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Love’s Triumph over Death Toronto
Four Seasons Centre for the Performing Arts
10/09/2025 - & October 11, 15, 17*, 19, 21, 25, 2025
Christoph Willibald Gluck : Orfeo ed Euridice
Iestyn Davies (Orfeo), Anna-Sophie Neher (Euridice), Catherine St‑Arnaud (Amore)
Canadian Opera Company Chorus, Sandra Horst (Chorus Master), Canadian Opera Company Orchestra, Bernard Labadie (Conductor)
Robert Carsen (Stage Director), Christophe Gayral (Revival Director), Tobias Hoheisel (Sets & costumes), Robert Carsen & Peter Van Praet (Lighting)
Though few consider Gluck’s Orfeo ed Euridice to be one of the most influential operas of all time, it most certainly is. During the age of Enlightenment (from the late 17th to the early 19th Century), the authority of the Monarchy and the Church were questioned, but composers who were advocates of it also questioned the excesses of baroque opera, particularly its stolid characters, predictably superficial plots and above all its exuberant, florid vocal passages and liberties taken by the era’s celebrated singers.
Gluck thought it necessary to rein in the opera divas and divos (castrati). An advocate of clarity in opera, he recommended the streamlining of plots, for texts to be set in a fashion resembling normal speech and declamation, and to eliminate the differences between recitatives and arias, preferring the performers to be equally adept as actors as they were singers. Gluck’s opera reform was also his answer to the eternal question: “Prima la musica o le parole?” (what matters most, music or text?). Gluck believed both text and music to be of equal importance, and that opera was the fusion of the two rather than a pretext for florid virtuosity.
Orfeo ed Euridice (1762) was Gluck’s first reform opera, in which he exemplified his ideals for change. These revisions were to influence not only his near contemporary Mozart, but also such future giants as Weber, Wagner and Berlioz. The latter, especially in his masterpiece Les Troyens (1863), was the most ardent disciple of Gluck and the unofficial heir to his ideas.
Based on the myth of the poet Orpheus who goes to the Underworld and charms the Furies to allow him to bring back his beloved wife Eurydice from the Dead, Orfeo ed Euridice is a moving parable rather than a typical opera. It is distilled to its essence with no side plots and with only three characters: Orpheus; his dead wife Eurydice; and Amore, who leads him to the Underworld and warns him not to look at his beloved or even to explain to her the reason he cannot. Distressed by Eurydice’s grief at a husband who ignores her, Orfeo yields to the temptation of gazing at her face and reassuring her, thus losing her forever.
Robert Carsen is one of my favourite contemporary opera directors, thanks to his creativity and his uncommon erudition. This Canadian treasure has insight into the plots of opera that only a person firmly knowledgeable of literature, mythology, history and psychology can access. His visually striking sets are never gratuitous. In this production of Gluck’s opera, he chose an austere, barren terrain for the opening scene, Eurydice’s funeral. The costumes were from the early to mid‑20th century. It could have been Greece, Sicily, the Balkans, Syria or even Ireland. The mourning chorus were modest townspeople accompanying Orpheus to the burial of his beloved. Carsen added a small detail, not in Ranieri di Calzabigi’s libretto, that was touching: the poet’s attempted suicide and its prevention by a companion. The director’s innovation that was truly shattering was Orpheus’s passage to the Underworld through Eurydice’s freshly dug grave. Despair could not have been more emphatic, yet histrionics were avoided. This was the insight of a genius. In the Underworld, the guarding Furies are other fresh corpses in their shrouds; yet another terrifying and moving image. The choreography of their protestation to Orpheus’s audacious attempt at entry to the domain of the dead was magical, conveyed through the synchronized movement of their shroud‑holding arms. Likewise, Orpheus’s charming of the Furies was subtly expressed through the change of their posture from turning their backs while initially protesting, to eventually facing him while acquiescing. Countless similar “Carsian” touches found their brilliant way into this marvelously evocative production. I’m aware there is no such adjective as “Carsian,” but given Robert Carsen’s genius, it ought to be introduced to the English language.
Visually striking images and brilliant stage direction are not guarantees of excellent opera productions. According to Gluck, the music – and the inherent singing – still count. In this performance, the three singers were excellent and despite all being high voices (a counter‑tenor and two sopranos), they blended marvelously.
The role of Orpheus was conceived for a contralto. Before the resurgence of counter‑tenors to this repertoire, it was marked by singers such as Marilyn Horne, Janet Baker, Lucia Valentini-Terrani and, most of all, Kathleen Ferrier. An element of earthiness in the voice marries well with travel through the earth to reach the beloved. The warmth of the lower register is necessary to assuage the Furies and allow access to the Underworld.
British counter-tenor Iestyn Davies was an auspicious choice as Orfeo. Unlike several other counter‑tenors, his voice is full‑bodied and rich. At no point does one think there is any falsetto quality to his voice. Given that the opera’s three roles are of a higher register, it is essential that Orfeo’s voice contrasts with Euridice’s and Amore’s. Of equal importance are Davis’s immense acting skills. He was able to move not just through his voice but also with his facial expressions, movements and expressive delivery. Endowed with immense interpretative abilities, Davis was indeed an ideal Orfeo. Certain words were enunciated in the fashion Gluck envisioned when he wrote of the fusion of music and text. Of particular force was Orfeo’s Act II reply to the Furies, “Men tiranne, ah! voi sareste.” His supplicant declaration “al mio pianto, al mio lamento, se provaste un sol momento cosa sia languir d’amor” was enunciated with captivating emotion and poise. How could the Furies not yield to such shattering pleas? In his aria “Che puro ciel,” Davies’ phrasing of “Se l’idol mio non trovo, sperar non posso” was heartbreaking, as was his phrasing of the aria’s final strophe: “I tuoi soavi accenti, gli amorosi tuoi sguardi, un tuo sorriso, sono il sommo ben che chieder voglio.” Likewise, upon losing his beloved yet again, he wonderfully phrased the opera’s most famous aria, “Che farò senza Euridice.” His emphasis on “più soccorso, più speranza nè dal mondo, nè dal ciel!” was devastating.
Heard two seasons ago in Toronto’s production of Fidelio, Anna‑Sophie Neher was an endearing Marzelline, credible as an eager ingénue. Her sweet soprano leggero has matured into a more sensual soprano lírico, beautifully contrasting Davies’ counter‑tenor. Equally striking was her acting, aptly portraying a truly forsaken woman. Her despair at Orfeo’s refusal to look at her was palpable through her sensitive acting and impeccable phrasing. Her phrasing of “Dunque morir degg’io, senza un amplesso tuo...senza un’addio” was so powerful it brought tears; such is the power of great art.
Catherine St-Arnaud was a spirited Amore, portraying this Deus ex machine as a frivolous demi God. Endowed with a beautiful coloratura, St‑Arnaud sang with brio. Though Amore only sings with Orfeo and not Euridice, the two women sounded sufficiently distinct. Carsen had the brilliant idea of having Amore first initially appear as a young rather mischievous boy to prevent his suicide and offer him passage to the Underworld. When Euridice dies a second death due to Orfeo’s having looked at her, Amore appears as a woman, reflecting a more compassionate aspect of love.
Canadian conductor Bernard Labadie, an early music specialist, conducted the Canadian Opera Orchestra and Chorus with elegance and style, opting for brisk tempi in the overture. Unlike many attempting this repertoire, his tempi were not uniformly fast. He adopted appropriately languorous pacings for moments such as “Che puro ciel” and the suave orchestral passage of the “Dance of the Blessed Spirits.” He brilliantly contrasted staccato and legato in the response of the chorus to Orfeo’s pleas. The more ardently Orfeo pleaded, the less aggressive (staccato) was the chorus’s response.
The final jubilant chorus “Trionfi amor” was an exuberant finale to the opera. This is where Carsen demonstrated why he deserves the mantle of the world’s most brilliant living opera director. The chorus first gathered around Orfeo and Euridice, greeting the resuscitated wife and the heroic husband. They then danced around the couple, a typically joyous Greek sirtaki, a Syrian dabké or a Romanian horă, as would be expected in village settings. Here, Carsen went even further than Gluck; he fused music, text and dance. Simply stunning!
Ossama el Naggar
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