This beautiful-looking Aida, a production of the Zurich Opera House and filmed there in May, 2006, definitely will turn a few heads. Director Nicolas Joel, along with set designer Ezio Frigerio and costume designer Franca Squarciapino, have updated the opera to the late 19th century, around the time it was composed, contemporary with the opening of the Suez Canal. If you can picture the 1978 film version of Agatha Christie’s Death on the Nile, you’ll be in the right place. But confusingly, amid the Colonialism, the “war” pictured would appear to be the Franco-Prussian, with the Egyptians being the former and the Ethiopians the latter. Joel claims (in an “extra” with the CDs) that he was looking for “timelessness”–but if it’s supposed to be timeless, why does he present a time that is specific, or why did he not simply leave it where and when the libretto states?
I have always found the setting and argument of Aida perfect for what it is–an intimate set of stories set against political turmoil, the personal in opposition with the public–and have additionally appreciated Verdi’s attempts at “exotic” music, which you find in the ballets, the orchestral introduction to the third act, the “foreign” toodlings of the oboe soon thereafter, and elsewhere.
Egypt in this production remains Egypt. A huge blue, Egyptian-symbolic bird’s eye overlooks the scene (and crowds the stage) in the Temple of Vulcan (Act 1, scene 2), but the priests have the sorts of funny mustaches we associate with Victorian England (think: Gilbert & Sullivan), and instead of a ballet set to the aforementioned exotic music, we have priests marching in and around. The colorful sets abound with wrought-iron and Tiffany glass (I think we’re in a palace early on); long promenades lined with palm trees are seen in the distance; a warship, complete with cannons appears in the Triumphal scene. The final scene reveals a real pyramid-tomb, albeit in black marble and open to the air, which makes you wonder why the miserable couple doesn’t just walk out and leave their troubles behind.
Amneris wears huge, belle époque, brocade gowns complete with bustle, her ladies-in-waiting in full petticoat-drag; Radames is in military garb; Aida, who is anything but black, wears a different beautiful gown for each scene–surely the best-dressed slave in history. Ramfis sports a red fez. But the characters’ behavior is no different than it might have been were the sets and costumes as they normally are, and the hand-to-heart, stand-and-deliver acting is boilerplate operatic. The Triumphal Scene ballet is classical dance. The production, then, is about itself. It does no harm, but it enlightens nothing. It is as beautiful, and as uninformative, as the Alps.
The direction for video is by Andy Sommer, who uses split-screen frequently, sometimes very effectively and sometimes not. We get to see the Triumphal events from as many as three perspectives at once, which is interesting–but at the same time we miss the grandeur in its entirety. Worse, just as we’re getting involved with a character’s emotions in an aria–Aida’s in “O patria mia”, for instance–the screen splits and one half is Aida in close-up and the other contains the fingers of the oboist doing his oboe-ing.
Adam Fischer leads a large-scaled reading and the singers are rarely expected to sing with any subtlety; it’s Solti-without-thinking. Luciana D’Intino as Amneris has three distinct registers and a chest voice that would make Cossotto and Zajick flee in fear. Her powerhouse singing goes along with the orchestral onslaught and can be very exciting. But she lacks depth of characterization, and when she ought to be quietly manipulating she is obviously snide. Nina Stemme’s gifts are well-known and appreciated–a generous voice, curious mind, and concern for the text. Her Verdian line is not bad–at her best she reminds me of the superb Julia Varady–but she sings with little suppleness and her Aida overall is not a very vivid portrayal.
Salvatore Licitra is becoming a more sensitive artist all the time and he actually reacts and attempts to act; his voice has the correct heft for Radames and in his duets with Aida he sings sweetly. Juan Pons’ always dryish voice is now even more parched, and he finds none of Amonasro’s psychological blackmail; he is satisfied to sing very loudly and stamp around. Matti Salminen’s Ramfis is still vocally impressive, but both he and the King, as performed by Günther Groissböck, are as ferocious as U.N. diplomats who want to hold on to their jobs.
A 52-minute documentary about things Egyptian then and now is a bonus. It’s a travelogue in which we see colorful Cairo today while people explain to us in English and/or Arabic or French that opera was invited into the country with Aida. The breathtaking beauty of the sets and costumes is well captured in the picture, and the sonics are impeccable. This, then, is an Aida that fails to cohere on almost any level, but that never bores and is well-enough sung and played. I guess purists should go for the wildly lavish, 1981 Pavarotti/Margaret Price version from San Francisco on Kultur, or the DG set starring true Verdians–Aprile Millo, Domingo, Zajick–from the Met in 1989. But this Zurich production is such an interesting failure that it’s definitely worth a look.
