Gerald W. Lynch Theater, New York; March 20, 2012
Rather than focusing–as appears to be necessary when speaking of the New York City Opera–on its homelessness and chances of survival, let’s celebrate its courageous, innovative, intelligent new production of Mozart’s Cosi fan tutte. Certainly one of the most complicated operas to pin down emotionally, it is normally seen as a comedy in which there are lessons to be learned, and librettist Lorenzo Da Ponte’s subtitle for the work–“The School for Lovers”–would seem to be aiming for such a designation. Superficially, the plot concerns Ferrando and Guglielmo, who believe their fiancées incapable of infidelity. Their skeptical, older, bachelor friend Don Alfonso bets them that their beloveds would betray them in a moment and advises the young guys to pretend to go off to war and then return in disguises and attempt to seduce each other’s girlfriends. The men try very hard, and succeed, thereby losing the bet, their friendship, and their girlfriends. How much did the women really know, and when did they know it? There’s bitterness and cynicism galore, but it is invariably underplayed: director Christopher Alden, in his new City Opera production, has taken a long, dark look at the work. There are laughs, but they are not merry.
Alden and designer Andrew Lieberman have placed the action in a park at what seems to be the edge of a dark forest– i.e: the world is locally lovely and tame, but there may just be wild animals and misery in the surrounding darkness. Nature is not our friend and neither is human nature. People in dark clothing (the setting seems to be early 20th century) wander about occasionally; some picnic in silence. It looks like a sort of black and white version of Seurat’s ”Grande Jatte” painting. Only a park bench and later, a rowboat, are props. Aaron Black’s lighting underscores the discomfort–it’s rarely “normally” lit.
The opera is filled with sexual tension and seduction, and this production makes the tension palpable. The players writhe; they are tormented by their desires, their abilities to deceive themselves and betray others. The women are playing an equally ugly, dangerous game and it gets out of hand. And eventually, by mid-second act, the sisters look exactly alike: cosi fan tutte, indeed. Despina is part bag lady, part witch, all bitch. She gives Alfonso a bite of an apple near the close of Act 1 and he clutches his stomach in pain; when we see him again in Act 2, he is wearing a bear suit and is being tamed and controlled by Despina. He then reverts to his Mefistofelian pose–cynicism in spades.
There are individual moments that are difficult to figure out (why do the men wear hats with rabbit ears for a while?), but it’s invariably interesting enough to be fascinatingly unpleasant and riveting. Alden’s decision to have Fiordiligi sing “Com’e scoglio” seated, bent over, with her long hair hanging in her face so that we cannot see her expression is yet another piece of odd direction. By the opera’s end the two couples despise one-another and themselves. A tough reading, but one with brains; it was a pleasure to hear audience members discussing concept and content at intermission.
Rod Gilfry’s Don Alfonso, when not crawling about the stage as a bear, stands tall and stiff in his dark suit and derby, retains his formality and utter lack of empathy for the two young men, and sings grandly. Marie Lenormand’s perfectly-focused mezzo is just right for this wicked Despina, sometimes dressed as Charlie Chaplin, sometimes as a vagrant, sometimes–for the mock wedding–in a stunning silver evening gown. She’s a manipulative chameleon.
The sisters, valiant singers and actors, are remarkable. Perhaps Jennifer Holloway’s Dorabella is a bit more polished vocally than Sara Jakubiak’s Fiordiligi, but it has been a long time since we’ve witnessed such passionate, no-holds-barred performances: Karita Mattila’s Salome probably was the last time in New York. Allan Clayton and Philip Cutlip as Ferrando and Guglielmo are equally impressive: if the former gives a bit too much voice to “Un aura amorosa”, which should be dreamy, he certainly makes a big impression in his second-act rage aria, “Tradito, schernito”. And Cutlip, the most tortured character in the opera, is heart-ripping. When charm is called-for, he has it, and his fury is almost overwhelming.
Conductor Christian Curnyn seemed to be out for a day at the races during the overture, with the winds having trouble keeping up with him–and in general he occasionally made the singers’ jobs harder than necessary with his breakneck tempos. But there’s no denying the overall effect–a bright, sparkling, wicked show. The 640-seat Gerald Lynch Theater, despite its too-small pit, is the right place for an opera in which the characters’ inter-relations are so crucial: everything was clear. It may be easy to disagree with director Alden’s outlook, and some may find it perverse. But it shows the City Opera at its most intellectually stirring, and the musical values are very high indeed.
