Fans of Andrea Bocelli will race to the stores to hear their pop idol in this, one of Puccini’s most popular operas; but I would be startled if even they, in their star-struck delirium, found either his portrayal (for what “portayals” are worth) or his singing worthwhile. True, his “E lucevan le stelle” is gorgeously phrased with long breaths and sung with exactly the right dynamic shadings–but even that must be taken with a pound of salt. Cavaradossi is neither Alfredo nor Rodolfo: the role requires a voice with heft and breadth, which are two of the things Bocelli’s voice lacks. The sound is slim, and at times (as I’ve said before and have been criticized for) quite beautiful, but he never sounds comfortable. He’s like a stylish man wearing clothes two sizes too big and of a color that’s slightly off. He walks properly and has his own very fine sense of elegance, but he’s in the wrong suit; it hangs on him and it looks strange.
Opera in general is not really Bocelli’s suit, and Cavaradossi is a particularly bad fit. “Heroic” is not what Bocelli’s voice either does best or is interested in achieving. Why not try L’Elisir d’Amore? He still won’t have the right technique, but at least he won’t sound like a little-leaguer trying out for the Yankees. Added to this poor fit are purely mechanical problems: it’s clear from the very opening lines, which sit in the middle of a tenor’s voice, that this is an area in which Bocelli’s pitch is in danger of slipping; he can’t seem to focus it properly. He makes valiant stabs at characterization, but since Cavaradossi is two-dimensionally conceived, that’s as far as it goes. In short, I feel bad here for Bocelli; his instincts and heart are all in the right place, but–and here comes another metaphor–it’s as if Tom Hanks were opting to behave like Cary Grant. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with being Tom Hanks or Bocelli: in their fields, they’re brilliant. But attempting to be someone else, someone whose style and era are different, is futile.
Fiorenza Cedolins is a Tosca with all the notes; she has studied precisely what it is Tosca does and doesn’t do, and she has succeeded on every one of the superficial levels. Were I stuck in Darmstadt and had I come across her Tosca at the opera house there, I’d say she was good enough. I’d still find her voice unattractive and her imagination wanting, but she would pass for a Tosca. At least I’d know she wasn’t doing Butterfly or Sieglinde on that particular evening. Baritone Carlo Guelfi also is a good enough Scarpia; he has an impressive voice and is convincing. The supporting cast is fine.
Not surprisingly, the Decca engineers had their work cut out for them: The orchestra, well-led by Zubin Mehta, plays well–but in order not to drown out the tenor, it sounds as if it is coming from another room. In addition, there is a halo around Bocelli’s voice that apparently has been put there to highlight it. The effect is more like suddenly discovering our Cavaradossi singing his lines from a tile bathroom. You can be the judge as to whether or not that’s a bad thing.
There’s little else to add. Bocelli’s sincerity and work ethic are never in doubt, but even superstars need advisors and friends to keep them focused. If Birgit Nilsson had wanted to sing “Havah nagila” I’d like to think that someone who loved her would have stopped her.
