It was about time for a new recording of Giordano’s not-quite-great potboiler, Fedora, but this one adds little to the mix. It’s a great vehicle for an actress with melodrama in her veins and verismo in her heart and throat; the great Magda Olivero, still alive at (almost) 100 years old, can be heard on a Decca set ripping the angst inherent in the part to absolute shreds.
Fedora is a Russian princess who falls for her dead fiancé’s suspected murderer (Loris); he eventually confesses to the murder, and to get revenge Fedora reports the whereabouts of his family (nihilist sympathizers) to the police. Loris then tells her that he killed her fiancé because he found him in flagrante delictowith his (Loris’) wife and that her fiancé shot him first. The two fall in love and move in together.
The next thing you know, Fedora is told that as a result of her letter, Loris’ brother was arrested and died when the jail flooded; upon hearing the news, Loris’ mother dropped dead. When Loris finds out this was Fedora’s doing, he curses her and she takes poison that she conveniently has with her at all times. Loris calls for a doctor but Fedora, after a remarkable amount of singing/groaning, dies in his arms. Fabulous flapdoodle, no?
Fedora herself is loving, pitiful when she realizes her fiancé is dead, vengeful, and at last pathetically rueful. All of her emotions are big-boned; she is invariably on the verge of one type of hysteria or another. Face it: you don’t need or want a Marguerite or Violetta voice for the part of Fedora–you want a Santuzza, a big Tosca, or a Francesca da Rimini voice, a huge, expressive mid-range with a few great high notes (not even that many) and temperament to burn. Angela Gheorghiu does not fill the bill.
The sound is still uniquely stunning but she sounds anything other than tortured. She almost rises to the occasion in her protracted death scene but still sounds more like Magda in Rondine than a tortured, not-very-young Princess. She’s neither gutsy nor vulgar enough for the role–and I’m not demeaning the part; that is, as a film it would better star Bette Davis than Katherine Hepburn. Just listen to the inexpensive, still-available Decca set for five minutes and you’ll see what Gheorghiu is missing. Soul? Maybe.
The tenor role, created by Caruso, has one great aria–“Amor ti vieta”–whose two minutes are beautiful and memorable, its melody returning more than once. Placido Domingo has been singing the role for years, and here, nearing 70, he does so again. He’s far more “into” the part than his Fedora (Gheorghiu has never sung the role on stage), and the moments of strain above the staff are not as severe as the rest of the role is well sung and acted. Mario del Monaco is Olivero’s Loris, and while he invariably sounds like a bull fighter, he is as thrilling as she is.
The role of de Siriex, a Russian diplomat, is sung nicely by baritone Fabio Maria Capitanucci, who sings a fun song at the party in the second act and relates to Fedora the results of her actions in the third act. Soprano Nino Machaidze sings Olga, a perky Countess friend of Fedora’s, and she is lively and energetic.
Alberto Veronesi is a verismo expert and he milks the melodrama for what it’s worth. Offhand, I can’t think of a soprano nowadays who could full the bill, but if Veronesi had her in the title role, this probably would be a great recording. As it stands, it’s too tame and not nearly crazy enough.
