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When Poe met Schiller München
Nationaltheater
07/17/2025 - & July 20, 2025
Giuseppe Verdi: I masnadieri
Lisette Oropesa (Amalia), Erwin Schrott (Massimiliano), Charles Castronovo (Carlo), Alfredo Daza (Francesco), Kevin Conners (Arminio), Roman Chabaranok (Moser), Tansel Akzeybek (Rolla)
Chor der Bayerischen Staatsoper, Christoph Heil (chorus master), Bayerisches Staatsorchester, Antonino Fogliani (conductor)
Johannes Erath (stage director), Kaspar Glarner (sets & costumes), Olaf Freese (lights), Lea Heutelbeck (videography), Malte Krasting (dramaturgy)
L. Oropesa, C. Castronovo (© Wilfrid Hoesl)
I masnadieri is one of Verdi’s weakest operas. Its music is typical of early Verdi, with the bandmaster’s son’s Umpapa rhythms and ubiquitous tempo di Walzer that he eventually shed before maturing into Italy’s greatest operatic composer. The libretto, based on Schiller’s play Die Räuber, is by the forgettable Andrea Maffei, a competent translator and salon revolutionary patriot in the days of the Italian Risorgimento, but far from an ingenious librettist. The work’s claim to fame is that it’s Verdi’s only opera written for London. The role of Amalia, written for the coloratura Jenny Lind (aka “The Swedish Nightingale”), has always been the reason for its occasional revival. Joan Sutherland and Cristina Deutekom are two singers who’ve played the protagonist in our time. Musically, it sounds like lacklustre Donizetti with early Verdi Umpapa. Dramatically, it lacks balance between the four protagonists: the older son Carlo; his fiancée, the orphaned Amalia; his father, the elderly Count Massimilian Moor; and the envious younger son, Franscesco. But by any optic, it remains that these characters aren’t sufficiently developed; one simply cannot identify with any of them.
At the absurd finale, Carlo learns he cannot abandon his merry band of bandits (as he had sworn an oath of loyalty), nor can he bear to lead his beloved Amalia to perdition with his life of crime. So, he decides to stab her to death. This opera makes the plot of Il trovatore and La forza del destino seem credible in comparison. An even scarier proposition is the staging had been relegated to director Johannes Erath, one of my bêtes noires. Of three recent assignments by this German director, Rossini’s Ermione in last summer’s ROF in Pesaro was passable, Verdi’s Otello last summer in Frankfurt was absurdly dull, and Mozart’s supposed comedy Le nozze di Figaro last September in Dresden fell flat. Not a great track record.
Alas, my fears were justified: Erath made Verdi’s most flaccid opera – with the exception of Alzira, that Verdi himself called “propio brutta” – even weaker. Erath decided to blend the ridiculous plot with a ghost story. The sets, which remain unchanged during the opera’s fourteen scenes, are the dining room of the palace of Count Massimiliano Moor, father of enemy brothers Carlo and Francesco. These dark black & white sets would have worked for Lucia di Lammermoor, or perhaps Debussy’s La Chute de la maison Usher, after Poe’s short story. Though there are no ghosts in the opera, possibly Erath felt the Gothic ambiance would somehow impart gravitas.
During the feeble overture, we see younger versions of Carlo and Francesco enjoying Christmas dinner with their father, the Count, and orphaned cousin Amalia. The idea is not even original; David McVicar used it for his 2019 production of the same opera at La Scala, except he was satisfied with just Carlo having a younger version. A portrait of the dead boys’ mother is on the dinner table. Apparently, she was a cellist, a detail understood from the instrument’s case in the room. That pearl of an idea must have come to Erath from the cheesy cello passage of the adagio section of the overture. It sounded like third‑rate ballet music by Ludwig Minkus (1826‑1917), or an imitator, and that’s being generous.
We learn from Francesco’s opening aria “Vecchio! spiccai da te... la sua lampada vitale” about an intercepted letter to their father asking for forgiveness, and of sending Carlo a letter, warning him not to return, as their irate father would then imprison him. However, director Erath felt it necessary to reenact the story using the younger versions of the siblings during the overture. What a mess!
Francesco forces the servant Arminio to disguise himself in order to deliver a fake letter informing the Count of Carlo’s death. The ailing senior faints, but his evil son Francesco pretends his father is dead to inherit property and title. He then imprisons his father in a dungeon.
At the Count’s grave, set in the dining room but without a table, Amalia is praying, when an inexplicably remorseful Arminio informs her that Carlo and the Count are both still alive. This is the best part of the opera, and one that many are familiar with, particularly the aria “Tu, del mio Carlo,” and especially its cabaletta “Carlo vive”. It is the only possible justification to see this opera, especially when Amalia is Cuban‑American soprano Lisette Oropesa. She debuted in this role at La Scala in David McVicar’s aforementioned production. Her interpretation of the aria was spot on, initially sad and then brilliantly joyous in the cabaletta, with clean coloratura and brilliant high notes. Despite the poor staging and the confusing younger versions of Carlo, Francesco and Amalia that appear intermittently throughout, Oropesa managed to convey Amalia’s nobility and strength of character. This role was written for a register similar to Gilda’s in Rigoletto, to suit the role’s creator (Jenny Lind). However, dramatically it would be more suitable for a voice similar to Elvira in Ernani. This discrepancy further weakens the opera.
The role of Carlo was written for a dramatic tenor with impressive high notes. American tenor Charles Castronovo may think he possesses such a voice, but as he proved in his recent appearance in Paris as the title role in Don Carlos, he does not. Years ago, I heard Castronovo performing lyric tenor roles for which he was more suited. Having taken on heavier roles prematurely, his natural lyric tenor was worn down, possibly even damaged. Lyric tenors cannot will themselves into becoming dramatic ones. As in Don Carlos, his voice here was unappealing and without squillo. Unfortunately, Carlo has much to sing in this opera, and it all sounded similar, namely forced and unappealing. He was at his best in his Act III duet with Amalia, “Lassu risplendere”, a melodious piece but also regrettably Umpapa.
The aforementioned duet takes place in the forest, yet Erath still has us in the dining room (sans table). Amalia had escaped an attempted rape by Francesco at the end of Act II. Erath had poor Oropesa open the cello case and preposterously brandish the cello to defend herself. What idiocy! In Act III, younger versions of Amalia and Carlo join them in their duet. Though they don’t sing, they’re inexplicably caressed by these younger apparitions.
In the final act, things get really messy, even by Erath standards. Francesco – for some unexplained reason – develops a conscience and requests a pastor. The latter refuses to forgive or bless him. His younger self appears, and is strangled by him. Then the Count returns home, but believes Carlo is actually Carlo’s ghost. To keep the two company, young Carlo also joins. Moreover, a family of five deer (yes, deer) I imagine symbolizing the Count, his dead wife, the two brothers and Amalia, also join the party in the dining room. One can only surmise it’s for visual effect. Finally, Amalia joins Carlo, who stabs her out of love. Charming.
Erwin Schrott was a noble Count Massimiliano. Despite the poorly-written role and incoherent staging, Schrott gave a moving interpretation of his Act III racconto “Un ignoto, tre lune or saranno,” in which he recounts his ordeal.
Francesco’s final aria, “Pareami, che sorto”, had some potential. At this stage, the surprisingly remorseful Francesco evoked Macbeth at his end. Mexican baritone Alfredo Daza did his best with a poorly-written and even more poorly-staged role. He has a powerful voice, but his baritone is not typical to Verdi. Moreover, the role is so uninterestingly brutal, evil from beginning to end, that no actor can do much with it.
Bayerisches Staatsorchester, known for its magnificent interpretations of Strauss and Wagner, must have felt they were in hell. I was seated in the first row, and watching the bemused expressions of some of the musicians at the most blatant Umpapa passages was the best part of the evening!
Ossama el Naggar
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