PORTopera's Tosca: One Sing-ular Sensation

On paper at least, Puccini’s Tosca seemed like an odd choice for an opera company to make its debut in the arena of “semi-staging” However, with imaginative use of space, intelligent (and detailed) direction, good costumes, a first rate orchestra, choruses and a cast of singers, the possibility exists of the experience being greater than the sum of its parts. Such was the case with PORTopera’s second go at Puccini’s classic potboiler.

With a 60+ piece orchestra taking pride of place on stage, only a narrow corridor of space toward the apron existed for the action to develop. A large wooden platform with a staircase leading to its top served, in the first act as the painter Mario Cavaradossi’s galley in Church of Sant’Andrea della Valle, (an enormous blank picture frame atop it), and in the second, as the parapet of the Castel St. Angelo for a changing of the guard, and the denouement of Tosca leaping to her death.

Challenged by the limited playing space, director, Dona D. Vaughn created an intimate Tosca that did not skimp on her customary excellence, her supernumeraries (scrub maid,, monk, Scarpia’s henchmen, et al.) enlivening and providing richly detailed action.

Vaughn wisely embraced, and enhanced, the comedic elements of the first act which came off with the lighthearted naturalness of musical comedy, particularly the marvelous work from Thomas Hammons' genuinely funny (and warmly curmudgeonly) Sacristan, the romantic interplay between Tosca and Mario, and the children’s entrance. The children's chorus was a delight and one could not help but smile as as the kids circled and danced around the old man. All of this worked, of course, to heighten the contrasting, darker, more chilling aspects of the tale and make them more deeply felt without the use of maudlin manipulation to which this opera frequently falls prey.

Adam Diegel, PORT’s excellent Pinkerton from several seasons ago, returned as an exuberant young Cavaradossi, his bright, enormously pingy tenor ringing out with amazing clarity over the orchestra. Despite Maestro Lord’s moving the score along, both of Mario’s arias elicited applause, particularly the tragic “E lucevan le stele,” which earned hearty cheers and bravos from the house, and his "Vittoria!" has rarely been more thrillingly sung in my lifetime.


Alexandra LoBianco made for a lovely, winning Tosca presenting a softer, more coquettish heroine than the sometimes jealous, woman-on-the-verge as she's so frequently presented. LoBianco offered a softer, more coquettish Tosca, a deliciously coy flirtatiousness tempering her jealous outbursts, making her vulnerable and her eventual harrowing predicament all the more wrenching. The first act duet with Mario garnered enough applause to nearly stop the action, and, I can state without hesitation, it's been many years since I've felt a certain "tingle" at the end of that scene.

Luxury casting was found in the Scarpia of James Morris, whose voice, while showing signs of age, has Scarpia imprinted all over it. I wasn't the only one who wondered why he, alone, was in a modern tuxedo (I'm imagining a minor costume controversy may have been involved here) but the fact is he could've been donned in overalls or pajamas and one still was going to believe THIS was Scarpia. The self-important piety with which he entered, literally stopped the show in St. Andrea's. Alternating between subtlety and villainy Morris created a Scarpia who one sensed always got his way, his man . . . and his woman. Until Tosca.

Mario's execution was made all the more gruesome by the addition of a coup de grâce, stopped at the last minute, the effect of which made the moment all the more chilling and, perhaps for the first time, made me wonder if the boy might actually get up and flee with Tosca. The ensuing moments of chaos worked beautifully (how nice to hear the vocal parts here, almost always eliminated by the Met and other companies) as Tosca is hunted and chased down before taking opera's most famous leap (LoBianco's "O Scarpia avanti a Dio" by the way, was positively thrilling).

Over thirty years after I (a then a chorister) sang a tour of Boheme with him, it was an absolute joy to see and hear Thomas Hammons as the Sacristan, still potent of voice and ever the actor. Robert Mellon (Angelotti), Lucas Levy (Spoletta), Josh Quinn (Sciarrone) and Carina Di Gianfilippo (The Shepherd) all offered splendid contributions to the evening's proceedings.

Maestro Stephen Lord's work with the PORT orchestra and choruses was exemplary, presenting Puccini's score as full-throttled and rousing as one could hope for, leading principals for whom he rarely hold to hold back or do much adjusting of volume for.

On paper, this may have read as a "semi-staged" production, but for a packed house at Merrill Auditorium, it was a Tosca for the ages.

Magda the Magnificent. A Tribute to Magda Olivero

Like some of my favorite singers I've only heard on recordings, Magda Olivero, is one of those singers whose name alone can light up my
face. People ask where are singers like her today, and I suppose the simplest fact is that they simply don't exist. The fact is they barely existed in their own day. When someone complains "There's no Tebaldi today" they are, of course, right, but there was only ever ONE Tebaldi and she (like Callas, like Gencer, and Rysanek . . . ) are ALL sui generis. The world we live in has changed and so, necessarily, has the way we have to live in it. There was, and only ever will be, one Oliver, and how very lucky we were to have had her.

While lovers of conventionally pretty voice may not appreciate what she brought to the table, that is their great loss. Olivero was not just another singer, but an exceptional musician. For sheer diversity of the styles and types of roles she undertook I can think of few singers who can match her.


Of course, what else would one expect from a singer whose professional debut was as Mary Magdalene in Nino Cattozzo's wildly popular 'I Misteri Dolorosi" (kidding about the popular part). She was only 22, but the odd roles kept coming her way: Parodi's "Cleopatra" - Barbieri's "Alcassino e Nicoletta" - Rossellin's "La Guerra" - Carvalho's "Penelope" - the Rome premiere of Poulenc's "Dialogues of the Carmelites", an opera she would sing throughout much of her career, and in a variety of roles, - Langella's "Assunta Spina" - Gentilucci's "Don Ciccio." Quite simply just the names of these works make my ears prick up making me long for an era when there was a lot more going on in the major houses than standard rep and - hailed or failed - new works were prolific and singers such as Olivero singing as many of them as she could.



Magda was singing Monteverdi back when his works, as was most of the baroque repertoire, barely known to most opera lovers. She sang not only Poppea, but also in productions of the madrigal operas "Il Combattimento" and "Ballo delle Ingrate." In addition to her work in baroque music, Olivero frequently was singing music of her own time, by composers both known and (now, sadly) forgotten; Menotti, Wolf-Ferrari, Costagutta, Giordano, Mangiagalli, Honegger, Zandonai, to name but a few.

She clearly adored the music of often maligned Alfano appearing in four of his operas. "Cyrano Di Bergerac", "La Leggenda di Sakuntala," "Risurrezione," and "L'Ultimo Lord." "Sakuntala" found Olivero in both the title role and, nearer the end of the career, one of Sakuntala's maids. What I would have give to hear her in the title role of this beautiful (and rarely performed) opera. I think we can get some idea of it from her live recording of Katiusha in "Risurrezione," where she is simply remarkable - hair raising and heartbreaking.

Even Olivero's standard repertoire roles shows a wild diversity: Elsa, Poppea, both Manons, Gilda, Butterfly, Marguerites by Boito & Gounod, Violetta, Mimi, Zerlina, Nanetta, Liu, Maria in Mazzepa, Adriana, Minnie, all 3 Trittico heroines, La Voix Humaine . . . the list goes on. The very notion of Olivero as "That Brabant Girl" shivers me timbers.

While sung in Italian, snippets of her Manon reveals a voice most perfectly suited to Massenet's heroine, and imagining what her Manon must have been like in the theatre sends me into a swoon, which is a state I'd imagine those lucky to have experienced her in it were sent into.

Where would we be without amazing artists who gave their all, as did Madame Olivero? Or their legacies and the contribution and continuation of our beloved the lyric art? How fortunate we are to never have to find out.

Thank you, bless you and may you rest in peace, dear, great lady.

Vishnevskaya;s Blazing, Bloody Tosca!

Oh where to begin with this set? Why not, with the diva herself? Vishnevskaya. Never the most purely technical of singers, there are moments when the voice sounds ready to implode upon itself – while other moments are full of rich, nuanced beauty. There are moments, too, when her very Russian accent dominates the sound, and yet few sopranos (Italian or otherwise) can put across Tosca's opening music with that necessary studied casualness and juicy sensuality that Puccini gives to this fascinating creature. Vishnevskaya's voice in 1976 is oh so fascinating - it's big, it’s small - she can scale back the sound, lighten high notes and phrase like an Italian knowing this music from birth. Listen the phrase in her first aria:

"Al tuo fianco sentire
per le silenziose
stellate ombre, salir
le voci delle cose!... "

I've heard numerous otherwise great Toscas massacre that magical phrase, altering vowel sounds in order to get that arpeggiated melody out by any means necessary. One can sometimes almost hear (and visualize) a soprano's facial contortions trying to put across this music that Puccini wants sung as light as air. Vishnevskaya? She nails it - the voice is fleet and liquid, capable of incorporating a lightness of sound - every note measured and weighted precisely and perfectly. When you hear this music sung as intended - just that one little phrase can cause your face to light up. Or at least, cause mine to!

Later, as the scene plays out between Tosca and Mario, Vishnevskaya turns a little ragged at the top - a bit of a wobble creeping in (not a wide one, but that unique slant often prevalent in Slavic female singers). What makes this “wobble” even odder is that, you begin to get used to it and – all of an instant – she’s switched gears and being pouring out this gorgeous liquidy wet sound (I’m reminded of her Swedish contemporary, Elisabeth Soderstrom). Vishnevskaya finishes the scene as though using the arsenal of an accomplished spoken actress more so than your typical opera diva. That is to say, her employment of a wide range of dynamics and voice coloring, is of the kind almost entirely unheard of in opera singing today. Additionally, she tosses off pianos and pianissimi that are just meltingly beautiful – simply ravishing and possibly the envy of more canary-like singers. I understand many opera fans want a more consistently warm and balanced sound, but, for me such a sound is NOT for Tosca. Almost more than any other diva vehicle, Puccini’s heroine allows for crazy, zany alterations and gradations of text painting, particularly when working with a sympathetic conductor. Fortunately for Vishnevskaya, she had that (and much more) in her husband, Mstislav Rostropovich. The work they put into this pays off in spades and Galina – a diva from her temples to her toenails, does Tosca proud.

I remember when this recording first appeared – it was considered “controversial” – but in restrospect – like the Callas 66 recording – it’s one of the most theatrical sounding recordings of Puccini’s potboiler – the audio range remarkably broad. This, too, may frustrate some listeners, but others will find that that broadness infinitely adds to a freshness to a melodrama that can sometimes feel arch and overfamiliar.

Rostropovich finds a mostly excellent band in the Orchestre National de France, and he coaxes them in a reading that is one of the richest sounding on recordings – (a friend and I used to joke “he out Karajan’s Karajan). This broadness of dynamics makes for particularly big fun in moments like Scarpia’s entrance, the cannons and chaos of the choirboy rehearsal and, ultimately, the Te Deum. Rostropovich explores the score mining it for nuances glossed over by more famous conductors of this work, and while some of his choices sound surprising to us today – unsettling even, he offers some of the most viscerally thrilling soundscapes one is likely to hear in this opera, and in some of the most surprising places. An example, take that little bundle of notes before Tosca utters “Dove son?” and then continues “Potessi coglierli, i traditori!” . . . it has NEVER been more etched in mystery, the winds adding eerily familiar yet utterly strangeness to the mix – an almost late 20th century minimalism quality affixed to it – but never letting go of its Puccini-ness, and Slava lets it build until Tosca’s shouted “Tu non l'avrai stasera. Giuro!” The Tosca/Scarpia exchange ends and what happens next is one of the greatest homages to Puccini’s masterpiece as I have ever heard. After the Tosca/Scarpia exchange ends explosively, Slava shapes the score as though he himself is composing it himself on the spot; each of the numerous motifs pours out, one bleeding directly into the next: love theme, Scarpia, the Sacristan chaos – it’s all in there. I don’t know of another conductor (not even Serafin, de Sabata and certainly NOT HvK) who creates so seamless a transition through these eight or so minute sequence - morphing directly into the Te Deum – it’s a positively dizzying swirl of sound, Scarpia, chorus, children, cannons, organ, bells . . . all winding down a single path to the gloriously explosive finale.
Matteo Manuguerra’s slightly fruity, edgy, twisted baritone pours his liquid sinew all over the place, but his “Va, Tosca!” is something special. No, it’s not the greatest of baritone voices, but the way he shades, his flawless understanding of the line makes him an unusually subtle (and thus, creepier than usual) Scarpia. His exchange with Mario in Act II is one of the more exciting on record. Like everything else, Mario’s exit music to the dungeon for this scene is milked for maximum drama. Like the Callas 66 set, there are special sound effects – as though this had been intended as a soundtrack. Also, like the Callas set, Vishnevskaya’s Act II high notes can strip the paint off a car, but you know what? You won’t care (or at least you shouldn’t!) Any subtleties Galina provided in Act I are here, thrown out the window as she lets loose spraying blood all over the place. It may not always be pretty, but it’ll sure as hell let you know what she’s all about.

While Franco Bonisolli never won a prize for subtlety (if he did, I’ll eat my hat), but in 1976 he could offer a visceral, impassioned and wildly over the top young painter with a penchant for and well matched to his Tosca’s. He lets his sound “break” during the fever pitched scene singing from the dungeon and ne’er has there been a more horrific male scream (though, blessedly muffled in the sound mix) before Tosca blurts out Angelotti’s hiding place.

From here on in we’re in for one long wild rollercoaster ride of nearly unrelieved depravity, treachery and high dudgeon from all three stars. While this kind of hell-for-leather take will definitely put some off, others (like me) will find it gloriously old-fashioned and exactly what is missing from too many Tosca’s today. As close to the brink of disaster as he lets it get, Slava knows when to reign it all back in and it’s a fucking thrill a minute here.

Vishnevskaya takes an almost naturalistic, prayerful approach to Vissi d’arte, Slava introducing a far brisker pace than most will be used to, but oh its works! This is all, or course, mere prelude to one of the most terrifying go’s at the murder ever, and an “E morto orgli perdono..." that could give Callas herself the shivers (and one of the just plain weirdest deliveries of “e evanti a lui . . . “ you’ll ever hear). The attention to detail Rostropovich pays here, the music almost disappearing into the floorboards of the stage, then rising, vapor like as if in a blood mist. It makes me wish all the more I could have experienced his Tosca in the theatre.

Bonisolli does nicely enough through “E lucevan la stelle” with a sort of old-fashioned declamation in the first half, then finishes it exactly as you might imagine: milking every last yelp and sob – the equivalent of silent movie eyes, and yes, it, too feels germane to these proceedings. Of course Slava (again!) rolls the postlude into a thrilling springboard for Tosca’s penultimate entrance in this show of shows. The lilting (almost Austrian sounding) upward sweeping glissandi during the scaffold scene as Tosca awaits her lover’s execution underscores the grand horror about to unfurl . . . and we wait with her – and then “e con Artista!” is screamed out with zeal, love, pride and abandon.

Yes, her soprano can be wild, uneven, almost crude at times – but there is no doubt that Vishnevskaya has thought about and fleshed this character out so meticulously that, I find myself coming back to it as often as I do the more famous versions by those Greek and Roman woman. It's that damn good!

Holy Tosca, Batman!

Although I saw it (on a poorly transferred PAL tape) when new, I just purchased the new Decca Tosca DVD from the Amsterdam production in
1998. Last night I watched it in superior conditions to those of a decade ago and am haunted still. I like when that
happens.

First off, Lehnhoff's production is going to seriously piss some people off but it is singularly one of the
most exciting performances of Tosca I can recall seeing in years. Lehnhoff has taken Puccini's "shabby little shocker" and done what many of us have been eternally waiting for – putting it over the top, right where it belongs. He has stripped the tale of its ornate baroque trappings and set it in what appears to be hell. For those who want read only about the musical performance - jump about half a dozen paragraphs.

Act 1's church is an enormous cavernous, foreboding place. Cavarodossi's Magdalene painting absolutely gargantuan on a highly raised platform that dominates the rear of the stage. Instead of rococo pillar and posts, the stage floor is filled with countless metal and glass columns a mite taller than your average man. These columns provide incredible playing areas turning the enormous stage into a series of more intimate settings that work magnificently. During the Te Deum, Scarpia alone is on stage before a painting of the devil and at each cannon burst during this the tops of the columns erupt into flame – the cameras catching Scarpia's malevolent sneer, the flames leaping up towards him. It is one of the most exciting images I've ever seen. And there were more of these to come.

Scarpia's apartment is of the industrial-strength variety. A massively long two prong staircase dominates the rear stage wall the massive walls go seemingly all the way to the fly space of the opera house. Stage right's wall is dominated by an enormous turbine which, along with the stairs charges the atmosphere with an ominous subterranean feeling. This is not a fun place. At
curtain's rise Big Bad Scarpia is on an eight foot long divan, in tight silk lounge pants with a lizard/snakeskin motif and matching sleeveless vest (my Mom had something similar in the 70's . . . Hostess Pants). He is stroking a beautiful yellow tabby. Cool.

When Tosca first appears, all we see are her red high heels coming down the first staircase – shoes she will remove before reclining on the divan for Scarpia to collect his prize. Only after the murder do we realize the massive staircases have disappeared and we feel, along with Tosca completely trapped. There are no other doors – the room converted into an enormous death trap, the only air seemingly coming from the turbine. Tosca goes into a genuine panic during the dumb show – now stripped/relieved of the pseudo- religious crucifix/candelabra business. In her search for the safe passage conduct, Tosca discovers and takes a gun – almost hinting at suicide in her terror. When a panel opens moonlight seems to stream in revealing a hidden
exit. With pistol in hand and tea-length fur coat dragging behind . . . It is thrilling business.

The final act is on an enormous stage filling disc, the floor of which is covered by the shadow of light pouring down from the turbine – which is now in the ceiling. The rear of the stage gives the feeling of being at the edge of the world – with the moon and stars reflecting in the night. It's stunning and chilling all at once.

After the execution, the distraught, now fully deranged Tosca holds Scarpia's henchmen at bay waving the gun – and one almost senses she's going to blow her brains out . . . but instead she runs, flings it to the ground and takes a flying leap out the heavens that took my breath away – her hair wildly trailing behind her as Sciarrone and Spoletta hit the ground to safely watch her from above.

I have read some startling bad reviews of this production, and I simply cannot fathom how anyone would not be wowed by it. It is an absolutely chilling performance.

Now to the cast. Malfitano is Tosca to the teeth. Not your average Tosca, this one is neurotic and obsessive from her first appearance. In the final act she is barefoot and costumed like a Martha Graham dancer. Indeed, Malfitano never stops moving – her body, her hair all fluid movement – almost hallucinatory. It's a marvelous performance. The down side is that the voice was never built for Tosca. So much of the musical drama sits at either end of the range – really low lows, and pretty high highs. At both ends Malfitano's instrument simply lacks body and beauty. To her credit she insists on singing every note, but the low "chesty" business that so many singers make thrilling, are here unlovely and growled and at times barely audible. The less said about
the inaccurate pitching at the top of the range the better. Still MUCH of Tosca lies in the middle to middle high and here, Malfitano still possesses a voice of bright, unforced lyric beauty. If this is going to bother you, you should skip it, but if you want a performance that is 75% really good singing and 100% committed acting, Malfitano's your gal. I loved her.

In Act II, I kept thinking Theda Bara had been reincarnated – Malfitano HAS to know this and have played on the similarities. She looks terrific (some complain that even 10 years ago she looked too old for Tosca . . . nonsense). Her "Vissi d'arte " is exceptionally powerful – revealing more than a dozen other Tosca's combined. Her Act III performance is pure over-the-top, flitting and dancing and laughing – a mad scene, really and believe it or not, it works perfectly in this context. I always thought Behrens had the best flying leap of any Tosca – but Cathy M. goes her one better - it is and it's captured with breathtaking, horrifying beauty.

Richard Margison. I've never been a big fan of the man, but having read so many negatives about his Cavaradossi I must admit to being pleasantly surprised. He's involved and engaging, and I bought what he brought to the role. Recondita Armonia is beautifully sung if a little inelegantly phrased at times. The central act he rings out passionately. Oddly "E lucevan la stele" is sung accurately, but with an odd tone that sounds more furious than forlorn.
When Tosca arrives, Margison's Mario sounds much better, caressing the line and believable in the drama. Yes, he's got a big gut . . . so what? I was surprised at the depth of some of his acting here, and confused by those who accuse him of just walking through the role. Nope.

The night, of course belonged to Terfel in this, his first assumption of Scarpia. Some may not like him, but this is the Scarpia of my dreams in every way. Larger than life, Terfel's voice rings out with a liquidity one seldom hears in this role anymore. There is a "wetness" to his sound that reminds me of Elisabeth Soderstrom (if you know what I mean). Physically, Terfel exudes a creepy sensuality that feels almost x-rated. Everything seems to revolve around sex,
evil and cruelty. The ending of the first act with the Te Deum sung so rapturously, flames licking up as this devil holds the stage by himself is a theatrical tour de force. Poured into his lizard lounge pants he amps up the carnality and when he stalks Tosca up the stairs I truly sensed danger as the hair rose on the back of my neck. This Scarpia has everything planned and
intricately ordered – seemingly controlling the very universe from his bunker- like world. For a clue to his sense of order in this nightmare watch him polish a glass before he pours that "vin d'espagna."

The Welshman performs this role as though he were born to play it – and I think he was. How exciting it is to see this different approach to one of opera's greatest roles and Terfel rises to the challenges imposed by Puccini and Lehnhoff, looking not just comfortable but entirely natural and believable every sick step of the way.

Riccardo Chailly has no less than the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra as the pit band and the score has rarely sounded this lush and symphonic. Chailly brings out details frequently lost in other performances, his pacing is fluid and at times much slower than I am used to hearing in modern performances, but never indulgent. The sound on the DVD is almost more "studio" than live performance and this is enhanced by the silence of the audience until the very
end when they go properly mad. So did I.

There is an interesting 17 minute behind the scenes documentary with some cast interviews and Lehnhoff and Chailly offering up their opinions.

I've heard the evil "E" word hurled at this production, and indeed some may find they simply cannot tolerate the changes of settings, but for anyone who can keep an open mind about these sorts of things – hang on tight 'cause you're in for a hair raising ride!

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