Applause at La Scala, Milan adopts Verdi and Netrebko

A few more quick observations, still hot on the heels of Verdi's 'La forza del destino' which opened the season at La Scala last night. Let's start this time from the bottom: the applause. They are a matter of record, certainly. But they are indicative of how the audience's relationship with the stage is changing, particularly in this performance that the whole world (or almost the whole world) is watching. Standing out this time were the considerable hosannas directed at the super-protagonist, the diva Anna Netrebko. She the only one to gain so much hype, so much tangible affection from the audience. And even more so during the opera, really with genuine stops at the performance, rather than at the end. When a few protests rained down from the gallery (isolated, but I guess even a single 'buuh' sounds loud at the Piermarini) that had the effect of cooling the enthusiasts.

She wins, over a company that on the whole shone, and with potentially super-class voices, and for several reasons. Meanwhile for her self-control, truly a lesson in stage performance. Mastery over herself, both over a voice that obviously can no longer be the voice of twenty years ago, and over what can happen unpredictably during a performance - we are still in the theatre! - makes her perhaps the most charismatic artist in the field today. It puts her next to the great pianists who even when they got the notes wrong conveyed the inner sense of a piece, or those elderly conductors who physically no longer raised their arms and yet achieved an unsurpassed orchestral intensity with their gaze alone. Netrebko sang yesterday fighting to the very end. Overcoming the limits of an ingrown emission, searching the folds of the vocal cords for hidden and emotionally unique colours, aiming for inner discipline and charisma, achieving absolute identification with the character. When she sang Leonora in London a few years ago, she was clearly moved by the poignant loneliness of Verdi's character. Yesterday no more. There was no place for tears. The bar of self-control was too important and essential. In its place came a more mature depth, an acceptance of fate, a strength above events.

And then for Anna Netrebko - raised on the gymnasium of the great lions - what counts is the magnetic contact with the audience in front. She clearly sings for us who are there, she seems to be watching us all the time; at the end she is the only one who greets by saying 'ciao ciao'. The projection of the voice dialogues, yes, with the pit, but it is also independent of it: it goes beyond it and towards the spectator. This attitude also leads her to take certain liberties with the text. More faithful conductors would not allow this. Riccardo Chailly does not question her, he accepts everything. He guides her. After all, it is not easy to win her over. Because she also possesses such a capacity for invention and response to the unexpected that she leaves you speechless. For example, last night, something happened in the last act of 'La Forza' - small, but noisy and obvious - that could have undermined the spirit of Leo Muscato's thoughtful and very well-told direction. Leonora would have had to put the head of the small statue of the Madonna, in the foreground, one of the few objects in Federica Parolini's set design (the rest leafy trees and then severed trunks) back on its feet. The gesture is very symbolic, in a landscape of ruins and destruction. Well, the small head, once repositioned on the statue's neck, again fell on the planting, with a sinister thud. Another would have been at least frightened. We in seeing it would. She would not. With a slow gesture, invented there, and even as she was chanting one of the subtlest moments, the prayer 'Peace my God', Anna Netrebko slowly bent down to the ground, picked up the wreckage of the sculpture with ritual intensity, thought for a moment about repositioning it, and then instead, sorrowfully, laid it on the ground.

This is how a performer can make a performance evolve in progress. On the other hand, very detailed and rich, teeming with details in the mass scenes, supported by Silvia Aymonino's eloquent costumes, Alessandro Verazzi's perfect lighting (even the central chandelier) and Michela Lucenti's somewhat gymnastic but functional ensemble movements. On the contrary, essential and direct on the protagonists. No emphasis, lots of irony. A rarity at the opera. The A-class company defended their positions well, revealing some forgivable fatigue: after the soprano, superlative baritone Ludovic Tézier, the tenor with pearl-like high notes Brian Jagde, Vasilisa Berzhanskaya's Preziosilla, Alexander Vinogradov's young Padre Guardiano. Special mention for Marco Filippo Romano's natural comedy. Praise for Huanhong Li's saving intonation in the first concertato to the alcade, and applause for Xhieldo Hyseni, a pupil of the La Scala Academy, in the tiny but well-chiselled role of the surgeon. One of Verdi's typical moments of bitter comedy. Where the audience at any latitude inevitably laughs (but one should cry).

Alberto Malazzi has already written extensively about the orchestra and choir being polished: Scala quality, indeed, super polished polish from 7 December. Virtually impeccable hold. Some doubts remain about the musical intentions, the finishing touches, the rhythmic dialogue between voices and stage, certain somewhat clangorous volumes, disproportionate towards cymbals and bass drum, including that symphonic texture that Verdi always had in mind and that made him European, not just Italian in style. Verdi wins. And above all, when so showcased, how political. Unique, really. Perhaps that is why, in the face of so much force of his severe criticism, of his doubts, here in particular about the meaning of war, the political representatives in the hall for once fell silent.