RIGOLETTO

                             Welsh National Opera at Wales Millennium Centre, Cardiff **

Verdi’s Rigoletto certainly has its faults (more of that later), but it certainly doesn’t deserve this shambolic new production from one of the world’s great opera companies.

Director Adele Thomas seems to have conceived the tragedy as a vehicle for a surreal send-up of the genre itself. We begin with the nowadays obligatory pre-music curtain-raiser, an adolescent orgy featuring prizefighters knocking each other senseless, an amused crowd of nobles spectating from an upper gallery, and a flock of hoorays of indeterminate gender bringing their nocturnal emissions to life.

Amidst all this farrago important detail goes for nothing: the affair between the Duke of Mantua and Countess Ceprano, and far more importantly, the curse inflicted upon Rigoletto by Monterone (Paul Carey Jones, one of a small handful of voices deserving of commendation in this presentation).

Rigoletto is the Duke’s jester, and therefore his Mr Fixit, all-powerful despite his comic garb. Here Daniel Luis de Vicente is given the garb of a drayman, shambling around without the charisma of his privileged station, and therefore totally devoid of any sympathy evinced when we witness his despair at the seduction and destruction of his cherished daughter, Gilda.

Hers is the only engrossing portrayal in this sorry farrago, Soraya Mafi vulnerable (even despite her suggestive directorial movements at her first appearance) yet commanding in her jewel-like vocal accuracy.

The small yet crucial parts of the assassin Sparafucile and his victim-bait sister Maddalena were well-taken by the sonorous and physically commanding Nathanael Tavernier and Alyona Abramova, both incongruously dressed in a costume design which just seemed to have thrown charity-shop castoffs at the performers.

Raffaele Abete was a Duke lacking in charisma both visually and vocally, he and de Vicente indulging in too much extraneous stage-business to remind us how great is the vocal quartet “Bella figlia dell’ amore” as the denouement approaches.

Pietro Rizzo’s leaden conducting did nothing to lift the understandable depression of the excellent WNO Chorus and Orchestra under the current ridiculous Arts Council threats, and actually I couldn’t wait for the curtain to come down.

And Verdi doesn’t help. When Rigoletto, having paid Sparafucile to murder the Duke, instead finds Gilda in the assassin’s sack, and hears the Duke warbling “La donna e mobile" offstage, the opera should have ended there, with a few huge, terrifying chords. Oh. no; we get an interminable, maudlin duet about Gilda praying in heaven for her father’s redemption, until at last she snuffs it. To see how such a situation should be handled, check out Puccini’s Suor Angelica.

Christopher Morley

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