(Photo credit: Brescia and Amisano)

“I should reproach myself even more if I were
to allow myself to be credited with the initiative
for the new genre of Italian opera …
it is to my librettist Calzabigi that the main credit goes …”
Gluck, letter of 1775

Let us speak directly of the opera at hand, recently brought to the stage of Teatro alla Scala: “L’opera seria,” with the music of Florian Leopold Gassmann to a libretto by Ranieri de’ Calzabigi, premiered in 1769 at the Vienna Burgtheater, 256 years ago! A meta-opera in form, poking fun at the absurdities of all opera seria, it remains at the crossroads between the Baroque and the Classical ages. Let us recall that this was also the age of Opera Buffa, originally a Neapolitan form of entertainment for a common public who could identify with themselves far from the ruling class of nobility. And all this 20 years before the French Revolution!

Produced in co-production with the Musik Theater an der Wien, this is a rare gem of a truly forgotten piece of operatic history. There are no tricks to update its setting, nor genial messages to make it more relevant to us. All this for an opera with hardly a well-known aria to cite, true, though there are many and they all make for a wonderful, consistently thematic whole, ever-pertinent and dramatically spell-binding. The sense of humor that tinges the whole piece exudes true charm, while also being, at times, absurd in a modern way, unexplainable exaggerations as are often our human emotions. Then, too, there is no central love tragedy; it has been replaced by an actual performance of l’Oranzebe in Act three, a farewell to an operatic world gone by as in Fellini’s film E la nave va! – And the Ship Sails On. Here, every pinch of operatic jealousy is veiled through discussions and declarations regarding the Art of Performance, that of breathing the air of the “theatre” itself. What fuels the drama is the quibbling between the singers, as well as those of the composer-librettist and Impresario. Opera saw and was to see this argument as more than personal sentiments, but as to the question of what was to carry more importance – the musical notes or dramatic text, so often as steeped in the aesthetic ideal of returning to the beauties of Greek Antiquity.

Yet, and this is important, we have an opportunity here to look at all theatrical events as representations of a unique, living Art form. Music adds another dimension, enhancing an audience’s involvement and reactions of the lives on the stage. Here, pure comedy comes into play by covering its surreptitious psychological aspects more than anything else. Thus, if perhaps for only some, “L’opera seria” is a masterpiece, opening the door to a revisitation of Handel, Gluck, Haydn and an imminent Mozart. We must also recognize that the incorporation of the musical phrasing of those “maestri” has created a splendid tapestry that is nothing less in itself than an enlightening History of Opera.

In essence, this opera-in-an-opera allows us to witness the organization, rehearsal and performance of the Baroque, Handel-like l’Oranzebe (an altered version of Aureng-Zebe by John Dryden, the leading English poet and literary critic of his day), an exotic, “oriental pastiche” set in Agra, Hindustan, the city of the Taj Mahal. The School of Neapolitan Opera Buffa was humming, and thus “L’opera seria” was an ironic flashback of itself. The characters have ridiculous, indeed operatic names, and are prisoners of this spoof wherein they take themselves all-too-seriously. The litigating triad creating the opera they wish to believe in is made up of the librettist Delirio (Off The Wall) the composer Sospiro (soft Breath, Airy), and the Impresario Fallito (unsuccessful, a Flop). Facing them is the audience, and their goal is to please us, while also obtaining artistic success. The three women singers’ nerves have been torn to shreds as the world premiere – that very same night – is approaching. Costumes are not ready, promised Arias are yet to be written, jealousy, anger and insecurity are rampant. We have – Stonatrilla (off-key trills), Smorfiosa (smirking, sneering) and Porporina (purple-faced emotion, and also a reference to the Neapolitan ‘castrato’ Porporino, less known than the Bolognese, Farinelli). There is Ritornello (an ABA aria singer), here a show-piece tenor. Rounding out the cast, we have Passagallo (stepping rooster-like), a singer who moves technically and elegantly as the French Ballet Master. And then, the mothers of the ladies, two castrati and a tenor: Bragherona (nosey), Befana (old hag) and Caverna (clumsy, uncouth). Truly amazing is the fact that the characters remain faithful to their name and personalities as penned, yet are never for a moment boring, stereotypical, or staid. After encountering them in their fears and phobias as artists in Act one, we partake in their rehearsal process for that evening’s performance in Act two. The short Act three is the actual disastrous premiere, wherein the scenery collapses as the soprano bravely continues to sing her big aria. A moralistic, punitive Epilogue follows, as in “Don Giovanni,” condemning the Impresario who has run off with the box office sales, for which the opera singers vow to boycott and bankrupt all Impresarios in the future.

Act One: A Tender, Witty Depiction of Opera Singers

Through the eyes of the stage director Laurent Pelly, we find ourselves in a truly theatrical ambiance, wherein much is left for us to imagine, and fill in. The truth is that any place can become a performing space as soon as the protagonists begin to act, or be it, begin to reveal their doubts and motivations. Long driftwood-tinged beamed floor slats glide in and out effortlessly and will eventually become the entire stage floor as the opera progresses. The last upstage slat houses six closed doors, with two others facing each other, almost from the wings. These will be used for entrances and exits, but will almost be involved in some action as, at times, they will be locked from beyond, used mistakenly, left open to reveal dressing rooms or simply black voids into which objects and people disappear. In a way, all beyond the uncanny doors seems to represent inner sanctums. Overhead are full-moon opaque glass lamps, which will become nine, then 18 even. The stage lighting from the first to the last is superb and so very subtle that one may not be aware of it at first; the round lamps are shadow-cast upon the stage in the utmost delicacy and are almost indiscernible. The beautiful 18th-century costumes by Pelly himself are richly elegant yet made less obtrusive in their opulence by the fact that they are off-white or greyish. When on stage, however, the lighting splashes them softly, tinging them in harmony with the surrounding space. In some ways, when the performers are still, all seems as if a historic painting or photograph – such a beautiful tableaux in powder blue and rose when they are near the footlights. The women’s hairpieces and hats are suggestive as they represent the character’s personalities and also distinguishes them one from the other.

Within this somewhat illusory, transcendental space, the singers move with such effortless grace that one relates not to a dream-like landscape, but experiences that ‘déjà vu’ sensation of Classicality in which all is welcomed naturally. And to think, all is done without those epoch effects of an intoxicating candle flame splashing shadows and objects onto the walls. True, here we see those formal gestures from the Classical era, and, at times, endearing touches of the ‘commedia dell’arte,’ which had disappeared 100 years before the premiere of “L’opera seria” in Vienna. There is also the physicality of today, as if just to remind us that nothing is artificial, but simply all-too-human. In a way, there is something of the great Italian stage director Giorgio Strehler in all this – his theatrical Goldoni productions, and the Mozart operas so vital in relating to the public. But be careful! Pelly is own his own, and every second of this show is brimming with originality and humor. Re-representation is a difficult art and let us recall recent reprisals of Strehler’s operas at La Scala to which some criticism was levied at those attempting to mirror his original intentions. An impossible task, perhaps.

A ‘Terzetto’ of Sad Hilarity

Let us look at a few moments of the stage director’s blocking of the initial scene, a seemingly innocuous ‘Terzetto’ between the Impresario, composer and librettist as the curtain rises. Opera’s Achilles heel is presented: the necessity of blending words and music, and the ensuing philological battle as to which should take prominence. The composer and the librettist must vie for the Impresario’s attentions and favors, assuring each that their “masterpiece” will be preserved, left untouched, and make history. This will set the tone for all the characters for the entire opera. Aria titles cited here may mean nothing unless listened to, seen as on stage, but one may have an idea of the inspiration of Calzabigi and Gassmann in dissecting what makes an opera in its unique form.

The composer Sospiro and poet librettist Delirio represent the soul of music, its rhythms and emotions. They are ever-restless, seemingly waltzing about as children on air. Their lavish, exaggerated gestures expressing their emotions turn more angular as the Impresario Fallito criticizes their outbursts of megalomania. Perry’s staging also calls for the Impresario to be ever-present, to the side or in the shadows, observing incredulously as his artists bicker, complain, threaten even to quit the production, while he reflects the practical realities of running a theater. As the opera begins, composer and librettist enter, bogusly praising each other to the hilt in pure opera buffo manner. They remain on the horizontal upstage strip of wood, pacing back and forth, the Impresario downstage, back to us, desperately half-following them about, getting closer to catch their every word to be sure he knows what is going on. What allows this to be appealing to our eyes are their gestures, and too, the fact that no one stands still even when not singing – they have become Music, Words, Dance, all with the gracefulness of a Mozart. Their gestures have become musical leitmotifs.

In Fallito’s ensuing Haydn-like aria, the failed Impresario does hit the nail on the head as to the relationship of a theatrical work of art and its public. Seated as a court room judge with two pleading lawyers before him, Delirio and Sospiro, pacing in agitation, he suffers as he moans, launching criticism to them both: “All is too long … too much text right at the height of passion … too many cadences in action-packed arias … when a hero fights and dies, and goes to prison, you fill the music with hundreds of ‘arpeggios’ … you don’t understand that when an actor rages or curses against Heaven he needs more than metaphors, a zephyr, a lamb, a small bird, a meadow .. all these things expose you both to mockery and criticism.” Words of wisdom, his. Note, too, a wonder: ‘birds, meadows, zephyrs’ are expressed by an oboe and woodwinds – resembling Gluck’s enchanting music for the Elysian Fields scene from his “Orfeo ed Euridice,” with a libretto by (guess who?) Calzabigi.

The Fascinating Uniformity of Folly

There is so much touching, hilarious, and elegant musicality and dramaturgy, always praiseworthy, that one would be at odds to have to choose what to recount. What comes to mind are all the women’s arias, who along with the tenor carry the weight. The Ballet Master and Impresario are no less vital as the opera proceeds. The first act continues, and we have seven arias. Stonatrilla is the first opera singer we meet, in her initial ranting: “Camerieri, staffieri, lacchè!” (Waiters, footmen, lackeys!”). No one is present to welcome her, and she notes the great humane gap between her and the Impresario. This is a great moment as a character study, and comparable to those of Mozart’s greater operas, “Le nozze di Figaro” and “Don Giovanni;” the reason being the psychological depths of an artist as explored through Gassmann and Calzabigi.

There will follow six arias, all self-revelatory of opera looking at itself. This unifies the text in a way that few Baroque and Classical masterpieces have, and thus Meta-opera remains unique, and surprisingly modern. We have Sospiro revealing his love (not to be developed in the opera) for Porporina as he chases her about the stage, “Cari quegli occhi amabili …” (“I yearn for those lovely eyes …”). Ritornello arrives on a slat of floor, as if in gondola, wrapped in his truly elegant aria of great beauty, sedate violin quavering in 16th notes, sentimentally reminiscent of “Soave sia il vento” from “Cosi fan tutte,” “Benche da te lontano …” (“Though far from thee …”). The Impresario, seemingly moved, looks on from the darkness of a half-open door. Porporina’s second aria is laden with critiques for the superficial palpitations of love in an opera seria, that of Smorfiosa for Ritornello, ”Piu non si trovano fra noi .. di certe musiche già reformate” “No longer can be seen among us the severe, unconcerned, surly faces of singers in certain ‘reformed’ operas.) Smorfiosa then reveals the catalogue of her phobias, “Mio dolce amorino (My sweet little love, be patient …): “ … a pillow disfigures me, a fan chills me, a rattle deafens me; if a dog barks, if a cat scares me, all my body shivers …” and on and on. Perhaps Freud would have analyzed this as a performer’s being terrified of going on stage, always a harrowing experience, as even the most experienced of performers fear being booed. Act one ends with the aria of Passagallo, the Ballet Master, making his case for the addition of two couples of dancers, as yes, Ballet was most popular and crowd pleasing. His “Vedrete che salti che slanciano… (You’ll see how they leap, as if flying through the air …” ). The music is almost as that of Gluck, who reinserted dance in his operas. The Impresario has a recitativo accompagnato, “Maledetto l’impresa de’musici teatri … (Cursed be opera house directors)” wherein he tells of the impossible task of satisfying the taste of his pubic, each one diverse. The last aria “Stai attento a quest’oracolo,” “Listen to this oracle,” goes to the composer, citing the King of antique Egyptian gods, Amon. Incredibly, the introductory chords from the woodwinds resemble Sarastro’s realm (Egyptian, too) from “Die Zauberflote!” Delirio has the great idea of inserting a novelty after the battle scene in the opera l’Oranzebe; the leading leady will now drink poison, which will be such a success “that the theatre will be packed for thirty straight days!”

Understanding this first act is more than understanding the model of a dying art. “L’opera seria” re-examines its own flaws satirically, but with affection and wit. And we understand in part how the second act rehearsal will proceed, without however intuiting the fiasco of that night’s actual performance. So you see, through this abundance of material, only the unexperienced opera goer would think it all too long, uninteresting as one might have mistakenly thought “Le nozze di Figaro” to be. This is because the text has undercurrents of psychological trauma and social fabric, and thus it must be accepted on various levels. All cries out for a reprisal of operatic values in the Classical sense as Aristotle’s unities of Time, Place and Action were physically observed: one day only to fulfill the goings on; one setting being the theater rehearsal; a single plot (that is why the two minor love stories are never developed.

The Second and Third Acts – Risks and Strife in Theatrical Reality

Upon first seeing this opera-in-an-opera in the theatre, the first of three acts might have seemed to some to be slightly uninteresting, yet this was an illusion. In truth, an hour of stage action slipped by the characters of great interest, as they were well-defined. Yet, in reality, it was the elegance and simplicity of the staging that may have kept one’s interest. Rarely has the blocking been not only precise dramatically, but all was as if it were being danced to the light-hearted score. The second act, still in the Impresario’s house, was a rehearsal, with all leading to the theatre for the premiere of the new opera that evening in act three.

The intrigues of act two are pure opera of any kind: illusion, delusion, betrayal and confusion. The composer and librettist foresee success, but unbeknownst to them, the tenor wants to insert an aria. In trying it out, Ritornello continually errs, stating “Sicilia” for “Scylla,” which he will adapt and stubbornly use, causing dismay yet also laughter from the audience. In a great scene, Sospiro at the harpsichord plays his music for Porporin’s inserted aria from another opera: “Barbara, e non rammenti che mi giurasti amore?” (Barbara, don‘t you remember that you promised your love to me?). It is a full ABA aria, with the soprano joining in for the last verse, but ironically also their love attraction. However, though the rehearsal pushes on, the authors of the words and the music never find peace between themselves; the librettist understands that an aria from an opera Ritornello sang elsewhere with success has been installed. The act ends with the ballet dancers taking over.

In Act three, the scenery is that of an exotic “oriental ambiance;” palm trees on the sides, a hut, a canopy, and later an elephant upon which Stronatrilla (as Rossanara in l’Oranzebe) enters. All then begins to disintegrate; trees fall, glass breaks off-stage, the French-style ‘danseuses’ are sent on to distract the public (“Send in the clowns”) stagehands rush about in scene, the elephant is pulled off shrieking, while the singer adamantly continues until leaving the stage in dismay, giving in finally. But it doesn’t finish here: three mothers (here, men: two castrati, one tenor) take the part of the bickering mothers of the three female leads. The Impresario has run off with the money, and they all swear to punish Impresarios. All is truly amusing, and the original idea of the audience booing is here substituted with the stage collapsing. Hilarious, in the awkward silence wherein all action has stopped, the sound of a harpsichord from the pit playing an ever-lasting ‘allegro’ dribble of scales to fill in until something happens. Darkness until, in plain stage work-light of a non-performance, we see the Impresario fleeing with the box-office sales, almost stopped by his band of stagehands in black.

Brilliant Cast

Christophe Rousset featured his original period instrumentalists of Les Talens Lyriques, bolstered by additional performers from the La Scala Orchestra. His direction was austere, and most enlightening; judicious, measured in opulence, the tempi breathing with the stage action, as if perhaps what Gassmann would have achieved in attempting ‘reform’ music. Also, one sensed the shifts in style echoing early Mozart, ripe Haydn and glorious Handel, progressively anachronistic as “L’opera seria” played to its ‘dénouement.’ The musicians played with unusual verve, and all that is related to the Classical style was emulated, especially so in their ‘obbligato’ aria accompaniment – energetic bassoons, oboes and French horns which at times recalling Vivaldi. Lastly, the swaying wit of the notes in the score bore fruit.

All the singers brought off their roles with proficiency and “brio,” a rare occasion. Pietro Spagnoli as the Impresario captured every nuance of his tormented dealings with the opera stars and stage technicians, and above all with the composer and librettist. He allows us to understand that he is truly alone in facing us, the audience; Pelly has him looking out challenging, yet also in fear. The voice is flexible, and rich. The ‘dynamic duo’ of Delirio (baritone Mattia Olivieri) and Sospiro (tenor Giovanni Sala) were perfectly matched and possessed all the vocal qualities required. The natural weight of their voices intoned the contrasts in their work ethics and artistic aspirations. They were extremely well-rehearsed in their constant physical gesturing while singing, yet every word and nuance came across to us. Passagallo (baritone Alessio Arduini), the totally convincing Ballet Master moved sprightly, convincing as a ‘répétiteur,’ making small jumps imperfectly, perhaps on purpose while also singing eloquently.

The three women leads, along with the tenor carry the opera l’Oranzebe itself, and all were, yes, ‘operatic.’ Every common belief the public may have regarding the psychological makeup of such real-life stars with exaggerated personalities, along with the role they are playing (often bizarrely matching), was verified. All three possessed true stage presence, natural, as if 800esque, and wearing their costumes as one would blue jeans today. Their arias abound in top and low notes, and their vocal range seemingly exhaustive. Julie Fuchs as Stonatrilla sang her three big arias wonderfully – the top notes glittering. Her rage in the first act when not being received as an important star by the theater was also physically impressive; her second aria, sprightly, rapid notes, so well-accompanied by a solo bassoon (Alberto Grazzi). The final aria, ‘hit’ of the-opera-in-an-opera, is sung by Oranzebe’s princess sister, and it had all the courage needed in affronting the collapsing of the scenery’s palm trees and huts, breaking glass in the wings – causing her to abandon the stage (to applause). Andrea Carroll as Smorfiosa had all the notes of a psychologically tormented woman with a thousand phobias. She was comic, yet conveyed sadness, and one looked upon her with pity. Serena Gamberoni as Porporina remained musically elegant through the range of emotions the part asks for; at times she appeared as the aristocratic Feldmarchallin in “Der Rosenkavalier.”

Josh Lovell as Ritornello, somewhat Mozartian in comportment and vocal range, was perfect for the part of a flashy tenor who was full of himself. His first aria, “Benchè da te lontano,” is a second cousin to Ferrando’s “Un’aura amorosa” from “Così fan tutte,” wherein both are the memorable essence of the sweetly sung, melody for the sake of melody; the string orchestration is also similar. Lovell brought beauty to the heart of the Classical period’s emphasis on simplicity, perfect balance, so reflecting the values of the Enlightenment.

The singer caressed every word and emotion. His acting was also superb. Alessio Arduini as the Ballet Master did indeed seem to arrive from the world of Dance. His intricate interpretation of pushing for Ballet scenes to be inserted, dancing himself with small ‘Entrechat’ jumps, demonstrating his elegant every-day life as conditioned by years of disciplined stretching. The voice was right on, almost speaking his part.

Rounding out the cast, we have the three mothers of the leading ladies, who follow their daughter’s careers, meddling, attempting to remake them in their own images. Buffo the casting with a tenor and two countertenors, Alberto Allegrezza, Lawrence Zazzo, Filippo Mineccia: They all bear the weight of their unsympathetic selfishness, as their bickering presence calls the attention of the other singers who do all they can to calm them down. They are joined by a ‘singing’ corps de ballet; María Martín Campos, Dilan Şaka, Haiyang Guo and Xhieldo Hyseni, plus eight classical dancers, choreographed by Lionel Hoche, adding humor to their intervention when the set at opera’s end crashes before our eyes. Praise to the scenographer Massimo Troncanetti for his simple yet intriguing set, lit evocatively by Marco Giusti with dabs of almost invisible colors.

The winner of the evening was perhaps the audience, surprised by the music and clever, sparkling libretto. Aria after aria by well-drawn characters in truly comic antics kept their attention through the three and a half hours. Not only did the spectators realize that this breakthrough happening was depicting humanity within the world of opera, but that it had to be taken seriously as it also encouraged us to laugh at ourselves.