Muscato’s compelling new La Scala La forza del destino is dominated by Netrebko’s Leonora and Tézier’s Carlo

Italy Verdi, La forza del destino: Soloists, Chorus and Orchestra of the Teatro alla Scala, Milan / Riccardo Chailly (conductor). Broadcast live (directed by Arnalda Canali) on medici.tv from Teatro alla Scala, Milan, 7.12.2024. (JPr)

I understand Verdi’s La forza del destino has not opened the La Scala season since 1965 and not been performed there by the Milan company in 25 years so what an occasion this was; graced by the great and good of Italian society and given the performance it deserved.

It has never been a Verdi opera I really needed to see very much in the past though my first one was at English National Opera in the late 1970s and there have been sporadic performances since. I don’t think I have ever enjoyed – if that is the right word – La forza as much as I did this La Scala broadcast of Leo Muscato’s compelling new production.

I have discussed before – as recently as earlier this year when it was put on at the Met – how the plot takes a tragic turn during Act I which casts a dark shadow over the rest of what we see and hear. This is anticipated by the famous ‘Fate’ motif, the three Es played in unison by the brass, which subsequently then develops in the strings, and we hear this theme repeatedly throughout the opera. La forza was written for St. Petersburg, where the first version premiered in 1862. It begins with the Marchese di Calatrava interrupting the planned elopement of his daughter Donna Leonora and Don Alvaro, son of a Spanish grandee and Inca princess. Alvaro is considered an unsuitable match because he is mixed-race. The Marchese is accidently killed and Leonora’s brother Don Carlo vows to avenge his father’s death by killing Alvaro and his sister and this will consume him for the rest of the opera. When it opened there was a serious problem as the events triggered by the Marchese’s Act I curse eventually caused the death of too many characters for the sensibilities of the audience at the opera’s first night.

At the urging of his publisher, Verdi returned to La forza in 1869 and attempted to find a solution to – what he called – ‘that damned ending’. This time he was more successful, and with some additions to the original libretto he restructured the four acts so that each was distinctly different. The curses remained, as did most of the deaths, yet overall, the impression of the opera was that it was now far less depressing. Amongst the significant changes were the (now) very familiar overture; an additional final scene to Act III, following the duel between Carlo and Alvaro; and a new ending, in which Alvaro remains alive, instead of throwing himself off a cliff to his death. It is this well-received 1869 version which has survived to become popular with admirers of Verdi oeuvre.

Even in this version perhaps La forza is still – if we compare it to some other Verdi operas – no masterpiece though it provides a wonderful showcase for the six singers in the leading roles, as well as a chorus. It is an uneven work with the ‘heroine’ offstage for Act III and the final act’s opening scene and there are numerous improbable events, changes of tone, concealed identities and shifts in time and place. The musical influences on Verdi are numerous and often La forza is reminding you of something else, particularly Wagner’s Tannhäuser (more of this later) with its pilgrims’ chorus. Especially – because there is more (intentional) humour in this Verdi opera than in all the rest he wrote – you may also think about Donizetti: maybe La forza as a rather downbeat reimagining of La fille du régiment?

For directors to stage this long work often means a similar struggle to the composer’s; since having abandoned the classical demands of unity of time, place and action, the story’s timespan is extremely large, with its locations moving back and forth over large geographical distances. Mariusz Treliński’s 2023 production – seen first at the Polish National Opera and then this year at the Met – was set in the twentieth century and highlighted how war is cruel, chaotic and bloody. Thoughts turned to the ongoing conflict in Ukraine on the other side of the Polish border.

At La Scala, Italian director and playwright Leo Muscato shows us again how war across recent history ‘is cruel, chaotic and bloody’ and we end up in the final act thinking about all the displaced persons in besieged and bombed-out Gaza, Lebanon and now Syria. He maintains our interest in all the improbable goings-on with an almost cinematic approach as the mise-en-scene is constantly changing to establish the time period and reflect on how this impacts on the protagonists during the opera. The La Scala turntable was rarely still and almost constantly transforming what we see, and this may have had the greatest impact in director Arnalda Canali’s close-up camerawork for the livestream.

The overture which is so (over-) familiar from any number of opera galas is played with the curtain down. It rises to show a hint of Leonora’s bedroom with a large balcony window and a door. She is rather conflicted about what the future holds for her (‘Me pellegrina ed orfana’) and in waistcoat, breeches and boots Anna Netrebko meanders through a tableau vivant of soldiers in mid-eighteenth-century uniforms possibly from the War of the Austrian Succession. Leonora returns past her father sitting still at his desk; her maid, equally motionless, on a bed; before all hell breaks loose when Alvaro enters. The shooting dead of the Marchese is poorly staged with Alvaro just slamming his gun down on a table for it to go off unintentionally prompting Alvaro and Leonora being cursed by the dying man.

At the start of Act II, Leonora is fleeing through some trees before helping to distribute rifles to soldiers – now looking possibly like those of the Confederacy of the American Civil War of the late-nineteenth century – who tramp over the set as Preziosilla sings ‘Hurrah for war!’, whilst the wounded soldiers we soon see remind us of its futility. During this act we begin to appreciate how important Alberto Malazzi’s La Scala chorus is to this opera and how glorious they sound.

Leonora has avoided being recognised by Carlo who has been pursuing her and she seeks sanctuary and the atonement for her perceived sins at a nearby monastery. She prays by a rocky outcrop at a statue of the Madonna and Child and Netrebko sang ‘Madre, pietosa Vergine’ so affectingly it made conductor Riccardo Chailly grin broadly. It is rare these days that in an opera like this, soldiers look like soldiers and monks like monks but thanks to Muscato and his costume designer Silvia Aymonino they do. Leonora encounters the irascible Fra Melitone who will drift through the rest of the opera we see, before the more amenable Padre Guardiano agrees to her request to live the life of a hermit in the holy grotto (shown here as under a high altar). After an impressive procession of monks with lit candles we learn how no living person will see her again or they will be cursed.

For Act III we see the battlefield, barbed wire, burnt skeletal trees, trenches and a field hospital of World War I as snow falls gently. Alvaro under an assumed name believes Leonora is dead and prepares to shoot himself (‘O tu che in seno agli angeli’) but he gets interrupted when he hears the cries of Carlo (also in disguise) being assaulted. Neither recognise who the other is, and they swear eternal friendship. Alvaro is seriously wounded in a battle we see in slow-motion and believing himself dying entrusts some precious possessions to Carlo asking for them to be burnt on his death. Alvaro makes a miraculous recovery; Carlo discovers his true identity and still want to kill him; Alvaro finds out Leonora is still alive and still want to marry her. They are hastily pulled apart and Melitone takes Alvaro off to the monastery. Preziosilla distributes letters from home and Maestro Trabuco engages in some nefarious black-marketing and wheeler-dealing. It is clearly Christmas time, and we get a strange choreographic version of the Nativity story from the soldiers before they are roused by Preziosilla’s paean to fighting men and women (‘Rataplan’).

Act IV begins around the ruins of a building – perhaps a church – and an image we sadly know only too well these days, with Melitone distributing water to refugees who are being looked after by the Red Cross. Soldiers are in military fatigues and have assault rifles, and Carlo is clearly one of their commanders. Carlo confronts Alvaro who has been living at the monastery as Father Raphael and five years have passed since the events of Act III though oddly no one looks any older! Eschewing the knives they originally brandish the two fight each other with thin metal pipe. Leonora rises up through the debris for Netrebko to almost bring another house down with the outpouring of emotion that is ‘Pace, pace, mio Dio!’ cradling at one point the head of the Madonna statue from earlier. It ends with her spine-chilling curse (‘Maledizione!’) at being disturbed. The opera rushes to a conclusion, though with time for yet more cursing, as Carlo and Leonora are stabbed offstage before she dies in Alvaro’s arms. As Guardiano prays, an illuminated dead tree trunk sprouts leaves – just like the pope’s staff in Tannhäuser – suggesting Alvaro, like Leonora, has been pardoned and redeemed.

It was an exceptionally strong cast from bottom to top. Carlo Bosi is one of this generation’s greatest comprimarios and we get another detailed vignette from him as Maestro Trabuco. Marco Filippo Romano’s bad-tempered Fra Melitone was less buffo than I have often seen it and all the better for that.  Alexander Vinogradov was an authoritatively sung, though compassionate, Padre Guardiano, looking and sounding very much like Gurnemanz in Parsifal (Wagner again). Preziosilla was sung by titian-curled Vasilisa Berzhanskaya who brought great energy and a captivating stage presence to the war-mongering cheerleader. Brian Jagde was a late replacement for Jonas Kaufmann and seems currently to be the world’s go-to Don Alvaro. Jagde’s portrayal was more youthful than some, though suitably brooding and suffering. His virile voice is undoubtedly big, somewhat baritonal, yet capable of some refined singing, with his top notes both powerful and visceral. Ludovic Tézier almost stole the vocal honours with his self-assured, eloquently sung Don Carlo; he relished every word and his vengeful oaths were almost Iago-like.

Lastly, Anna Netrebko – despite not always being the most committed singing actor – now dominated the stage every second she was on it by bringing considerable strength and conviction to her Leonora. Netrebko was totally engaged dramatically and – once she had audibly warmed up – was in total control of her dark sound and incredible range. Her soprano voice rose from its rich, smoky depths to high notes which might be fearless or exquisitely floated depending on the mood of the music.

Riccardo Chailly was well supported by his excellent orchestra and he conducted a passionate La forza with vigour, ebb and flow and a typical idiomatic grasp of Verdi style. From time to time, we saw Chailly’s genuine appreciation of his singers’ efforts on his beaming face.

Jim Pritchard

Featured Image: Anna Netrebko (Leonora) © Teatro alla Scala / Brescia e Amisano

Cast:
Marchese di Calatrava – Fabrizio Beggi
Donna Leonora – Anna Netrebko
Don Carlo di Vargas – Ludovic Tézier
Don Alvaro – Brian Jagde
Preziosilla – Vasilisa Berzhanskaya
Padre Guardiano – Alexander Vinogradov
Fra Melitone – Marco Filippo Romano
Curra – Marcela Rahal
Alcalde – Huanhong Li
Maestro Trabuco – Carlo Bosi

Creatives:
Staging – Leo Muscato
Sets – Federica Parolini
Costumes – Silvia Aymonino
Lighting – Alessandro Verazzi
Choreography – Michela Lucenti
Chorus master – Alberto Malazzi