Librettist: François-Benoît Hoffmann
Conductor: Riccardo Frizza
Producer/Director: Mario Martone
Medea: Sondra Radvanovsky
Néris: Anita Rachvelishvili
Glauce: Désirée Giove
Giasone: Francesco Demuro
Creonte: Giorgi Manoshvili
Although Black Friday has never meant much to me, this year turned out a bit different when I woke up shortly after 5:00 AM and found an offer I simply could not refuse in my inbox: 50-euro premium orchestra seats for Medea (Italian version) featuring Sondra Radvanovsky at Naples’ Teatro di San Carlo on Wednesday, December 10. The performance would last about three hours and would be on a school night, but it would also start at 7:00 PM, so I did not dilly-dally long, especially since there were only 100 tickets available. By 5:30 AM, I had secured fantastic seats for my friend Vittorio and myself, and I was also way too psyched to go back to sleep, but who cared?
Although she is blissfully unaware of it, I’ve had a convoluted relationship with American soprano extraordinaire Sondra Radvanovsky who, after having consistently wowed me in Washington, D.C. and New York City, let me down in Naples a couple of years ago when she cancelled her appearances in Macbeth, but then showed up last season in Turandot. She had therefore understandably been back in my good graces—or at least on probation—and I was very much looking forward to seeing (and hearing!) her again in the San Carlo’s eye-popping opera house.
Moreover, my New York friend Steve had seen Radvanovsky as Medea in the opera’s original French version during the Metropolitan Opera’s 2022-2023 season and had raved about her profusely (In his own words, she had been “MIND-BLOWING”). Not to be outdone, my Paris friend Michèle, who is dying to get a chance to experience Radvanovsky’s magic live, brought up her upcoming San Carlo performances even before I got a chance to mention them last time we caught up on the phone. Bottom line was, the world was telling me to go.
Last Wednesday did not start well though, as it started without hot water, but things improved during the day, and after de rigueur stops on piazza Municipio to admire some holiday lights and at the Sfogliatella Mary in the Galleria Umberto I to savor one of their freshly made treats, we were able to show up in the San Carlo’s not quite full opera house properly scrubbed and incredibly excited.
A powerful sorceress who did not think twice about dropping everything and using her otherworldly abilities to help Jason with, among other things, the famous Golden Fleece, Medea thought only a little longer before murdering her own children (She practiced first by poisoning her former husband’s new bride, but that would be more understandable, right?) in a horrifying act of cold-blooded revenge that guaranteed her a prime spot in the pantheon of opera’s most juicy villains. As they say, “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”. It is therefore no wonder that ultimate diva Maria Callas made it one of her signature roles, and I could not imagine a better present-day diva than Radvanovsky to take over the daunting but oh so rewarding challenge.
After observing her at the San Carlo last Wednesday as she faced betrayal, loss, and eventually madness with stupendously wide-ranging singing and acting abilities, I can confirm that anybody would be hard-pressed to find a more thrilling Medea nowadays. Per the libretto, her first entrance occurs kind of late in the performance, but from then on, the woman pretty much remains front stage and center, and in our case off the stage as well, until the very end. And sure enough, on Wednesday, a towering Radvanovsky made it downright impossible to look away from her tortuous psychological journey in a memorable performance that inspired both compassion and horror. On a more personal note, I will say that watching her struggle with her conflicted emotions and slowly descend into the dark abyss of filicide often less than 20 feet from me will no doubt remain one of the all-time highlights of my opera-going years.
Another familiar face from my New York days was Georgian mezzo-soprano Anita Rachvelishvili, who magnificently sang the smaller part of Néris, Medea’s compassionate and no-nonsense slave and confidante. As the stunningly gorgeous voice of reason trying to persuade Medea not to go ahead with her shocking plan, Rachvelishvili quietly dazzled every time she appeared on the stage. Unwittingly speaking for probably all of us, at least according to my personal clap-o-meter, the gentleman sitting next to me could not help but repeat “molto brava” to his equally amazed wife during the curtain call.
This third lady of the evening was young but unquestionably poised Italian soprano Désirée Giove, a former student of the Accademia del San Carlo who is clearly ready for more prime-time undertakings. As truly lovely but eventually hapless Glauce, she brilliantly conveyed the delight but also the apprehension she was feeling while contemplating her wedding to Giasone. Clad in a pretty wedding dress and gifted with a crystal-clear voice, she won everybody’s heart as the poignant picture of sacrificed innocence.
As Giasone, the politically ambitious and highly self-centered Greek hero sparing no effort to reassure his new bride while trying to reason his former wife (Good luck with that!), Sardinian tenor Francesco Demuro was a busy guy, but he also had the physical stamina and vocal talent to handle them both… to a point. He is not a particularly endearing character, but Demuro gave him a reasonably relatable human dimension.
As Creonte, Corinth’s King and Glauce’s father, Georgian bass Giorgi Manoshvili displayed an unwavering command of his voice, resulting in elegant phrasing and dignified eloquence, which allowed him to expertly fine-tune his portrayal of the noble and uncompromising ruler.
The ever-wonderful San Carlo chorus had the daunting task of opening and closing the performance, and they did it with impeccable flair and staunch commitment. They consummately fulfilled their duties in-between as well, including during the endlessly tricky staging of the wedding that took place in the orchestra section.
Speaking of staging, the production had some interesting ideas, among which the breaking down of the fourth wall, and those ideas were nicely backed by stylish decors such as a Victorian castle looming in the background of a well-kept estate in Act I. After intermission, Acts II and III included projections of a peaceful sea (A nod to Naples?) beyond an impeccably manicured lawn and under an ever-changing sky featuring two leisurely moving, large moons. These rather traditional settings had the significant advantage of helping us focus on the singers while contributing winning visual effects, such as menacing dark clouds gathering rapidly as things were taking a turn for the worst or the two moons spectacularly crashing into each other during the apocalyptic grand finale.
And then there was the wedding (or “hymen”, as it was known back then, I quickly learned) between Glauce and Giasone, which took place in the aisles of the house’s orchestra section. That’s how we found ourselves unwitting extras within the performance, in a set-up so unexpected that we did not even mind having to twist ourselves a bit to watch some of the action. In sharp contrast with the festive mood brought by the happy event, an increasingly agitated and starkly alone Medea was ominously pacing the essentially empty stage in front of us. This clearly could not end well.
While the production was generally well thought-out and definitely pleasing to the eyes—partly thanks to the attractive black-tie costumes, including the recurring Golden Fleece, and the subtle but efficient lighting—a couple of choices were nothing but needless distractions. There was, for example, no use having the first meeting of Medea and Giasone reenacted behind them as they were kind of fondly remembering it during a fleeting moment of détente between them. And I for the life of me could not figure out who the man walking behind Glauce as she was dying before collapsing himself in the background was, and it did not seem to matter anyway.
What mattered though, was Luigi Cherubini’s splendid music, whose recitative-free, 20th-century Italian version had been selected for this production. The resolutely measured neoclassical composition is intrinsically beautiful, and it also contains enough dramatic peaks to keep the audience effortlessly engaged. On Wednesday night, maestro Frizza proved to be a meticulous leader who confidently brought out the full palette of the score’s many contrasts from the eager orchestra. The result was a richly satisfying experience that will not soon be forgotten by the lucky attendees who gave it a thunderous ovation.
With our heads still in the clouds from the dazzling performance, we did not even mind that much finding our subway station closed when we got there, having completely forgotten about the scheduled work-related closures. We just turned around and went back to the San Carlo to get a cab and concluded our night with a swift—if not entirely risk-free—ride back home.
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