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The Sex Maniac Duke of Mantua Madrid
Teatro Real
12/02/2023 - & December 3, 5, 6, 7, 8*, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 17, 18, 19, 20, 23, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 2023, January 2, 2024
Giuseppe Verdi: Rigoletto
Javier Camarena*/Xabier Anduaga/John Osborn (Duke), Ludovic Tézier*/Etienne Dupuis/Quinn Kelsey (Rigoletto), Adela Zaharia*/Julie Fuchs/Ruth Iniesta (Gilda), Marina Viotti*/Ramona Zaharia/Martina Belli (Maddalena), Simon Lim*/Peixin Chen/Gianluca Buratto (Sparafucile), Fabián Lara (Borsa), Sandra Pastrana (Countess Ceprano), Tomeu Bibiloni (Count Ceprano), Jordan Shanahan*/Fernando Radó (Monterone), César San Martín*/Isaac Galán (Marullo), Cassandre Berthon*/Marifé Nogales (Giovanna)
Coro Titular del Teatro Real, José Luis Basso (chorus master), Orquesta Titular del Teatro Real, Nicola Luisotti*/Christoph Koncz (conductor)
Miguel del Arco (stage director), Sven Jonke, Ivana Jonke (set designers), Ana Garay (costume designer), Juan Gómez-Cornejo (lighting), Luz Arcas (choreographer)
L. Tézier (© Teatro Real/Javier del Real)
In a recent review, I evoked the fascinating indestructibility of some popular operas. No matter how absurd the stagings, the end result can remain enjoyable, and I singled out Rigoletto as one of the tried and true warhorses. But alas, with this Teatro Real production of Verdi’s masterwork, we’ve hit a wall. I’ve seen productions of this work ranging from the modest to the opulent; none came close to this unmitigated disaster.
Cinema and stage director Miguel del Arco’s auspicious debut operatic venture took place at Madrid’s Teatro Real, one of the world’s top opera houses. It was a gamble, and it flopped. During both intermissions, audience members were heard ridiculing the ridiculous staging and the gratuitous sex. It would seem del Arco’s intention was to deconstruct the work, to present an iconoclastic tirade against patriarchy. But aren’t most literary works on which operas are based a reflection of their epoch? Hence, the patriarchy of Victor Hugo’s Le roi s’amuse (1832), and even more so King François I’s sixteenth century, is a given.
The setting of a stage work is an important element which then dictates the atmosphere and the interpersonal interactions of the protagonists. In this sorry production, there was no effort to geographically place Sven & Ivana Jonke’s sets. Where we were was anyone’s guess. The only certainty was their ugliness. It appeared to be a lunar landscape in a post-apocalyptic B‑movie. Or perhaps we are in the future, where humanity has succumbed to its basest instincts.
The ubiquitous tents hinted of a desert, a far cry from Hugo’s Paris or Verdi’s Mantua. It certainly didn’t look like the Middle East, Australia, East or North Africa, but it could have been the Gobi Desert. As the Duke wore the attire of a North Korean dictator, that seemed geographically close enough. His courtiers wore suits evoking mafiosi, a clin d’œil to a famously coherent production set in New York’s Little Italy, or to the recent Metropolitan Opera production, set in Las Vegas.
The work opened with a sound reminiscent of a pig squealing, to choreography of men sporting rabbit masks, pursuing a distraught woman. They then cornered her, undressed and raped her. Throughout the opera, groups of women (and occasionally cross‑dressing men) danced to the music, distracting from the action. The level of obscenity for its own sake was outrageous. Think Bob Guccione’s shoddy and notorious film Caligula: the dancers simulated hand jobs, fellatio and other explicit acts. There was nothing remotely erotic or even interesting about the proceedings.
To enhance the notion that the Duke of Mantua is a violent rapist, his courtship of Countess Ceprano was amended, so instead we saw him force himself on her, ignoring the libretto and, confoundingly, the music. Yet the original, courtly music invokes seduction and mutual flirtation, and is devoid of violence, so the result is a confusing mess.
For evil characters to be credible, they must be coherent. Predictably, we were deprived of coherence, with director del Arco opting instead to portray the Duke as a sexually obsessed beast, preying on his courtiers’s wives and daughters, seducing – while in disguise – the innocent Gilda and voraciously consuming prostitutes at a breakneck pace. Would an innocent girl fall for such a man? Would a seducer who gets his pleasure from the chase also have a taste for cheap brothel sex? I think not.
Rigoletto’s abode, where he hides his precious daughter, looked like a Vietcong hut, once again alluding to Asia. The “innocent” Gilda is dolled up in a revealing risqué dress, covering her nether regions with a robe de chamber when her father comes home, alluding to an affair between the Duke and the not-so-innocent Gilda. Where the hell does this figure in the libretto? Doesn’t such a premise destroy the integrity of the plot? This Gilda’s reveling in sensual love is confirmed by the staging of the famous Act I aria “Caro nome“. Hands sprout from the hut’s vegetation. They caress Gilda almost orgasmically climaxing with the aria’s high notes. This may be an appealing image in Handel’s Alcina, but it’s out of place in Rigoletto.
The three alternating casts for this marathon run of twenty‑two performances over the course of a month seemed alluring. The principals in this performance (the first cast) are of the highest calibre. French baritone Ludovic Tézier is in the right stage of his career to sing Rigoletto. Vocally, he was impeccable, though he sang a few phrases in parlando mode as in verismo operas, a liberty I doubt he took of his own accord. It may have been the director’s idea, though I don’t see why conductor Nicola Luisotti would have agreed.
The endless onstage chaos and vulgarity must have impeded all three principals from inhabiting their roles, as the acting was cold and the interaction between Rigoletto and Gilda non‑existent. Unless of course this was deliberate, meant by del Arco to convey the evils of patriarchy.
Mexican tenor Javier Camarena is one of the most sought‑after lyric tenors around. The timbre of his voice is beautiful and his high notes facile and brilliant. The Duke of Mantua is an appropriate role for his voice at this stage. He managed quite well his Act I aria “Questa o quella” despite the procession of lascivious dancers distracting both him and the public. His Act II aria “Ella mi fu rapita” was his most accomplished, especially in its upbeat cabaletta “Possente amor mi chiama.” His Act III aria, “La donna è mobile,” the opera’s most celebrated tune, disappointed. The final note was not sustained and the phrasing was not elegant. However, given the setting, an ill‑frequented tent posing as a watering hole, it is a miracle he was able to keep a straight face.
Romanian soprano Adela Zaharia was miscast as Gilda. An attractive tall woman, she doesn’t look like an ingénue. More importantly, the timbre of her voice is a seductive dark one, the opposite of the virginal voice of Gilda. Nonetheless, Zaharia is an impeccable musician, armed with solid technique. All the high notes were there, save the traditional final note of “Caro nome,” often removed by Urtext‑following conductors, which was probably the case.
What was most disconcerting was her lack of interaction with either the Duke in the Act I duet or with Rigoletto in either the Act I or Act II duets. This may have been intentional on the part of the director. Her Act III duet with Rigoletto was ineffective as she laid horizontally in the sack where her body was dumped, impeding the final emotional reckoning between father and dying daughter.
Several prostitutes are seen roaming around Sparafucile’s dump, returning to witness Gilda’s death. However, now they are naked, with full frontal exposure. Perhaps they are del Arco’s imaginary Angels of Death. No doubt he equates nudity with purity. It was a jarring sight.
South Korean bass Simon Lim was a first‑rate Sparafucile, with menacing deep notes, but his Italian diction was lacking. Swiss soprano Marina Viotti was an impressive Maddalena, with a sensually creamy voice. She portrayed an authoritarian prostitute, with dominatrix leanings. This would make the Duke a voracious predator of anything that moves.
Despite the ugly sets and the unbelievably hideous and inappropriate staging, this was a musically impressive performance, thanks to Nicola Luisotti’s reading of the score, and also to Ludovic Tézier’s winning performance. Had I known what to expect, I would have closed my eyes and thoroughly enjoyed the evening. God willing, this first operatic experience by Miguel del Arco will also be his last. Amen!
Ossama el Naggar
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