Giancarlo del Monaco's Madrid production of Cavalleria rusticana and Pagliacci is, in the very best sense, a sordid affair. As the interview with him on the bonus disc makes clear, he's thought a lot about what verismo is and has created a vision of these works where tawdry reality and human fallibility are placed to the fore. The result is powerful if distinctly unglamourous. Where Del Monaco's vision might divide opinion is his belief that these two works, thrust together by circumstance over a century ago, actually belong together. He sees them as Siamese twins and, in a rather gruesome metaphor, explains that 'if they get separated, we know that one of them will have great problems with their health'.
This means that the Prologue to Pagliacci (a 'manifesto of realism [verismo]') is performed as the introduction to Cavalleria rusticana and that opera runs straight into the trumpet calls that announce the troupe's arrival in Pagliacci. As the excited crowd filters onto the stage, Turridu's body is pulled passed unnoticed on the back of the trailer. It's a nice, matter-of-fact touch: another opera, another body to dispose of. Carlo Guelfi's Tonio is also given the final line of Pagliacci announcing 'La commedia è finita' before picking up his scarf and coat again and walking back up through the stalls and out of the theatre. Although the score gives these lines to the baritone, they are more often than not handed to the tenor; it's good have them restored to their rightful place as an important counterbalance to the Prologue itself.
I'm less convinced about the wisdom of having the Prologue at the beginning of the evening. Sung by Guelfi as he slowly makes his way through the stalls onto the stage, pausing to leave his coat draped over the edge of a box, it's a nice coup de théâtre. Funnily enough, it works better on DVD than it seems to have done for the audience in the theatre, several of whom seem uncomfortable with this disorientating invasion of their space. For me, though, this shows a certain disregard for Leoncavallo's score and although he and Mascagni might both be composers of the verismo movement, the musical languages of these two operas are very different. The Prologue is motivically tied to the rest of Pagliacci, forming a dramatically and musically taut structure that was undoubtedly only ever designed to stand on its own.
The performances themselves are very fine, with that of Pagliacci probably edging ahead in terms of dramatic effectiveness. Any Cavalleria rusticana stands or falls by its Santuzza and Violeta Urmana is a commanding presence throughout the work both dramatically and vocally. Del Monaco has identified this opera as being linked closely with Greek tragedy and the set, apparently inspired by a marble quarry, is made up of austere, angular white blocks. The characters are all dressed in black and the chorus is treated as a Greek chorus with one will and one voice. At the centre of the set is Santuzza's 'lair', where as a she-wolf (Del Monaco's phrase) she can cower, away from the public gaze. A slight misjudgement, in my view, is the unconvincing way in which they re-enact Christ's procession to the cross, followed by what look like self-flagellating members of the Ku Klux Klan, otherwise the sun-drenched austerity of the production works well.
Urmana is in fantastic voice, singing out with total commitment in her smooth and rich mezzo, only occasionally pushing too hard. Her acting is all big gestures: there's plenty of hand-wringing and she throws herself prostrate in front of Mamma Lucia and Turiddu. Although these are all stock devices, Urmana convinces by dint of her dramatic commitment. Her Turiddu, Vincenzo la Scola, is portrayed as totally unsympathetic. Vocally he's powerful if a little unalluring, as a character he's one-dimensional and unthinking. With a short attention span, he's motivated by primitive machismo and base desires. At the point that Lola interrupts his confrontation with Santuzza he loses interest immediately, pulling out a mirror and comb and brushing the dust of his shirt. We don't believe for a moment that he really cares for her.
How much of this unsympathetic portrayal is down to Del Monaco's direction is difficult to tell, but it works well and emphasises the tragedy of Santuzza's falling for such a man; one can only imagine what a ghastly episode his seduction of her can have been. The rest of the cast is also strong: Marco di Felice's Alfio is a similarly uncomplicated and unthinking example of a Mediterranean male; Dragana Jugovic - all tussled locks, red lips and doe eyes - is a smoky voiced and properly alluring Lola; Viorica Cortez is a touch melodramatic but suitably maternal as Mamma Lucia. The final confrontation between Alfio and Turridu is played out in the middle of the stage (rather than off stage as usual) and the latter's death announced first by Santuzza (as Urmana points out in her interview, it's essentially her who has killed him) and then Mamma Lucia: it's all explicit in front of us, the audience in the theatre, and the characters on stage. There are no theatrical devices to veil the dreadful reality.
It's unclear whether or not there was an interval in the theatre at this point but on the DVD we move straight on to the announcement of the clowns' arrival in Pagliacci. The set is now Italy of the '50s and '60s; two enormous panels with the famous still of Anita Eckberg frolicking in the Trevi Fountain from Fellini's La dolce vita dominate the stage. The troupe arrives in a clapped out lorry and Vladimir Galouzine's Canio appears. Dressed in a dirty sleeveless t-shirt and leather jacket, there's definitely something of the thug about him. Guelfi uses his physicality to portray Tonio as a big, lumbering brute, while María Bayo as Nedda is dressed (no doubt at Canio's insistence) as a tomboy in breeches and braces.
Galouzine portrays his jealousy in 'Un tal gioco' with frightening force and one can't help but feel that he's already had to exact the occasional bit of rough justice to those with roving eyes in the past. Del Monaco talks of setting the opera on the eve of the sexual revolution and Nedda is obviously suffering from a lack of sensuous love in her relationship with Canio. Bathing in the warm sunshine before 'Stridono lassù' she writhes around, struggling to stop her hands creeping down between her legs. In the subsequent scene, when Tonio is rebuffed and resorts to force, we see it's not just a kiss he's after from her as he approaches her lecherously undoing his flies. It's clear that Canio's lost the ability to show his love for Nedda, so paralysed is he by jealousy. Galouzine's performance fits with this: he is frighteningly powerful, his dark, baritonal timbre consitent throughout the range.
Bayo's acting is excellent and she is in fine form vocally. If Guelfi is not exactly a paragon of suave vocalism, his strong, slightly snarly voice fits in perfectly with the dramatic conception, and his comic turn in the commedia dell'arte episode is expertly played, without hiding the obvious crude and sadistic side to his character. As a production, it's all been very well thought out and rehearsed, even if it doesn't have anything particularly new to say about the opera itself. There are several effective touches, though, which made it stand out. During the intermezzo all the players remain on stage, forlornly applying their make-up, shown one by one in close up - they're all losers in this sorry tale. As the show itself gets under way, both the proscenium of the Teatro Real and the clown's stage are lit up by a series of light bulbs like a dressing room mirror, a nice emphasis of the play within a play. As Canio finally breaks down the barrier between theatre and reality, he first pushes Nedda off the stage at 'No, Pagliaccio non son', delivered with anger and then touching tenderness, and then propels a table across the threshold into the audience at 'Ah! tu mi sfidi'. Galouzine is terrifyingly brutal in the final scene.
Musically, Jesús López Cobos leads a well co-ordinated account of the score, a sensibly paced and well played interpretation which blends into the whole seamlessly. As far as the recorded sound goes, the balance favours the wind instruments so that in 'Vesti la giubba', Galouzine is sometimes in danger of being drowned out by the flutes. If the television direction is a bit hyperactive at first, it settles down to emphasise important details while not losing sight of the whole. All in all, then, despite my reservations about the displaced Prologue, this is a highly recommended version of these two favourites.
By Hugo Shirley
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