The Arena season kicks off with *La Traviata*
by Carla Moreni
The Arena’s grand summer opera season opens with *La Traviata*, rather than the more popular *Aida* and *Nabucco*. A choice that goes against the grain, a significant anniversary. Because in Verona, a city that attracts 10,000 music tourists per performance, eighty years ago, in 1946, it was precisely this Verdi opera that reopened the popular open-air opera seasons after the war. It is worth remembering this. But it is exceptionally bold to dare to repeat the performance: the first two evenings of the 103rd edition of the Festival are, in fact, entirely dedicated to her, Violetta Valéry. Unprecedented.
Madness for madness’ sake – or rather, challenge for challenge’s sake – she is also a debutante and virtually unknown: Martina Russomanno. Twenty-eight years old, heroic. She has just finished singing Rossini’s serious ‘Tancredi’ in Rome, and her voice still retains that elegant flavour, the fine colouring, the luminous tone. Her voice is small but projects well. And her diction is perfect; her identification with the character is spontaneous and free from any trace of routine. She sings everything with dedication and tenacity, from the grand scenes to the whispers: from the highly bel canto and stylistically rediscovered first-act finale (and at that point the second verse of the Cantabile was also fitting, after ‘Ah forse è lui’ also the neglected ‘A me fanciulla’) to the sorrowful letter in the third act, read quickly, with the immediacy of a girl who knows by heart the banal, reassuring words of a deceitful Papa Germont. “It’s late!” As Martina, the young soprano, captures it so well—towering above the entire cast, and not just because of her 1.80-metre supermodel stature. Her technical and emotional portrayal of the role is deeply moving.
Alone and abandoned, yes. Because all around her, the rest of the cast is stuck in the Arena’s reassuring routine: it’s impossible to fall in love with the tenor, the way Yusif Eyvazov sings him – flat, inattentive to the words, as if he’d only just arrived in Verona, his bags packed and ready to flee. After all, there will be no fewer than seven Alfredos taking turns across the thirteen performances: ‘Hotel Traviata’ – you’re spoilt for choice. As for the baritone, Amartuvshin Enkhbat, he proves himself flawless, with a smooth tone, everything in order, but zero emotion. Director Paul Curran, who is also making his debut at the Arena, possesses a Scottish sense of humour (and even a kilt, with woollen socks—perhaps cool, who knows?) but, unable to channel it through the acting, he gives it the delightful quirk of the hat: a wide, country-style, tattered headdress, quite unlike the snobbish top hats of the Moulin Rouge’s clientele, where the opera is set. Here, everyone is thinking of the display of bizarre and alternative outfits, between can-can dancers and lascivious bullfighters, in white heeled ankle boots, unsuitable for bullfights. Instead, he, Papa Germont, thinks only of the hat; woe betide anyone who steals it: at the end of the heart-rending duet with Violetta, he even dives onto the sofa, lest she take it away from him.
The aridity of the heart is evident in the details, with a director’s touch. As for the striking, visually dominant features in the Arena, the large elephant and the windmill with its symbolic Montmartre blades stand out in Juan Guillermo Nova’s set design. The animal is also used by Violetta as a balcony (ah, Juliet) from which to sing ‘Ah forse è lui’. Athletic, Martina Russomanno descends swiftly, then leaps onto the tail in the middle of the stage. Unavoidable. Liszt’s piano would not have approved. The elephant and the blades, symbolic objects from the opening of Act I, revealed after a parade of 1920s advertising billboards, could have remained, evolving, throughout the entire opera. To create continuity and grandeur. Whereas ending with the usual bed and the usual piled-up furniture dampened the theatricality. Refined, in her dresses designed by Stefano Ciammitti, inspired by Monet.
Last but not least, the conductor of this new *La Traviata*, Michele Spotti, deserves a mention: the finest young conductor around. Thirty-three years old, brimming with musicality, authoritative and confident even in large venues. Perfect in energetically leading Roberto Gabbiani’s Chorus, always exquisitely articulated, and the beautifully blended Orchestra. And with a special rapport with her, Martina Russomanno’s Violetta. A rare feat, in the Arena, to reinvent its instrumental heart.
