CMDFTT Articles
January 31, 2008
Star Soprano Coaxes a Puccini Role From the
Vault
By ANTHONY TOMMASINI
There was basically one reason the Metropolitan Opera dusted off
its drearily realistic, unbecoming old production of Puccini’s
“Manon Lescaut” and brought it back to the house for the first time
in 18 years on Tuesday night: the soprano Karita Mattila.
It’s a wonder that Puccini’s breakthrough work has not become a
Met staple by now. The opera’s gestation period was tortured, even
for the impossible-to-please Puccini, who went through five
demoralized librettists in getting the work to the stage. But at its
1893 premiere “Manon Lescaut” was a sensation.
The daunting title role requires a classic lirico spinto soprano, a
voice with both Italianate lyrical grace and weighty power. Ms.
Mattila waited until her voice had gained maturity and richness
before, when she was nearly 40, she first portrayed Manon Lescaut
in 1999. That she was ready to bring her acclaimed Manon to the
Met enticed James Levine to conduct the work for the first time
since 1981.
Ms. Mattila, in splendid voice, did not disappoint. Though the role
calls for extended passages of intense and penetrating singing,
the character is a coquettish young woman. When we meet Manon
in a public square in Amiens, France, in the 18th century, her
unprincipled brother, Lescaut, a sergeant in the royal guard, is
escorting her to a convent school. But Geronte, a wealthy treasury
official smitten with the girl, tells Lescaut that he wants to elope
with Manon. Her brother agrees to facilitate.
Though a lovely and mature Finnish woman, Ms. Mattila is such a
compelling actress that she affectingly conveyed Manon’s girlish
awkwardness. She acted with her voice as well, singing with
burnished sound and nuanced expressivity.
The turning point in the story comes early, when Manon meets the
dashing Chevalier des Grieux, a poor student despite his title, here
the veteran tenor Marcello Giordani. In their first tentative duet Ms.
Mattila makes palpable through the sensuality of her singing that
Manon’s attraction to des Grieux is not just a rash act of rebellion
but a rootless young woman’s yearning for consuming love.
The one caveat Puccini fans may have about Ms. Mattila’s portrayal
is that her voice lacks classic Italianate style. There is a cool Nordic
cast to her singing. Her radiant top notes are clear and focused,
with a minimum of throbbing vibrato.
The contrast with Mr. Giordani was telling. Here was the real thing,
an Italian tenor who sang with ringing power and sweeping fervor.
Yet for all his stylistic authenticity, his singing was overemotive,
sometimes sloppy and vocally blatant. After a while, I thought, well,
if this is idiomatic Puccini style, I’ll take Ms. Mattila’s affecting
coolness.
As Manon evolved from a young, impulsive woman to the
superficial plaything of Geronte, who keeps her in luxury, to the
abandoned woman jailed for theft and exiled to Louisiana, Ms.
Mattila sang with her own kind of stylistic authority.
In the demanding final scene, when she and des Grieux are dying
in the wilderness (Puccini, seemingly with scant knowledge of
Louisiana geography, set the scene in a desert on the outskirts of
New Orleans), Ms. Mattila was riveting. In her disheveled gown,
looking delirious, she sang most of the impassioned aria “Sola,
perduta, abbandonata!” while lying on her side, struggling to sit up.
The gleaming, anguished power and beauty of her singing was
beyond style.
Conceptually Mr. Levine seemed on the same page with his star
soprano. He drew Italianate ardor and pliant lyricism from the Met
orchestra yet conveyed the rhythmic intricacy, harmonic boldness
and symphonic sweep of the music as well. It was a fresh and
intelligent performance. During the dramatic choral ensemble in
Act III, when Manon and the other female prisoners are boarded
onto a ship for exile, the Met’s chorus sang with both chilling power
and crisp articulation.
The baritone Dwayne Croft was a solid Lescaut; the bass-baritone
Dale Travis made a vocally huffy and officious Geronte; the tenor
Sean Panikkar, in his Met debut, brought his youthful lyric voice to
the student poet Edmondo.
The Met has a great Manon Lescaut. Now the company could use a
new production for her. Still, it’s good to have this opera back. In
writing it, the young Puccini dared to take on Massenet, whose
1884 “Manon” was an established success. Forgive me, French
opera fans, but I find Puccini’s green effort more musically rich and
dramatically effective.
“Manon Lescaut” runs through Feb. 23 at the Metropolitan Opera,
Lincoln Center; (212) 362-6000, metopera.org. (The Feb. 16
matinee is a high-definition broadcast to movie theaters.)
Star Soprano Coaxes a Puccini Role From the
Vault
By ANTHONY TOMMASINI
There was basically one reason the Metropolitan Opera dusted off
its drearily realistic, unbecoming old production of Puccini’s
“Manon Lescaut” and brought it back to the house for the first time
in 18 years on Tuesday night: the soprano Karita Mattila.
It’s a wonder that Puccini’s breakthrough work has not become a
Met staple by now. The opera’s gestation period was tortured, even
for the impossible-to-please Puccini, who went through five
demoralized librettists in getting the work to the stage. But at its
1893 premiere “Manon Lescaut” was a sensation.
The daunting title role requires a classic lirico spinto soprano, a
voice with both Italianate lyrical grace and weighty power. Ms.
Mattila waited until her voice had gained maturity and richness
before, when she was nearly 40, she first portrayed Manon Lescaut
in 1999. That she was ready to bring her acclaimed Manon to the
Met enticed James Levine to conduct the work for the first time
since 1981.
Ms. Mattila, in splendid voice, did not disappoint. Though the role
calls for extended passages of intense and penetrating singing,
the character is a coquettish young woman. When we meet Manon
in a public square in Amiens, France, in the 18th century, her
unprincipled brother, Lescaut, a sergeant in the royal guard, is
escorting her to a convent school. But Geronte, a wealthy treasury
official smitten with the girl, tells Lescaut that he wants to elope
with Manon. Her brother agrees to facilitate.
Though a lovely and mature Finnish woman, Ms. Mattila is such a
compelling actress that she affectingly conveyed Manon’s girlish
awkwardness. She acted with her voice as well, singing with
burnished sound and nuanced expressivity.
The turning point in the story comes early, when Manon meets the
dashing Chevalier des Grieux, a poor student despite his title, here
the veteran tenor Marcello Giordani. In their first tentative duet Ms.
Mattila makes palpable through the sensuality of her singing that
Manon’s attraction to des Grieux is not just a rash act of rebellion
but a rootless young woman’s yearning for consuming love.
The one caveat Puccini fans may have about Ms. Mattila’s portrayal
is that her voice lacks classic Italianate style. There is a cool Nordic
cast to her singing. Her radiant top notes are clear and focused,
with a minimum of throbbing vibrato.
The contrast with Mr. Giordani was telling. Here was the real thing,
an Italian tenor who sang with ringing power and sweeping fervor.
Yet for all his stylistic authenticity, his singing was overemotive,
sometimes sloppy and vocally blatant. After a while, I thought, well,
if this is idiomatic Puccini style, I’ll take Ms. Mattila’s affecting
coolness.
As Manon evolved from a young, impulsive woman to the
superficial plaything of Geronte, who keeps her in luxury, to the
abandoned woman jailed for theft and exiled to Louisiana, Ms.
Mattila sang with her own kind of stylistic authority.
In the demanding final scene, when she and des Grieux are dying
in the wilderness (Puccini, seemingly with scant knowledge of
Louisiana geography, set the scene in a desert on the outskirts of
New Orleans), Ms. Mattila was riveting. In her disheveled gown,
looking delirious, she sang most of the impassioned aria “Sola,
perduta, abbandonata!” while lying on her side, struggling to sit up.
The gleaming, anguished power and beauty of her singing was
beyond style.
Conceptually Mr. Levine seemed on the same page with his star
soprano. He drew Italianate ardor and pliant lyricism from the Met
orchestra yet conveyed the rhythmic intricacy, harmonic boldness
and symphonic sweep of the music as well. It was a fresh and
intelligent performance. During the dramatic choral ensemble in
Act III, when Manon and the other female prisoners are boarded
onto a ship for exile, the Met’s chorus sang with both chilling power
and crisp articulation.
The baritone Dwayne Croft was a solid Lescaut; the bass-baritone
Dale Travis made a vocally huffy and officious Geronte; the tenor
Sean Panikkar, in his Met debut, brought his youthful lyric voice to
the student poet Edmondo.
The Met has a great Manon Lescaut. Now the company could use a
new production for her. Still, it’s good to have this opera back. In
writing it, the young Puccini dared to take on Massenet, whose
1884 “Manon” was an established success. Forgive me, French
opera fans, but I find Puccini’s green effort more musically rich and
dramatically effective.
“Manon Lescaut” runs through Feb. 23 at the Metropolitan Opera,
Lincoln Center; (212) 362-6000, metopera.org. (The Feb. 16
matinee is a high-definition broadcast to movie theaters.)
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