to swell and ground us.