matthew polenzani – Don Carlo and the Seamstress

“Give me Your Great Soul”: Don Carlos at the Met

Published on 7 April, 2022 by Rachel Anne Murphy4 Comments

“He loved me and we were brothers …
Our hearts were bound by eternal oaths…”
~Don Carlos, Act IV

[SPOILER ALERT: I’ll discuss the plot/ending and some of the directorial choices in this post.]

My mom and I recently canceled cross-country travel plans which I had hoped would be something of a renewal in opera sharing and attendance, since this long abyss of Covid began. We had splurged on really wonderful orchestra seats at the Met for my favorite opera, the 5-act, French language Don Carlos (Verdi’s original version), being performed for the first time ever at the Metropolitan Opera. I’d hoped to connect with two dear friends there, and possibly others. But with the unpredictable Omicron, a couple of us were in the same situation: we are almost daily in close proximity to those vulnerable to illness, and we felt we couldn’t take the risk.

Thankfully, there was the glorious Live in HD! I went on my own to the Wednesday encore, and it did feel like a renewal.

“Par quelle douce voix, mon âme est ranimée?” / “What sweet voice recalls my soul to life?”
~Don Carlos, Act II

Eboli (Jamie Barton) and Rodrigue (Etienne Dupuis)

I was already a fan of Matthew Polenzani (there’s a facebook group for him thanks to opera friend Judith Green), exquisite Canadian bass John Relyea (more on him below!), and the other leads. Matthew’s sweet melancholy and goodness won me over; Sonya Yoncheva’s Élisabeth had a melancholy that was of a bitterer kind, glamorous, understated, dignified; very much as she was in the role in Paris in 2017 which I wrote about here. Both she and Polenzani were captivating. Eric Owens was formidable as Philippe, and Jamie Barton was a knockout Eboli.

New production of *Don Carlos* by David McVicar

This new production by David McVicar was oppressive, confining, dark—even during the charming Fontainebleau opening—and appropriately so. It was somewhat reminiscent of the gallery-style background of Michael Grandage’s Don Giovanni, except that the “gallery” was a wall of tombs—a catacomb.

Here are a few of McVicar’s thoughts, from an article about the production on Playbill.com:

“‘Philip, hand in hand with the Church, has created a dictatorship of thought and an empire of fear—an empire ruled by death,’ says director David McVicar, explaining the concept at the core of the opera and of his production. ‘Set designer Charles Edwards and I researched a great deal about catacombs and ossuaries because we wanted to entrap all the characters in a world almost without sunlight, and make death an ever-present theme in every visual picture.’ This vision carries over into the predominance of black tones in the production’s costumes, designed by Brigitte Reiffenstuel, signifying “the approach of death—that there are maggots gnawing away at the heart of this empire.’”

And it makes sense; it would be interesting to note how many time the libretto references death and the tomb. Just a few from the latter portion of the opera:

“Who will restore this dead man to me? O dreadful abyss!…This proud man … this heart of flame,
I have thrown him into the horror of the tomb!”

“Fill my heart with the divine flame,
or make room for me next to you in the tomb.”

“Ah! We live on, but in vain.
He has taken from us the King’s heart, which is consumed with regret!
Spaniards! We are descending into the night of the tomb!”

But in spite of the repressive set and its imagery, both in beauty and horror, of death ~ an enormous corpus of Christ hangs from the rafters over the fourth act ~ there is a mysterious hope for resurrection, or as Rodrigue speaks of, a “new world” ~ but more on that.

For the first three acts, though I was awed by the glorious orchestra and chorus—and the flawless voices—I wasn’t as emotionally carried away as I’ve often been with Don Carlos, even in the opening. (I’ve sometimes been moved to weep as early as, “Je suis Carlos! Je t’aime!” ~ or earlier.) This might have been for a couple of reasons ~ I’ve been more sporadic about opera listening over the past two years, a little heart-weary. Also, this opera is so close to my heart, particularly the central brotherly relationship and my opera-hero Rodrigue/Rodrigo, that I often approach an unknown production and new-to-me Rodrigue with a slight guardedness. (I had gotten a bit burned by a particular regie production of the Italian version that reworked the ending in such a way that it made Rodrigo a villain!)

By the first intermission, I was getting very excited about Étienne Dupuis, vocally and in his convincing acting ~ the emotional connection to Carlos. Will it continue? I wondered. Will justice be done to the relationship, to the character? I posted a few quick thoughts at the first intermission, on Facebook:

“’Why have you snatched me from the tomb, o cruel God?‘

“Quick impressions about Don Carlos from the first intermission (at the cinema encore)…I haven’t been looking at impressions of it, so it is pretty fresh. Phenomenal voices, beautifully sung all-round. Owens, Yoncheva, Dupuis, Polenzani, Barton. Really warming up to the heroic Rodrigue so far, and beautiful friendship duet! Most delighted/surprised by Matthew Rose’s Monk…wow!!! Gorgeous voice, penetrating…!!!

“The set like a tomb, like catacombs…

“And they are really upping the Hamlet parallels, with a kind of doubling of Gertrude/Ophelia in the scene where Carlos has an audience with the queen, and it’s reminiscent of the slightly mad Hamlet that Ophelia describes, ‘his doublet all unbraced…‘

I didn’t post from the second intermission ~ except to say how much I was looking forward to seeing John Relyea’s Grand Inquisitor ~ but was enjoying the interviews and the reflective time, during what was proving to be an all-around pitch-perfect performance. I was utterly charmed by the brief interview with Étienne Dupuis during this intermission, and by the song he made to honor the friendship between Carlos and Rodrigue, commissioned by the Met. (Perhaps the realization that the focus was on their friendship made me take my guard down a notch, too…they weren’t going to pull a Robert Carsen on me! And I say that in spite of loving most Carsen productions I’ve seen ~ but that one Don Carlo horrified me.)

So, all was going smoothly; I figured this would be an all-around riveting Carlos ~ but I could remain a happy but slightly detached observer. That was nice, too.

Then came Act IV.

The Grand Inquisitor (John Relyea) and Philippe (Eric Owens)

If I had to pick a single favorite act in any opera, it would be Act IV in the 5-act French Don Carlos.

Of course, Act IV opens with “Elle ne m’aime pas,” and Eric Owens did a beautiful job of making Philippe relatable, tragic; his voice was powerful and melancholy. (Out came the discreet tissues from my purse…) Even more surprising, I found that I had tears running down my face during the whole of the Grand Inquisitor scene—definitely a first—just because of the sheer beauty of John Relyea’s powerful and rich voice. The kind of voice, as I mentioned in his fan group that Gaby and I started, that you feel resonating somewhere in your chest. And he was terrifying, to the point of madness. The way he exited with that resounding “Peace” right before his final “Perhaps,” filled the theater. (I had had my heart set on trying to meet him after, if we’d been able to make it in person!)

Of course, the power continues in the next scene’s quartet, and with Eboli’s show-stopping “O don fatale.”

But then comes the real heart-breaker, and the heart of the opera, in Rodrigue’s death arias. I’ll just say it: Étienne Dupuis absolutely destroyed me. Every moment swept me away, his voice full of a sweet melancholy and convincing love ~ love for freedom, for Flanders, and for Carlos ~ as he died in the arms of his friend. And what a gift his voice is! Rich, elegant, full of heart and warmth. (I wish I’d known this Canadian baritone before, and now am extremely tempted to go see him and Luca Pisaroni in the new production of Don Giovanni in San Francisco, if it can be managed.)

The whole scene, so absolutely crucial to get right, was sung and acted beautifully by both Polenzani and Dupuis. I’ve felt so often, one cannot ~ or should not ~ portray even a slightly detached friendship here; I’ve seen it understated before and it just doesn’t work as well. Carlos, after all, is an emotional hero, and Rodrigue has had to be guarded all throughout. Here is their opportunity to finally break free of whatever doubt had separated them, and whatever illicit love for Élisabeth had distracted Carlos. After all, it is through this passage that Carlos comes out changed by his friend, and it had better be a doozy of a scene.

I think this might possibly be the most tender rendition of his death that I’ve seen ~ which is why it works so beautifully.

The heartbreak continues in some of the most glorious music ever, as a repentant Philippe enters, trying to make peace with the son he has imprisoned, only to be doubly regretful when he learns that Rodrigue was not the traitor that he was believed to be. What follows is Rodrigue’s requiem/lacrymosa, heard only in the French version of Carlos, which, when he had cut it in the Italian, Verdi repurposed to use as the Lacrymosa in his Requiem Mass.

In some ways, the beauty of sorrow expressed in the Lacrymosa is a fitting theme for the whole opera, particularly the slightly more melancholy tone of the French language version. It is a theme which is, if you think of it, problematic ~ Carlos never does have the opportunity to be the great hero in the “new world” described by Rodrigue; but finds his peace, as the ghostly Monk had foretold, only in the tomb ~ in another world from this.

It had been McVicar’s intent “to entrap all the characters in a world almost without sunlight.” Yes, almost, but for the unexpected vision of Rodrigue at Carlos’ own death in the final moments. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it in a Carlo/Carlos production before. The wall of tombs breaks open, and light finally enters the stage, as the strong silhouette of Rodrigue enters to be with Carlos in death. Carlos dies in his friend’s arms, as Rodrigue had done in his. And it was perfect, breaking our hearts again ~ but in a way that heals.

“O my friend, yes, give me your great soul,
make me the hero of your new world!
Fill my heart with the divine flame,
or make room for me next to you in the tomb.”

New delights, sweet pain: a week with Così fan tutte

Published on 14 January, 201718 January, 2017 by Rachel Anne Murphy2 Comments

It was a blog post on Mozart’s Così fan tutte that finally inspired me to try seeing a production of it. (Yay for opera enablers!! Thank you Blake!!) But I didn’t stop at one. In about a week’s time, or just a little over, I’ve seen three different recordings of this extraordinarily beautiful opera–usually in time snatched far too late at night for me–and the glorious music has been in my head all week like a haunting, friendly spirit.

If you would like a Cliffs’ Notes version of what will probably shape up to be a wordy blog ***or if you aren’t familiar with the story of Così fan tutte yet (in which case, spoilers!)*** here are my highlights:

1. Please see this marvelous opera, in some version! I’d especially recommend the 2006 Glyndebourne production, which is free on Amazon if you’re in the U.S. and have Prime!

2. I highly recommend S. Blake Duncan’s blogs for deeper appreciation after you’ve seen it, particularly: In Defense of Così, and my personal favorite, More on Così fan Tutte. My discovery of all three of the productions that I’ll mention here is the direct result of his recommendations and these wonderful posts. (Again, many thanks…!) I was grateful not only for the sensitive insight of a musician—I so especially appreciated the discussion of the “sound” of winds, like the winds of change, in the orchestration, as well as the discussion of “il core vi dono” and the other pieces throughout—but one of historical perspective in the face of modern sensibilities which are, on the surface, somewhat at odds with the exquisite Mozart/Da Ponte work.

First productions…

The first recording that I watched of this opera, just over a week ago now, was the 2014 production from Met on Demand, with Isabel Leonard, Susanna Phillips, and Matthew Polenzani—and Danielle de Niece as a bright and spunky Despina. A charming, winning production, beautifully done by all.

Luca Pisaroni (Guglielmo) and Miah Persson (Fiordiligi)

The second, and my favorite as a whole, was the one I chose for my birthday movie: the magical, bright 2006 Glyndebourne production with Luca Pisaroni (I was sold, right there!), Miah Persson, a very handsome Nicolas Rivenq, Topi Lehtipuu, and Anke Vondung. (As of this post, it’s available free if you have Amazon Prime, at least in the US!) It really captures the lighthearted as well as bittersweet/painful elements in the brilliant story, and the singers portray the characters with a winning tenderness, exquisitely sung. Luca’s portrayal of hurtful resentment I found especially compelling.

The third, although I regrettably had to break it up into a number of viewings, and not with the full concentration I would like to have given it, is another beauty from 1992, which as of this posting can still be found at this link, with English subtitles. I’d like to see it again, all in one sitting. But I thought the set, costumes, and ensemble were all a treat. I particularly enjoyed the voice and performance of Rodney Gilfry as Guglielmo here. (The scene where Ferrando woos Fiordiligi, with Guglielmo looking on…ouch…) And the ending…fitting and lovely.

A Così summary…

The setting is late-18^th century Naples. The storyline, with libretto by Lorenzo Da Ponte and the most glorious music by Mozart, is not unlike a story told in Cervantes’ Don Quixote, wherein a certain man persuades his best friend to woo his wife, in order to test her fidelity. In the case of Così, it is two men, Ferrando and Guglielmo, who are challenged by their older, worldly friend Don Alfonso to put their own fiancées to the test by wooing them in disguise—Ferrando and Guglielmo ostensibly being called off to the battlefield—and the upshot will be, in Don Alfonso’s mind, to disabuse his friends of the notion that these two women are any more faithful or high-minded than any other human being. Così fan tutte! (They [women] all do it!) The men have help in this endeavor from the clever maid Despina, who encourages her mistresses’ infidelities by her woman-of-the-world “wisdom”; she also disguises herself at various times as a notary, or a doctor –the latter a hilarious spoof on Mesmer’s “magnetism” that was a current fad, who “saves” the would-be wooers from death by poison. Guglielmo woos his friend’s betrothed Dorabella, and Ferrando woos Fiordiligi—and it’s hard to resist the charms of either.

A few thoughts…

The very title, Così fan tutte, seems to present a challenge for us, as though suggesting that troubles with constancy is a “woman’s problem”; I won’t go into the reasons for thinking of this differently, as was so well done by the articles mentioned above. Nor do I think in this case, like Jane Austen’s Anne in Persuasion, that “men have had every advantage of us in telling their own story”–agreed, yes; but Mozart and Da Ponte were both ahead of their time here in the implications of this opera. I personally think that had the plot gone in the other direction, with the women testing the fidelity of the men, the results would likely enough have been the same in Mozart and Da Ponte’s story…in fact, as Despina’s many comments suggest, that idea is a given. No need to test it, in her mind.

In this character-sextet—the two couples, Don Alfonso, and Despina—Despina is clearly the mirror of Don Alfonso, even though his opposite in gender and station. They’re not romantics. Despina’s words to her mistresses are as cutting as any, as the ladies pine for the men who must leave them:

To hope for faithfulness
in men, in soldiers?
Don’t let people hear you, for heaven’s sake!
All men are made of the same stuff;
the swaying boughs, the fickle breezes
have greater stability than men have.

The “problem” here is not about womens’ constancy, nor their submission (a problem that haunts Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew, for example). When I consider Così, the more intriguing “problem” for me is the human story itself. The trick Don Alfonso and the men play is warranted in the context of a farce–and to view it with excessive sobriety is surely not the intent. We can’t forget that it IS a farce. I mean, we very willingly suspend disbelief as the ladies are “tricked” by their own—or their sisters’–betrothed husbands. And simply because they’re disguised in exotic costumes and wearing outrageous mustacchi? They’re fooled by the idea of magnets extracting poison from the bodies of the ridiculously convulsing men who were driven to suicide out of love at first sight? It’s delightfully outrageous…and we’re having fun along the way.

But…there is a “but,” in my mind. Just as with Shakespeare, who always managed to make things more humanly complicated and interesting than any genre would ever require, so too Mozart and Da Ponte are just too darn interesting, brilliant, and poignant in their creation to make it only a send-up, or only a comedy. We may just as often want to weep as to laugh. How will the characters recover from this? Will they? And not only the romances, but–I always seem to worry about this especially–the friendships of the men, both of whom have succeeded in making the other’s betrothed unfaithful.

Yes, the music is so glorious and the libretto so captivating as to make us pause.

It does have the element of the Shakespearean problem play, in that there is an ostensibly “happy” ending, not without room for interpretation. “Interpretation” not as in conceptualizing, nor trying to appease a 21st century audience, but character interpretation. A pause, a doubt, a hesitation, an unexpected nuance. As I left each production, floating in the clouds at some of the most beautiful music ever written, and happy…I still had that lurking feeling afterwards: but will they really be okay?

I wouldn’t compare the two, as Così is a little more Twelfth Night than Measure for Measure, but in the latter (again, spoiler alert!) we are following a character who seems to possess a sort of omnicient, Godlike perspective on the play’s situation, Duke Vincentio. He is ever observing, testing…even manipulating events into submission. (It’s a good thing that he’s a decent character, or else everyone would be in trouble.) But after bringing justice to a messed-up situation, the play ends with him confidently declaring his love to a nun, Isabella—nevermind that, not long before, we were so disturbed by Angelo’s proposal to her. Sure, we might think: obviously, Angelo’s was a rotten deal—but the Duke, well, he’s a decent guy…he’s not blackmailing her, although she does, one might say, owe him…But he must really love her and want what’s best for her. And really, she’s only a novice at the convent, and maybe she doesn’t really want to be a nun in the first place. But still…still. It’s more than a little disconcerting. One can interpret it so that the ending is left open—and indeed, the best version I’ve seen of it literally has the lights fade on the sight of the handsome, commanding Duke standing with an outstretched hand towards an ambivalent Isabella. What will happen? Much of what we are left to imagine will depend on the trajectory of what has gone before, and the characterization of each.

So, back to Così. It is a lighthearted romp, and something in the category of magical realism. When I first heard the overture, there is a stong, confident buoyancy…suggestive of the later refrain of “Così fan tutte” and the sharpness of, say, “come scoglio immoto resta”, which then melts into moments of something…unexpected, bittersweet.

Such is the melting required of the men’s hearts at the end, if all is to be well. One hopes that all will be well…but something is off. But even if the couples are “really” okay–which is not absolutely certain–such wisdom, tenderness, and forgiveness as the ending requires is not likely to happen in a moment. I think the reverse kind of forgiveness needs to happen too: we have to remember that it is a send-up, because, really, the men have played a pretty unkind trick.

So, no, we don’t quite know how things would turn out, and it would have taken a Mozart and Da Ponte to write the kind of sequel poignant enough to do justice to a perfectly imperfect situation.

Some of the most beautiful moments in the opera are based on an imperfect situation, such as “il core vi dono,” surely one of the most beautiful and poignant love duets ever written. If it weren’t for that one major caveat—the trickery involved—it would surely be the consummate love duet. Here’s the same link shared in Blake’s blog posts above mentioned, which made me seek out this marvelous Glyndebourne production:

Other moments have been running incessantly through my head all week, such as Ferrando’s “un’aura amorosa” (beautifully done at this link by Lawrence Brownlee), or the, for me, literally show-stoppingly beautiful farewell trio between Fiordiligi, Dorabella, and Don Alfonso, as the two men (so the ladies think) leave for the battlefield. When I first heard this trio, “soave sia il vento” (a link here to a version sung by Renee Fleming, Thomas Hampson, and Susan Graham), I could hardly go on…I had to listen again. It is transcendent…and the “wind” sound in the strings so perfect…one feels at sea:

Nicolas Rivenq as Don Alfonso. (Seriously, were I a man, I’d wear a coat and scarf just like that…)

And Don Alfonso: are we supposed to necessarily “like”–or think that we should think like—Don Alfonso or Despina, simply because they’re proven right? I personally don’t think so. Hopefully most of us still believe that fidelity is not only possible, but necessary…but also that forgiveness in the midst of frailty is possible, and necessary. So, as long as we stay in the realm of farce, where the old jokes about infidelity and inconstancy are given free rein, sure, Don Alfonso and Despina are fun to watch and listen to, and most certainly not villains. But the fact that they are “experienced” doesn’t make them wiser or more compassionate. They give the two fellows the lesson needed, but not how to deal with it after. I thought of the line from the 1999 film The Winslow Boy, based on the Terence Rattigan play: it is “easy to do justice; very hard to do right.” What Don Alfonso did and the point he was trying to make might have been a just one…but was it right? Those who love each other build the other up ~ they don’t tear the other down. We’re all damaged goods. What if we strove to nurture and treasure the beloved into greater health and wholeness, rather than to question, doubt, or challenge it to an external ideal?

That, hopefully, is what they’re left with at the end to consider and to live out, but it’s not what they lived in the story. And it doesn’t necessarily justify Don Alfonso’s attitude, his cynicism and mocking of genuine emotion and ideals. (We really need ideals, at least for ourselves…the old adage about shooting for the moon and landing on the barn roof might be applicable here. One of our many tendencies as human beings is to fall short of our ideals anyway; if we only shoot for the barn roof we aren’t even going to get off the ground.) Did they really have to break the “other” first in order to realize that their beloved women were indeed women and not angelic beings? Perhaps. It doesn’t make it right.

But where would the story be otherwise?

Whatever the case, the very “problems” add to the captivating beauty of this opera for me. Part delightful farce, part something decidedly more. So much more. Like Shakespeare, Mozart and Da Ponte cannot help making it more. (Though Verdi’s Don Carlo has the edge for all-time favorite operas, with Don Giovanni being more or less tied with it, Mozart is certainly now my favorite composer.) The complications involved with this opera make it an even greater source of interest, beauty, humor, and pathos…like life itself. It is a delightful, bittersweet, gloriously beautiful work that has haunted me all week, and I am already looking forward to delving ever deeper, finding new productions, and revisiting these, particularly the Glyndebourne. The lines that consummate the heart-rending love duet sum up my feelings of this first Così week perfectly:

“Che nuovi diletti! Che dolce penar!”(“What new delights! What sweet pain!”)