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Medea at Downton Abbey Napoli
Teatro San Carlo
12/06/2025 - & December 10*, 13, 16, 2025
Luigi Cherubini: Medea
Sondra Radvanovsky (Medea), Francesco Demuro*/Giorgio Berrugi (Giasone), Désirée Giove (Glauce), Giorgi Manoshvili (Creonte), Anita Rachvelishvili (Neris), Maria Knihnytska (First Handmaiden), Anastasia Sagaidak (Second Handmaiden), Giacomo Mercaldo (A Captain of the Guard)
Coro del Teatro San Carlo, Fabrizio Cassi (chorus master), Orchestra del Teatro San Carlo, Riccardo Frizza (conductor)
Mario Martone (stage director), Carmine Guarino (sets), Daniela Ciancio (costumes), Pasquale Mari (lighting), Daniela Schiavone (choreography), Yvonne Gebauer (dramaturgy), Alessandro Papa (videography)
S. Radvanovsky (© Luciano Romano)
Premièred in Paris in 1797, Cherubini’s Médée was originally written in the language of Molière, and set to a libretto based on Euripides’ play from Greek Antiquity. At its première, the work was tepidly received and mostly forgotten for a hundred and fifty years, until Maria Callas single‑handedly revived its Italian version as a vehicle for her dramatic talent. That version, a 1909 translation of a German version (1855) with sung recitatives by Franz Lachner (1803‑1890), is more condensed than the French original, with a reduced presence for roles other than the protagonist, rendering it more gruesome, yet more dramatically powerful.
After Callas’ 1950s revival, the forgotten opera resurfaced in the 1960s and 1970s, led by such leading stars as Magda Olivero, Leyla Gencer, Leonie Rysanek, Gwyneth Jones, Cristina Deutekom, and more recently Sylvia Sass and Shirley Verrett. These were obvious attempts to claim Callas’s empty throne. Notably, these revivals were of the Italian version used by opera’s greatest icon. In 2005, Italian soprano Anna Caterina Antonacci, admired as a singing tragédienne in roles such as Rossini’s Ermione, Poppea (L’incoronazione di Poppea) and Cassandre (Les Troyens), revived the opera in Toulouse and Paris in a production by Yannis Kokkos, in which she also sang in Athens’ Epidaurus.
Since then, the world has seen additional Médée productions, in both its Italian and French versions. Again, many of today’s leading sopranos sing the opera most identified with Callas, hoping for reflected glory; predictably, the results are mixed. Presently, Sondra Radvanovsky seems to have made Medea her signature role. A production by Sir David McVicar, shared between New York’s Metropolitan Opera, the Greek National Opera, Toronto’s Canadian Opera Company and the Lyric Opera of Chicago, has been seen worldwide, thanks to the MET’s HD cinema viewings.
Astonishingly, until now Médée has never been performed at Naples’ venerable Teatro San Carlo. This production rectifies that situation, with Medea as seen and felt by Radvanovsky, an overly dramatic, over‑the‑top, but still valid interpretation of the role. Hopefully, this patient city will one day hear the superior original French version that’s also more dramatically internalized.
Clearly, Mario Martone’s production was conceived around the American soprano and her thespian talents, but it’s tame in its originality or depth. This is rather astonishing in today’s opera world, with a public familiar with Cherubini’s opera. Until the beginning of this century, Médée in either language was a rarity. However, looking at programs of the world’s opera houses, big and small, it’s now commonplace, as frequently performed as Puccini’s Il trittico or La fanciulla del West. Recent productions, such as those by Damiano Michieletto for Milan; David McVicar’s for New York, Chicago, Athens and Toronto; and Marie‑Eve Signeyrole’s feminist take for Paris, have paved the way to a more complex view of the tragedy, allowing directors to be more adventurous.
The opera opened to a posh wedding celebration at an English manor, clearly inspired by the television series Downton Abbey. Tables were set in the manicured garden, decorated by Grecian statues (linking Greek tragedy to its updated setting). The guests did not look so posh; they looked as if they were searching for higher stations. Creonte, the father of Glauce, Giasone’s new bride, was appropriately over‑decorated with medals, indicating his rise to power either through the military or the public “service”, a euphemism for bribery. Hence, we got the message: this marriage is an upwardly mobile move for Giasone. However, we aren’t given a clue as to why nouveau riche Creonte would be interested in this alliance. After all, what does a Golden Fleece represent in modern times?
Lyric soprano Désirée Giove was a revelation as an ingénue Glauce, capable of great emotion in her opening aria, “O Amore, vieni a me! Fa cessare questo duol.” Her bright soprano was beautiful and her singing showed true musicality. This aria is often nagging, but not with Giove as its interpreter. Despite the celebration and festive ambiance, Giove managed to instill an air of gloominess using her facial expressions and demeanour. If she doesn’t stray into heavy roles – a temptation hard to resist, especially in Italy – this young soprano will go far.
Francesco Demuro was an odd choice for the role of Giasone, given that he’s closely associated with Mozart and bel canto. His Don Ottavio was a revelation in Michieletto’s Don Giovanni in Venice. He is mostly linked to the roles of Arturo in I Puritani and Elvino in La sonnambula. He recently impressed in the latter, opposite the great Jessica Pratt, in Madrid. Giasone demands, both vocally and dramatically, a bigger and more robust voice. Predictably, Demuro sang with elegance and impeccable phrasing, but with palpable strain in particularly dramatic moments.
In his Act I duet with Medea, “Son van qui minacce, prieghi,” he did not sound menacing whatsoever, as he was too busy producing the right sound to nuance his expression. Hopefully, his choice of this role is simply an aberration, and doesn’t signify vocal suicide, a phenomenon afflicting lyric tenors pushed into heavier roles. Blessed with good looks and stage presence, Demuro was a credible Giasone, one that would be sorely missed by his wife and believably desired by the much younger Glauce.
Director Martone made a reference to the Golden Fleece by having a dozen men – Giasone’s Argonauts – perform a dance with it. Despite the pleasant choreography, it still didn’t explain its significance in the English countryside.
Georgian bass Giorgi Manoshvili was an excellent choice for Creonte. Endowed with a powerful voice, this year saw Manoshvili rise to meteoric heights. Heard last year in the secondary roles of Capelio in Bianca e Falliero, in Pesaro, and as a monk in Don Carlo in Naples, this season he assumed the major roles of Assur in Semiramide in Paris, Mustafà in L’Italiana in Algeri in Pesaro, and the present role. In these previous roles, Manoshvili acted well and convincingly, but here, he seems to have been given little direction. Nothing in his acting reinforced his nouveau riche status nor indicated his repellant character. This was the first avuncular Creonte that I’ve seen. Vocally, he fared well thanks to his beautiful instrument, yet there wasn’t a hint of menace in his threats, not even in his Act I line to Medea, “Voi dovete tremare, femmina empia e barbara!,” which sounded more like fatherly advice.
Mezzo Anita Rachvelishvili was Neris, Medea’s nurse and confidant. It was refreshing to have two Georgians in two of the five major roles, as the present-day Republic of Georgia roughly corresponds to Antiquity’s Colchis, the native land of Medea and the Golden Fleece. In some productions, Neris is a mother figure, more a maternal protector than a mere servant. Indeed, her Act III aria “D’amore il raggio ancora in lei s’è spento” is a kind of lullaby. Sadly, Rachvelishvili acted merely as an observer, an odd choice by the director. A leading Carmen not long ago, Rachvelishvili’s voice has undergone substantial change; it’s less focused and has developed a metallic edge. Nonetheless, the public adored her rendition of that aria.
Many in the audience were galvanized by Sondra Radvanovsky’s powerful voice, histrionics and star power. The Toronto‑based American soprano is indeed a phenomenon. Endowed with a powerful voice, Radvanovsky intelligently chooses roles that suit her voice and temperament.
Martone’s take on the role is that Medea teeters on the edge of insanity so that we sympathize with her, despite her dreaded act. Radvanovsky plays the madness well, especially with her demented laughter. Yet that same laughter betrays the lucidity of a schemer, producing the opposite effect.
Despite the constant histrionics, Medea’s Act I aria “Dei tuoi figli la madre” was truly affecting, and possibly the performance’s high point. This is a desperate and broken woman imploring a man who’s betrayed her. Radvanovsky moved us to tears with both her dramatic talent and unique voice. This vastly contrasted with her bloodcurdling Act III “E che? Io son Medea,” which was also stirring, but decidedly over‑the‑top.
Unlike Anna Caterina Antonacci’s interpretation some twenty years ago, and more recently the brilliant Italian soprano Chiara Isotton, who was Medea in Toronto, underplaying the tragic heroine, Radvanovsky overplays the role, without letting up. It defies the limits of human ability, both vocally and dramatically. Most of all, it not only exhausts the singer, it taxes the public as well.
There were a few interesting touches by the director, such as having Medea show up as an apparition during Glauce’s amorous duet with Giasone, emphasizing the poor girl’s apprehension. A gold mask used by Medea and another by Neris each had a strikingly Eastern look, which initially gave the impression that Martone would use Medea’s Eastern origins as a factor in her persecution and marginalization, especially in an upwardly mobile English setting. Alas, that was not to be.
Only in the second act did Carmine Guarino’s sets look truly striking. Medea and Neris encamped outside the manor wall on a green lawn overlooking the sea. The sea is of major importance in the story of Medea: Giasone came to Colchis by sea; Medea escaped with Giasone by sea; Medea killed and cut her brother into pieces and threw them there to slow down her father’s chase. Finally, it’s likely through the sea that she’ll leave her new home and children. Both the blue sea and the green lawn brought colour and beauty to a grim setting.
During Medea’s imprecations to Giasone, she tries to remind him of the moment they met. Alas, she was smitten at first sight by the exotic foreigner, while the scheming Argonaut was merely trading his body for help to steal the Golden Fleece. Martone presented a reenactment of the first encounter by body doubles. Missing was any original take on the story, such as Medea the older wife versus the nubile Glauce, or Medea’s Eastern origins in a racist society, and so forth. It seemed Martone’s sole mission was to provide a vehicle for Radvanovsky to shine. In that mission he succeeded, but otherwise, this theatrically vapid production was a colossal missed opportunity. It could have been truly historic.
In Act II, Martone used a gimmick he’d used in his production of Don Giovanni for Parma, albeit with more success here. He borrowed French director Ariane Mnouchkine’s method of implicating the public. Here, the chorus, and eventually Glauce, Giasone and Creonte entered the theatre across the central and side corridors and walked through the audience. If anyone in the platea (orchestra) seats had dozed off, they would certainly have woken up! While initially amusing, this distractive gimmick soon wore thin. Effective in Mnouchkine’s productions such as 1789, for Théâtre du Soleil, where the public’s interaction was authentic, while in Parma’s Don Giovanni and in this one, they are mere divertissements.
In Act III, Medea’s poisoned crown kills both Glauce and Creonte, seen lying motionless on the lawn. The gratuitous killing of Creonte is not explained. In Euripides’ play, Medea, granddaughter of the Sun God Phoebus, flees the crowd in a dragon‑driven chariot of fire, sent by her grandfather. As that would have required a lot of work to convey on stage, a video of an incoming storm was used instead, with decidedly underwhelming results, compared to Cherubini’s finale music.
Despite an overall good cast, the musical direction was disappointing. Even the Beethovenian overture lacked structural clarity, but the worst thing was the slow‑as‑molasses tempo, sounding like Cherubini on Xanax. Initially I welcomed the slower tempo, but during certain instrumental passages, it drained all energy from the theatre. This may have been to accommodate the singers, but the final results were poor.
Despite its shortcomings, this was a good Neapolitan introduction to Cherubini’s Medea. Hopefully, it will lead to the far superior French Médée, reminiscent of Gluck and even auguring Berlioz. May this new worldwide Medea revival lead to wider recognition of other Cherubini works, such as the rarely‑performed gems Démophoon (1788); Lodoïska (1791); Les Deux Journées, ou Le Porteur d’eau (1800); Les Abencérages (1813); and Ali Baba, ou Les Quarante Voleurs (1833).
Ossama el Naggar
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