As Dominique Fernandez writes in the notes accompanying this recording, this set, made in conjuction with a film, “is above all a glorification of Paris, the myth of Paris, which remains constant however many years go by.” And indeed, the film, which I’ve seen, is quite beautiful, and it does capture the essence of eternal Paris. But this is a sound recording, and without the visuals, our Violetta and Alfredo are up against some very heavy competition: Callas, Caballé, Sutherland, Muzio, di Stefano, Bergonzi, Pavarotti, Domingo. The booklet contains no libretto, just the notes, a synopsis, track listings, and a bunch of ravishingly beautiful photos of the cast–mostly the very pretty, young Eteri Gvazava and the handsome, young José Cura. She’s quite lovely, possessing a lightish, lyric soprano with a good upper extension, and she creates a fine, fragile Violetta. She (just) manages the coloratura in Act 1 without either dazzling or annoying. Her second act “Amami, Alfredo” does not overwhelm because she lacks vocal heft and her third act is touching in a small rather than tragic manner. In short, had we run across it live, filled with good intentions and the right ideas, it would stand as a nice performance, even if there is the occasional lapse of pitch.
José Cura is another story. He reeks of star quality (he’s probably the raison d’etre for the set) and has, in addition to a good-sized, appealing voice that he can use at varying dynamic levels, a really nice take on the music. He caresses the vocal line in his Act 1 duet with Violetta, he’s all impetuousness in Act 2, scene 1 (he sings the cabaletta to his aria, but ducks the scary, albeit unwritten, high C at its close), his anger and hurt are palpable in the second scene, and his final act is poignant. But he does not make us forget any of the tenors mentioned above, sorry to report.
The elder Germont is sung by the veteran (in his 70s) Rolando Panerai, who still, miraculously, has all the notes but who is quite terrible, ending phrases abruptly (shortness of breath? poor judgment?) and barking his way through most of the role in a very mannered and unwelcome way. Zubin Mehta leads the orchestra (which plays well enough) in a show that tends to speed up at odd moments, leaving us with the impression that it’s being recorded for the very time-limited 78s of a bygone era–but the final scene still has great impact. How can I put this? Try to locate the video–it’s a wonderful Parisian travelogue with nice sets, pretty people, and acceptable singing and acting. Otherwise, you can do better with any of five recorded Traviatas I can think of.
