Dead center of what Verdi referred to as his “galley years” comes Giovanna d’Arco. It is his seventh opera, and though not as bad as his eighth, Alzira, it represents a step backward from both Ernani and Nabucco, which came before it: it is less tuneful and energetic than the former and less dramatic than the latter. The plot is a hindrance and probably helps explain both why it flopped at its premiere and its lack of popularity today.
Giovanna of Arco is in love with Carlos II. Her father, Giacomo, is convinced that she’s possessed by demons, so in the midst of her coronation he denounces her and somehow convinces her that she needs to be burned at the stake. While in prison, she prays to God and when her Dad overhears her, he frees her and she races off to win another battle. She dies, and as she does, a bright light comes from heaven and engulfs her.
Throughout, the chorus has plenty to do as well—in the Prologue alone, they sing as both demons and angels, tempting and soothing Giovanna as she sleeps. Indeed, there’s plenty of athletic singing to be heard in this work, and what it requires, in addition to accuracy, is an internal vigor along with forward propulsion that does not allow the listener to reflect on how impossible the situations are. The Prologue alone has a galloping trio (begun by Giovanna, who announces herself as a warrior) filled with a type of vulgar energy that is spectacular, and in the middle of it, it stops for a minute of reflective, pianissimo, a cappella singing that ends on the soprano’s high C—and then resumes its gallop. Marvelously strange, but then again, Giovanna is possessed—by something.
The go-to performance of this opera has long been on EMI from 1973, starring Montserrat Caballé, Placido Domingo, and Sherrill Milnes under James Levine—a starry, thrilling reading that actually does sell the work. If you own it, you won’t need this new set, despite the fact that it’s very fine indeed. Recorded in 2013 live at the Martina Franca festival (in excellent sound for a series of live performances), it is vibrantly conducted by Riccardo Frizza, who clearly believes in it. All of his singers are a size or two smaller than Levine’s.
Jessica Pratt, in the title role, is a bel canto specialist, and she handles the role’s filigree as one might expect, adding some exciting interpolated high notes. But she also sings off the text and brings drama to the role. Julian Kim, as her father, Giacomo, has a fine baritone voice and real style—he’s always on the note, and even more important here, on the beat. He lacks Milnes’ grandeur, however. Jean-François Borras is a fine tenor of medium weight who manages to “act” the part of Carlos as well. Orchestra and chorus, particularly the latter, are better than good throughout. This is a stylish, sincere performance that comes in a close second to EMI’s glamorous production.
