Verdi: Don Carlos

by Roger Nichols

Karita Mattila (sop) Elisabeth; Roberto Alagna (ten) Don Carlos; Waltraud Meier (mez) Princesse Eboli; Thomas Hampson (bar) Rodrigue; José van Dam (bass-bar) Philippe II; Eric Halfvarson (bass) Grand Inquisitor; Csaba Airizer (bass) Monk, Charles V: Anat Efraty (sop) Thibault; Scot Weir (ten) Comte de Lerme, Herald; Donna Brown (sop) Voice from Heaven; Chorus of the Théââtre du Châtelet; Orchestre de Paris / Antonio Pappano. Stage director Luc Bondy; Video Director Yves Andr´ Hubert.

NVC Arts 0630-1618-3 (211 minutes: PAL). Recorded at performances at the Théââtre du Châtelet, Paris, in March, 1996.

A recent TV documentary on Roberto Alagna reminded us of the dire warning issued in advance of his assumption if this title-role: that it was too heavy for him, that he was not experienced enough, etc. In the event, with the aid of a marvelous supporting cast, he made a nonsense of all fear and this recording seems to present as faithful a view of the production as one could hope for.

Alagna is helped by the opera being given in French. As David Kimbell says of the work, in The Viking Opera Guide, "French imposes certain constraints on the manner of singing, which in turn make new possible an inwardness and a type of sensibility new to Italian opera." From the moment of his lightly accompanied first appearance, after the sketchy off-stage brass introduction which does duty for an overture, Carlos comes over as an idealist, a dreamer. If, later in the opera, he moves towards being a man of action, we readily understand that it is only under the pressure of extraordinary events. Happily, the vocal pressure that comes with this finds Alagna fully capable of meeting its demands.

It seems to be almost a rule of opera (cf. Shakespeare) that the stronger the story, the fewer the requirements in the way of scenic and costume display. Whereas Covent Garden can successfully disguise the lack of anything one could call a plot in Massenet's Chérubin through a judicious application of gorgeousness, here the producer Luc Bondy and designers Gilles Allaud and Moidele Bickel rely on simple colour coding and symbols that are straightforward without being boringly predictable. Anything French is white and, by a pardonable extension, this coding embraces Karita Mattila's blonde hair. That difficult borderline between the real and the symbolic is tested in the forest of Fontainebleau: Elisabeth's hair throughout the opera is an important symbol of innocence and, once we move to Spain, of otherness; and yet, realistically, she is surely the one person in the forest on a warm day who would not be hatless? More positively, the impact of the advancing chorus in white as the ladies of the French court, innocent yet implacable, persuade Elisabeth into a loveless marriage, is astonishingly powerful. As in Carlos's and Posa's involvement with Flanders, the desire for peace is not necessarily a cure for all ills -- a point not without relevance for us in modern-day Britain.

My only quarrel with Bondy's production is his decision to have a sleeping Elisabeth present on what looked like a camp bed in Philip's study during his Act 4 monologue. The advantage is that after she has walked out (why?) in the middle, he can rub the sheets against his cheek as he sings "Elle ne m'aime pas". It's a moving moment. But the loss, to me at any rate, is in the visual expression of Philip's loneliness in the midst of this empire that spans half the world. It is, after all, the only chance he has in the opera to be alone, instead of condemning, wheedling, bullying and generally losing out.

But these are small parts in what is overall a splendidly intelligent interpretation of the work. Mattila is a radiant Elisabeth, her soft high notes placed with that assured "ping" that speaks of proper support and, let us hope, a long career ahead of her. José van Dam as King Philip brings out the resemblance with Golaud, the man in power reduced to powerlessness, while Thomas Hampson as Posa is idealism personified and makes a wonderful sound to boot. As Eboli, Waltraud Meier does not find a natural ally in the French language, but nevertheless delivers "O don fatal" with assurance and passion. To judge by Verdi's scoring, the Inquisitor belongs essentially to another world from the other characters and Eric Halfvarson gives a spine-chilling portrayal, looking like some primeval turtle from the Galapagos Islands, his body preserved from disintegration only by will-power and faith.

Finally, Antonio Pappano in the pit coaxes prompt, sensitive playing from the Orchestre de Paris. As to what Professor Kimbell calls the opera's "rambling magnificence", it is to the credit of cast, conductor and producer that they capture the magnificence while reducing the ramblingness, the décousu, to a level of truth that carries all before it. I add my enthusiastic applause to that of the Châtelet audience.