Opera Chic

Dudi & Danny: La Scala's Odd Couple

When, over the last few days, we began to experience sightings of both Daniel Harding and Gustavo Dudamel around the mean streets of downtown Milan we figured out that it had to be either a case of Yves Saint Laurent sample sale-induced hallucinations (the Opera Chic version of "teh vapors"), or they really had to be here at the same time.

A quick double check to our Blackjack's monstah database of thangs-to-do confirmed that indeed the two little rascals of classical music, the scarily talented young men who have turned major record companies and big opera houses and orchestras into their personal blowup dolls, are bound to appear almost simultaneously at la Scala: Harding debuts on Sunday 18 with a tasty, superkewl Dallapiccola/Bartok double bill, quite possibly the most interesting programs we have witnessed in our 2+ years in Milan (two gems, and indeed good luck selling out the house with that to the army of casual Scala-goers  who are mainly happy to flaunt their Rolexes, their mistresses, their cabana boys, and then proceed to fart their way through another performance of Traviata or Aida).

Dudamel instead will strut his stuff with Filarmonica della Scala Lenny's Chichester Psalms and Mahler's Titan -- funnily enough, one work OC finds deeply moving and the other she instead considers titanically b0ring.

Anyway, what really made us LOL is the idea that maybe, in an era of cutbacks, la Scala has given Harding and Dudamel a two-bedroom apartment to share and they're now roommates for two weeks -- Dudi blasting Kanye on his Macbook, while Danny tries to watch Manchester United on SKY while going over his scores: what we like to think of as the Oscar and Felix of classical music. Sitcom gold.

Il Marchesino Yummy Yummy

(above: the yellow circle shows the location of Il Marchesino, the newest restaurant in Scala's building that opened today.)

One of Italy's most accomplished and talented chefs, Gualtiero Marchesi, has been poised to open a new restaurant in Milan to add to his culinary dynasty. The dream was realized today, as Il Marchesino celebrated its first day open to the public.

Pushing 80-years-old, the Michelin-rated star chef had previously struck a deal with Teatro alla Scala to move into the old Biffi Scala location, #2 Via Filodrammatici at the left corner of Piazza della Scala. The restaurant opened today, completely redone and redesigned by Ettore Mocchetti, with grays and darks on the floors and banquettes, and big red chairs upholstered in the same color as the chairs you sit on in the theater.

The menu is a pared-down reading of the Milanese classics (about 30 dishes to choose from) without anything too fancy (although there is an "Italian sushi bar" that holds half a dozen people...so whut whut). Marchesi wants to return to his culinary roots for his new restaurant. For instance, you'll find his trademark Risotto Milanese, but without his signature gold leaf square that marks the yellow rice at his other prestigious restaurant (in his own name, Ristorante Gualtiero Marchesi in Erbusco). In addition to dinner service, there is a coffee bar, a tea salon, and a dessert bar. Its main competitor will remain the always convenient Trussardi alla Scala on the opposite corner, which just re-opened after a brilliant redesign.

Tonight We're Gonna Party Like It's 1984: Lorin Maazel's Opera @ Scala -- The Teaser Review

OC just took in the Milan premiere of Lorin Maazel’s 3 & 1/2 hour opera, 1984, at la Scala so you don’t have to. Actually, if you happened to have not been there, there are still p l e n t y of tickets left for the next six performances…discarded by a desperately provincial Milan audience with a proven track record of not being keen on contemporary opera (not to mention, it's in English omg teh horror). There are like thousands of operas out there, but I’m sure as hell not going to see a couple hundred because they happen to be written in the wrong language.

Earlier tonight, Maestro Maazel shot magic spider webs from his enchanted +8 orchestra-slaying baton and cold killed it. Every nuance of the orchestra was inextricably tied to the tip of his magic wand. It was almost as interesting watching the flick of his baton and sweep of his hands as watching the opera. A L M O S T. Maazel should get down from the podium right now and kiss the golden rose petals that director Robert Lepage walks on, the gold leaf toilet paper that he wipes himself with, and the gold-thread monogrammed towels that he dries his car with. The direction was slammin off the hook. The super-triplet trifecta of Carl Fillion’s scenery, Yasmina Giguere’s costumes, and Michel Beaulieu’s lights vividly pushed along Maazel’s patchwork (but thrilling) composition, bathing the production in perfect idiosyncrasy, chiaroscuro, motivation, and milieu.

The cast was, well, not the same one from the 2005 Royal Opera House, which was notably rounded-out by a bare-chested Simon Keenlyside. We had instead Julian Tovey as star Big Brother devotee Winston Smith, who gave everything he had and poured himself into the demanding role, but failed to draw much visceral empathy from yours truly. And yay for La Scala’s editors/checkers (there must be someone with that job description in the famously bloated, constantly cash-starved Scala personnel, 4 times larger than the Met's) for screwing-up the spelling of his name on their in-house playbill as “Julian Tovaj”. omg bootleg as heyll that’s what.

Full review + much moar tomorrow, included all the yummy things Lorin Maazel said to the Italian press in the last week to prepare the audience for his Orwellian thunder. While you're waiting for OC's recap, Rai3 transmitted it live, so you can go look for it on the intertubes if you're so inclined. Cause OC was there and you weren't.

Bad Night @ La Scala: Nucci Gets Sick, Urmana Gets Booed

As we reported last night, Leo Nucci got sick in the middle of Macbeth and had to be replaced by his understudy; Violeta Urmana had a bad night as Lady Macbeth; she made several mistakes, and she was quite roundly booed at the end of the night.

The problem is, la Scala had already done Graham Vick's Macbeth a few years ago, with Riccardo Muti on the podium (now it's Kazushi Ono) and a healthy Leo Nucci as Macbeth. Maybe some productions are better left un-recycled.

(Not to mention if it's true that la Scala is seriously grooming Urmana to do la Scala's first Norma in a generation next year, we might be in a lot of trouble)

BREAKING: "Indisposed" Leo Nucci Leaves Scala Stage Mid-Macbeth, Understudy Ivan Inverardi (Who?) Saves Teh Day

Just their luck.

Leo Nucci in Macbeth was one of the rare occasion this season where la Scala had actually cast a real maestro as the lead in an important production -- Graham Vick's oldie but still disquieting staging with that big ominous cube that premiered there under Muti's reign, also with Nucci --  and they lose him on opening night mid-production due to flu-like symptoms.

A few minutes ago during intermission for Macbeth at la Scala, it has been announced that an "indisposed" Nucci would not go on with the performance, and understudy Ivan Inverardi would pick up where he left.

Opera Chic's hugest get-well-soon to Maestro Nucci, greatest Verdi baritone of this post-Cappuccilli age; and big props -- no matter how he sang -- to Inverardi who had to step to the plate in an emergency. More details tomorrow.

Zeffirelli The Animal Lover: "I Would Never Take My Dogs To La Scala"

"Dogs and cats are a bit like children and should be in places they enjoy. I would never take them to La Scala" he told Corriere della Sera newspaper. "It would be torture for them"

Given the kind of singing we've heard there as of late, we can only endorse Frengo's position.

But then, they'd probably pewp in their palco, so that might be fun to watch.

Bruno Casoni Is Teh Mang: Rossini's Stabat Mater Explores Other Worlds

La Scala, so often the reign of the overrated and the overhyped and the overpaid, nevertheless manages to mantain a few standards of excellence: one of these areas where, really, you can't touch them, is the Chorus of the Teatro alla Scala. Then let us praise the man who brings the chorus to such superhuman standards of excellence: Maestro Del Coro Bruno Casoni, whose work is always spotless, always world class.   

Riccardo Chailly and Casoni’s 100-person strong chorus played last nite at Scala for a short & sweet choralicious concert.

First up was Igor Stravinsky/Stravinskij’s Symphony of Psalms, which was too warm, too creamy, and too graceful -- it needed more edge, more hard edges, more threat. The tempi were pristine, but without that edge, it flowed together too elegantly for the at times terrifying Psalms. The audience reciprocated with a lukewarm applause.

Gioachino Rossini’s Stabat Mater was next, but we were already familiar with Chailly's Stabat Mater from his 2003 recording with the Concertgebouw Orchestra (and la Frittoli) Chailly conducted sumptuous and layered, a perfect Rossinian sound that morphed into something more ethereal at times. Not as otherworldly as the best Rossini Stabat Mater that we will ever hear (Carlo Maria Giulini, the Proms, 1981) because Chailly became a little too muscled at the end, but only via the male chorus, the tenors during Amen, in sempiterna had an ugly, rough edge for the final series of climaxes.

Soprano Svetla Vassileva she was in good form, wearing a cream layered dress and crystal encrusted high sandals. Mezzo-soprano  Sonia Ganassi was the bomb, vocally, in a glittery black dress. Dmitry Korchak’s light tenor was sweet and lovely, but he couldn't quite attack those high notes so well. Bass Mirco Palazzi was good, but had a reedy quality to his voice that didn’t translate well enough against the passion of Chailly’s vision.

At the end of the night, the audience (which was a full turnout, but not packed by any means) went crazy with applause for over five minutes. Maestro del Coro Bruno Casoni got the hugest applause of the night, markedly bigger than the one for Chailly.

Trittico Gets The Plasma Treatment

(above: Barabara Frittoli in Suor Angelica on top of Ronconi's scary dead Madonna from Scala's Il Trittico)

Classica broadcast via satellite a live transmission from the Thursday night performance at La Scala of Puccini's Il Trittico. OC endured it once again so she could bring you legal shots of the performance via her Canon camera and Samsung plasma. Chailly's conducting remained heavenly even through the canning and compression of live sound to media, although Team Ronconi's odd set designs appeared much darker on screen. The key singers, of course, were much more emotive, with Suor Angelica's Barbara Frittoli even admitting in a post-performance interview that the music moved her so much that she was crying just before one of her arias. suffering for art and all. 

The performance was hosted by Classica tv host Gianandrea Gavazzeni's son, he of oddly-composed facial hemispheres, who coolly interviewed both Barbara Frittoli and Leo Nucci (Nucci in full costume and makeup and fake nose, relaxed as a lamby only minutes before getting on stage for his Schicchi) in his II ordine palco between intermissions. There was also a small pre-recorded piece on both Maestro Chailly (who masterfully dissected the evolution of Puccini's style, more on this in a later post) and director Luca Ronconi.

Oddly enough, it was also the first out of the previous three performances where Mariana Lipovšek as Zia Principessa in Suor Angelica wasn't booed loudly at the curtain call. Ronconi didn't show up at curtain call. no boos? a weird coincidence, since the loggione had booed after every previous performance (they didn't like the staging). were they absent?  diplomatically silent? good faith? bad? hmmmmm.

Puccini's Trittico will be rebroadcast on Classica a few times next month: April 19 (9pm), 21 (8am), 23 (1:30pm), 27 (10:15am), and 29 (11am). Dayuuum.

OC made a niiiice leetel photo album of a few dozen screenshots, which you can enjoy here. Below are a few of the highlights.

(above: Juan Pons strangles Miroslav Dvorsky in the finale of Il Tabarro.)

(above: The nuns of Suor Angelica walk all over the giant plastic Madonna)

(above: Barbara Frittoli takes her curtain call with her immortalized son)

(above: Leo Nucci in Dante garb as Gianni Schicchi with a prosthetic nose)

(above: Vittorio Grigolo takes a curtain call for Gianni Schicchi: well-deserved applause)

Il Trittico @ La Scala: Mehhhhhh

‘*^*OC*^*` is barely conscious after the four hour marathon of Puccini’s masterpiece Il Trittico earlier this evening at Teatro alla Scala, and will try to share more impressions of the 3-in-1 opera tomorrow. For now, the angry rabbits on the bottom of her Marni heels are screaming to be put back in their white shoe baggies, so this’ll be quick:

Riccardo Chailly coaxed the most gorgeous, intelligent, satiny flavor from the Orchestra della Scala, a sound so inspiring and delicate, perfectly controlled and shaped, he complimented every voice that rang across the stage, but managed to hold the spotlight. Il Tabarro, Suor Angelica, and Gianni Schicchi were attacked differently, each one with a marked flare. Chailly was the indisputable champion of the evening, leaving the singers to trail behind. Of the most competent singing, we had, well, slim pickings. Gianni Schicchi’s Rinuccio was sung by lithe yet powerful Vittorio Grigolo, one of the brightest lights of the entire evening with a forceful, gorgeous voice. Close behind was Leo Nucci in the title role of the third Il Trittico opera, although it’s more his charisma than his twilight, tepid tone. Barbara Frittoli as Suor Angelica sang laudably, but her Puccini is not terribly resonant, and constituted as one of the weakest performances I’ve seen her in. Of course, you can't speak about Il Trittico without mentioning Lauretta's O mio babbino caro, but as sung by an acidic Nino Machaidze, let's not.

Luca Ronconi’s offensive and frankly lazily executed sets detracted greatly from Chailly’s creaminess, the orchestra’s flawless gift-wrapping, and the entire ensemble’s singing efforts. The most jarring and incongruous was Suor Angelica’s set, which consisted of stark bluish walls and a gigantic plastic form of Madonna (not the Dior-wearing, Brit-speaking, Lourdes-spawning singer) prostrate on the ground, which the sisters of the order traversed across and walked through tunnels snaked above and through her. wtf? Gulliver’s Travels. Alice in Wonderland. Who dropped mushrooms before laying down the sketches??  We get the symbolism ok ok but the execution came off like a Madonna slip-n-slide water theme park. As Frittoli lamented over her dead son, she was sprawled across the comically immense saint, and all sympathy for her trauma was nullified in light of such an odd, drug-induced visualization. The set for Gianni Schicchi was equally armature, and was simply a sunken bedroom with every square inch of surfaced draped in maroon red fabric with gold accents. The harsh, unyielding, and static lighting didn’t help much either.

At the end of the night, my outfit was more memorable than the production, although Chailly's genius will haunt my dreams. v(º_o)v

Floats Like A Butterfly, Stings Like A Bee: Wozzeck @ La Scala (Please Excuse Us Maestro Berg)

Once upon a time in 1952, when Wozzeck was introduced for the first time in front of that famously embalmed audience of Teatro alla Scala, a posse blissfully 25 to 50 years late whenever it comes to appreciate music -- nothing safer than be an oldskool snob, after all -- the booing and whistling and plain yelling was so loud that Maestro Mitropolous, from the podium, with the patience and kindness that probably ended up breaking -- literally -- his heart eight years later, when he died on the podium at la Scala conducting a rehearsal of Mahler's III -- Mitropoulos asked the audience to let them finish, and then, only then, yell and boo as much as they wanted to.

Twenty -- and then twenty-five -- years later, of course, Claudio Abbado's memorable Wozzeck got a much warmer applause. The very production we saw tonight, directed by Juergen Flimm, was inaugurated here in 1997 under the baton of the great Giuseppe Sinopoli and, in a precious b00tleg version recorded then, it remains our favorite Wozzeck -- yes, better than Abbado's, deal with it. Better than, ahem, and we never thought we'd say this, Carlos Kleiber's cabaret piece and Boulez's autopsy. Even better than our dear James Levine's sharp-as-a-Japanese-sushi-chef's-knife version.

Sinopoli's deep, infinitely refined, monstrously intelligent analysis of the score is probably the definitive one, for us, the same way we think the definitive Wozzeck -- well, Woyzeck, technically -- has the scary mad wounded visage of Klaus Kinski, in the Herzog film (an obvious masterpiece -- if you have not seen it yet, you're uncool, so finish reading this review and then Netflix it or something).

But Daniele Gatti's reading of this score, a score that could blind you with his brilliance the way staring at the sun will make you blind (or go insane), comes to us right after Sinopoli's for its warmth, its beauty, and its rich sense of the drama behind each and every note.

There are some nights at the opera – despite being crammed into an auditorium that smells like a high school gymnasium and is almost as hot as the locker rooms, and despite overpriced tickets that either cost as much as a plane ticket to Paris or London or Amsterdam or for a slightly less shameful price offer obstructed views of the stage – where there is magic tangible in the (stuffy) air. Earlier tonight at la Scala, that spark of electricity was ignited, and everything came together in an incendiary blaze of art & music laid bare. Alban Berg’s Wozzeck was just that.

The merciless direction by Jürgen Flimm called for lucid characters that were not to be pitied. Flimm understands that directing this piece successfully is more about what you take out than what you leave in or, even worse, add. The poor were not exploited victims -- unlike the Hostel-like, Troma-inspired postapocalyptic version of this opera given by Calixto Bieito -- but completely in control of their own fate, existing in a set betwixt one of Richard Serra's Torqued Ellipses, brushed in a burnished reddish-orange glow. The background went from a Mars landscape of barren post-war battlefields, to a final scene filled with what can only be described as the hoverboard lights from E.T.'s mothership. It was all very early Netherlandish painting inspired, almost from a Bosch triptych, but with less orgies, sodomy, bird-headed beasts, and flying fish (incidentally, we'd love to hire M. Night Shyamalan to take a crack at Wozzeck-as-ghost-story, but it's just us, we know).

Wozzeck was interpreted by Austrian baritone Georg Nigl. His downward spiral, especially the hair-raising moments before killing Marie (voiced by an excellent Evelyn Herlitzius even if we think that last year's Marie at Opera di Roma, Janice Baird, has an edge on Herlitzius), was acted superbly. Georg had excellent control...a spectrum he displayed from a whispering, delicate falsetto to an icy delusional rant. Everything from the seduction to the knife to the murder was excellence exemplified.

Although Berg's tonal and atonal composition have been discussed to death, Maestro Daniele Gatti must have had his ear attuned to every single debate since like, forever, because tonight he demonstrated to the few who doubt it that he belongs on that very small gentlemen's club, the dozen or so best conductors working today. Gatti pwned the orchestra like the Rubix's Cube, with no cheating (peeling off the stickers...we saw what u did thare!). Gatti managed to create unbearable suspense, truly agonizing and teasing, transforming Wozzeck into Stravinksy's Rite of Spring...like a Jaws or Psycho score of opera. After that amazing balancing act Maestro Gatti, at curtain call, received the most bravi, and not because he was conducting in his native Milan. He was rightfully deserving: managing to fuse together an apparent complete dichotomy of conducting, delicate and forceful, intense and waning -- the most subtle whispers of pianissimo giving way to jarring and shattering fortissimo. All in deference to Cassius Clay’s adage.   

Ferruccio Furlanetto Brings The BadA$$ Bass

On this cold Milan night, Ferruccio Furlanetto brought the powah to La Scala, and thawed the hoars frost from our frosty hoars. Don't ask me what that means because I'm not tellin. La Scala begrudgingly greeted OC in layers and layers of Boule de Neige and vintage Brooks Brothers black cashmere, topped with a Stephen Jones hat (one of Anna Piaggi's favs, too, and she is never wrong).

We were surprised to see the house only 2/3 filled considering Furlanetto made his professional debut on the Scala stage almost 30 years ago in Verdi's Macbeth and has since then bustin' some serious bass all over the world. But that's what we've sadly come to expect from a traditional Milanese audience that is scared of zee Roossian repertory because it sounds like Communist or something. Not that Ferruccio "I Got Teh Powah" Furlanetto didn't show it off well. His cancellation from last month hardly took a toll on his mecha ninja vocal powah, and he rattled the rafters with his trademark boomin bass. Stately in a frac and shiny patent leather shoes, he capped his Russian pronunciation with gleeful skill, proving that he was totally worthy of being the only Italian to ever sing Boris Godunov at the Mariinsky (where Opera Chic once mopped the floors before being discovered and launching her international career, but that's another story).

The Russian invasion provided a gorgeous and varied playlist, filled with a moody, melancholy longing that marked the music. All so emo, we were almost expecting Furlanetto to show up with a Chanel Black Satin manicure and a white vinyl belt. Furlanetto breezed through the Rachmaninov and Mussorgsky set list, with help from a podium full o' sheet music (and weird phonetic rendering of the intricacies of Russian diction). Pianist Igor Tchetuev was an adept match for Furlanetto's powah, hitting the keys with a lovely sforzando, never whaling on the keys [ed: thru his blowhole] like a hopped-up Barenboim. At the curtain calls, we were touched to see Furlanetto embrace him like a father to a son. He added only two bis to the evening -- both Tchaikovsky pieces -- the first one being “Blagoslavlyayu vas, lesa”, which was suffused with a tenderness and beauty that hadn’t been fully showed-off during the formal recital. 

After the pause, Furlanetto came out in an off the shoulder pink gown by Zac Posen and pair of Balenciaga sandals, size 13. ok ok. Just making sure that you’re paying attention here…

He threw himself into the whole performance, shaping each passage with great emotion, shifting from allegro to adagio to andante easily – a giant bonus of his selected Russian repertoire – all sustained through his undeniable power. His voice, understandably, is tired, and his technique has slid into a zone that leaves a bit to be desired, with plenty of strain at the top. But he’s paid his dues, and makes up for it through his sheer force and energy and charisma and nicely burnished hues. 

Short and sweet, the recital was packed full of a creamy bass who still gots tha powah and made Italians -- well those who care about such things -- proud around the world. He flexed his vocal muscle with great sentiment, and pwnd the stage with his towering presence. We’re now going to play a few rounds of Tiger Woods PGA 08 on the xbox in deference to Furlanetto, a very keen golfer with a perfectly adequate handicap for someone with such a hectic schedule, who’s prolly dying to hit up the green right about now.

La Scala's Ballerine & Ballerini Cancel Summer Plans

No shopping on Robertson Boulevard for 7 For All Mankinds, no screenings of "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull" at the ArcLight, and no gorging on Pink’s Dudamel Dogs this summer for La Scala’s Ballet Company.

Los Angeles's Dance at the Music Center has announced that La Scala's Il Corpo di Ballo has effectively cancelled their anticipated summer 2008 L.A. performances. The 2007-08 Dance at the Music Center season was looking forward to hosting La Scala's ballet company for two special July 1 & 2 performances of Romeo and Juliet, with special guests Diana Vishneva and Roberto Bolle dancing the leads.

The reason for cancellation? Said head coordinator of the tour, Sergei Danilian, president of Ardani Artists: “La Scala advised us that the funding they were anticipating to support their tour did not come through as planned, and that it would have to change the casting and repertoire as well as the financial arrangements of the tour."

Ioan Holender Nukes La Scala: Attacks "Envy" Of Scala GM Stephane Lissner "Who Cannot Read Music": We Have The Great Conductors And La Scala Doesn't. Vienna vs La Scala Kung Fu Fightin'

It's unusual to see such public vitriol at such high levels, even in the famously snarky world of opera.

A few days ago Scala GM Stéphane Lissner had snarked, in the press, Vienna and Munich, "where they don't rehearse as much and this has recently been the cause of substandard shows", in Italian "spettacoli di basso livello", literally translated as "low-level shows".  "A Vienna ho visto un Don Giovanni di assoluta routine. Per il signor Holender non è mai troppo tardi per imparare", Lissner told Italian paper La Stampa: "In Vienna I saw a substandard Don Giovanni. For Mr. Holender is never too late to learn".

Yesterday Ioan Holender, Vienna's Staatsoper director has shot back with surprising vitriol, as reported in today's papers.

"This (attack) is unprecedented between opera houses: it is very embarrassing to engage in a dispute with someone who cannot read music but I understand Lissner needs to distract the Italian press from what is happening -- or better yet, not happening -- at la Scala".

"To cancel a new production (ed: the Andrea Chenier Opera Chic wrote extensively about) because the director and almost all of the cast have vanished is quite unusual and unbelievable for a opera house. With such attacks against my work Lissner disqualified himself, since he knows that I have been leading for 16 years the glorious Vienna opera with more than 60 operas in repertoire and more than 300 shows every season. Monsieur Lissner's envy is understandable when one sees that these days on the Vienna podium we have Christian Thielemann, Seji Ozawa, Riccardo Muti and Zubin Mehta, who are among the world's greatest conductors. They are not at la Scala where, unfortunately, there is only Lissner: this is sad".

If we were Brits, we'd totally say: Blimey Guv'nor!

Herr Doktor Rudolf Buchbinder Weel Trink Your Milchshake: Ticciati Thinks Different, La Scala Goes Huh?

Just back from il maestrino Robin Ticciati's konzert @ la Scala with the Filarmonica, where he bravely brought a program that goes against the grain of this most conservative of audiences (an audience ready, of course, to bYotch in public about how lame routine opera seasons and Beethoven-Mozart-heavy concert programs are, but then capable to freeze, perplexed, when confronted by any trace of innovation: play 'em Varèse, Sam, at your own risk. Oldtimey friends tell OC that when in the early 1990s poor Maestro Sinopoli brought our beloved Zemlinsky at la Scala, he was greeted with polite applause, half-hidden yawns, & empty seats).

Tonight -- far from being a perfect concert, we'll explain tomorrow in OC's full review why -- the audience was confronted by stuff that, thankfully, is not part of the same tired repertoire of 50 pieces that, as sublime as they are (mostly), is always the same mix of, you know, Pastorale and Ma Mère L'Oye and Symphonie Fantastique and Pictures At An Exhibition and K467 and the Pathetique, Beethoven IX, rinse, repeat.

Ticciati had the youthful temerity to show up with a bagful of Arvo Pärt (Cantus in memoriam Benjamin Britten), Britten's Four Sea Interludes, and Sibelius's Symphony n. 7 (only the second performance ever of this work in Milan, the first at la Scala). The only piece of candy thrown in was Mozart Piano Concerto n. 25 in C, K503, but even that piece had a surprise in store -- an early Easter egg, so to speak -- for the Scala audience.

Because gawky rangy Ticciati, looking like a suave skateboarder in white tie, tails and -- we're afraid, our palco seats were pretty high up -- what looked dangerously like black suede slippers, started out with a delicate, multilayered, sublimely phrased Pärt -- with that ghostly bell -- that he used to immediately crank up the emotional gauge of the night; but then he had in store a small-orchestra, lightning fast, nervous, legato-deprived, HIP-inspired Mozart concerto that really announced that -- even in its most famous, most recognizable piece -- the night was going to be not your mom's Scala concert, like, at all.

But Rudolf Buchbinder was there. The former piano prodigy (he entered the Musikhochschule in Vienna when he had barely learned to walk or something) who eerily looks like the half-Austrian guy who waxes Opera Chic's skis in Borca di Cadore (Cortina d'Ampezzo is so over, guys), showed up ready to burn the haus down with some classy, light-as-air, speedy keyboard work. And as the weird-sounding -- for a nice chunk of the audience evidently unaccustomed to that style-- orchestra parts left many of the Filarmonica abbonati quite baffled, Buchbinder's elegant work got him a standing ovation at the end, cries of bravo, and requests of encores that he obliged with a delicious, super-Viennese showoff transcription from Johan Strauss (in OC's head the words from her ski guy echoed instead: "U neet sharp etgees fuhr gut kontrol ant waxt bottoms to glite bettar and bettar turnink, OK"?).

Suffice to say that an elegant Britten -- conducted with a veteran's confidence -- and a ballZ-out, very fast, hot (almost as much as the dang hall whose cranked-up heating turned it into a sauna as usual) brassy Sibelius that was galaxies away from the frozen-landscape stuff we're accustomed to, suffice to say that these two works in the second part were awarded with polite applause (people here like Ticciati a lot, they sure recognize talent, no one denies that) but very perfunctory ovations, a quickly-emptying audience.

And no encores.

Oh, and most people, unfamiliar with the Sibelius didn't know that the piece was over -- they thought there was another movement. So nobody clapped until Ticciati shook the first violin's hand. Bit embarrassing, that.

More tomorrow.

Bye-Bye Loggione, Blame Fire Safety Reasons: DA And Fire Dept. Vs The Wild Bunch

Those of us who spend some of their opera time shoehorned in the cheap, hard-to-reach seats of Galleria (I and II) at la Scala -- you cannot always blow the 204 euros, ie about 250 bux, for the platea seats can you -- will have to reconsider their options since the management at la Scala has received an order from a Milan district attorney to remove 100 seats from the Galleria II (around the standing room are of the loggione, their position is unclear) due to fire safety reasons. This means most of the loggione is about to go. Deadline: the beginning of this coming April. So start tearing out those seats, man.

The theater's management answered that the fire department only asked them to remove 15 seats, less than 10% of the actual loggione, not the 100 seats the DA is talking about.

As much as we don't subscribe to the cult of il loggione, and the good faith of those who boo for a hobby (or a profession?) has been often called into question, it's clear that the theater will only be too happy to remove seats where people who can sink a first show usually seat. Without loggione, no Alagna-leaves-Aida fiasco, no Gheorghiu's-Violetta-covered-in-ridicule, and so on.

A good thing?

For the people who run the ship and would like to hear applause even for the lamest shows (like the sad Traviata they cobbled together to replace Chenier, as you can read belolw) it obviously is.

Again With Placido Domingo as Cyrano @ La Scala: Bigger, Better, Nasalier. The Full Review

(Above: Franco Alfano's Cyrano de Bergerac in the Francesca Zambello production, with Sondra Radvanovsky as Roxane & Placido Domingo as Cyrano. All shots below courtesy of Ken Howard. Source. La Scala Disclaimer: All photos are not from the La Scala production, since La Scala's lawyers forbade us to use their promotional stuff among other things -- rather these are shots from 2005 at The Metropolitan Opera).

After the initial Tuesday night recap of Franco Alfano's Cyrano de Bergerac we saw opening night at La Scala, here we are less than 48 hours l8r and the impressions haven't changed much, although we've changed outfits a few times. In black Prada heels, more Wolford black leggings (just like mah gurl Linds-say) a white Comme des Garçons long t-shirt, an oversized Jil Sander grey cashmere cardigan, and Aquascutum grey trench, La Scala wasn't quite as scalding as when they welcomed our poor JDF one night prior, and OC was thankfully not sweating through her cashmere.   

(Above: Franco Alfano's Cyrano de Bergerac in the Francesca Zambello production. Act I. Photo credit: Ken Howard. Source.)

With the libretto written in French by Henri Cain, inspired from the play by Edmond Rostand based on the real life tales of Cyrano, Alfano's Cyrano de Bergerac is an expressive, at times jarringly sad masterpiece, which we can all thank Maestro Domingo for exhuming from obscurity, as it fell out of popular stage space quickly after its premiere in 1936. Throughout its paltry performance history, the libretto has been in constant flux between Italian and French translations, although we prefer this suitably in French.

First performed in pre-WWII Europe (o say what?), and a close contemporary to Berg's Wozzeck, and Schoenberg's Moses und Aron, Cyrano experiments with some gorgeous sounds of theater. This is musical theater's infancy, and Alfano just gets it right. The plot is amazingly simple to follow, and the story delivers comic relief without eliciting crude guffaws. The music is full of beauty, sweeping passages, and the purity of truth and love bubbles on the surface of every note. The colors are very, well, French, totally romantic, but never sappy or clumsy.

(Above: Franco Alfano's Cyrano de Bergerac in the Francesca Zambello production. Act I. Photo credit: Ken Howard. Source.)

Every single musical phrase had been practiced and studied, and carefully shaped. The music dutifully, yet gorgeously, pushes all the action: At the first encounter between Cyrano and Roxane, the strings literally climax to a shattering, vibrating crescendo, and then ripple away as a breaking wave, and you can truly imagine Cyrano's heart literally engulfed in Roxane's devastating beauty. Thanks to Maestro Patrick Fournillier, who aimed to fill the house with an enormous, but never overwhelming sound coaxed from the Scala Orchestra, and even elicited a round of Bravo from the super-discerning gallerie when he came back out after the intermission to take the stand. 

The vocal lines that Sondra Radvanovsky as Roxane sang were fierce and powerful, and she not only brought it but brang it. Ms. Radvanovsky has not the most gorgeous voice, but properly implemented it throughout every single scene, and pushed along the narrative line when the libretto failed in parts. She's had the good fortune to successfully weather a three year run of the same production, already singing the role @ The Metropolitan Opera in both 2005 & 2006, and at the Royal Opera House in 2006, all opposite Domingo. She choose her acting well, and used her limbs very practiced, posed, and careful. She was passionate and reserved at the same time.

(Above: Franco Alfano's Cyrano de Bergerac in the Francesca Zambello production. Act II. Photo credit: Ken Howard. Source.)

Francesca Zambello's elegant and complex direction paid careful attention every single entity on stage. Every extra from the bakers to the soldiers had been given specific direction, and carried out with great acting their sub-minor roles. The effect was very Les Mis, where the chorus was pushed into a prominent thrust of the action, and the Scala chorus and extras delivered fabulously, void of hamminess or eye-rolling mockery. Appealing romantic costumes were generalized and idealized like Disney's Robin Hood with a touch of elegance.

(Above: Franco Alfano's Cyrano de Bergerac in the Francesca Zambello production. Act III. Photo credit: Ken Howard. Source.)

The other stars of the night, Pietro Spagnoli as De Guiche, Simone Alberghini as Carbon, and German Villar as Christian were all well enough supporting singers, but the attention was all on Domingo and Radvanovsky.

As for Placido The Minger, OC thinks it's lame to speak about his waning voice, because it's glaring, a given, that a man approaching his 70s couldn't retain his former glory -- although peeking through you still get those moments of beauty and flight that Domingo once mastered (like in Act I's "Ballade du duel" or Act II's "Ce sont les cadets de Gascogne". A contemporary of Bruson and Nucci, Domingo has refused to slow down, and still can support the role of a much younger tenor, believably sprite and graceful, albeit a bit tired. Lucky for him, the role is not terribly physical nor does it demand lots of singing aside from the last stirring act.

(Above: Franco Alfano's Cyrano de Bergerac in the Francesca Zambello production. Act III. Photo credit: Ken Howard. Source.)

We left the theater knowing that Placido Domingo will soon hang up his performaning hat, so to still catch him on stage is something really quite spectacular. HE WAS THE BEST THEN HE IS THE BEST NOW NO ONE CAN TOUCH THAT $H1T BY0TCH$

Now go enjoy yourselves some nice b00tleggian clips that our YouTube opera brethren have uploaded of the very same Franco Alfano's Cyrano de Bergerac Domingo/Zambello/Radvanovsky production from MET 2005/2006 and ROH 2006.

Act I: SWASHBUCKLING DOMINGO!

Act II: DOMINGO THE K0çK-BLOCKER!

Act III: DOMINGO -- HE DAED!

Anytime, Anyplace, Juan Diego Flórez Sticks it to Milan. JDF Scala Recital, The Review

(Since La Scala's lawyers have warned OC in the past that she cannot post any images taken from inside the opera house, here's a file photo of our lovely joo-whan. Btw, you can read the initial review from a few hours prior here)

Expecting anything less than spectacular when going to see Juan Diego Flórez live – whether it be to witness a recital or opera…or even just to watch him washing his car or filing his taxes or setting the correct time on his DVD recorder – and *not* having your mind blow is pure folly. Which is why we arrived to the theater tonight in motorcycle helmets.

Ok not really…instead in the balmy Milan air (compared to the frigid winds earlier this weekend in Venice), OC boogied down to Scala in sky-high Fendi black leather platform pumps, Wolford velvet de Luxe gray leggings, a Stella McCartney gray silk shift dress, and my navy Miu Miu wool baby doll jacket, and was ready to show those Flórez groupies what’s what. No worries to the Trappester, who we spied in the audience, wearing a short black A-line dress with weird lacy shoulder caps and a plunging neckline, long blond hair free to her waist, and who later rushed past our entourage in the hallway to meet her Lamby Prince backstage. We were going to tackle her to the ground and make her give up the make of Flórez’s favorite undawarz so we could send him a pair, but it wasn’t worth scuffing my Fendis. We also admit that we wanted to pass on some recipes for some slammin osso buco or fatty cotoletta, as Flórez was looking tragically thin, and we couldn’t help but worry that Trappe’s Erdnuss-Crème sandwiches haven’t been to his liking these first few months of marriage.

Anyway, Flórez (every time you say his name it just makes him more powerful) took the stage earlier tonight to a rapt audience that was so appreciative and awestruck in front of his talent, that even before he uttered a single note, the bravi was heaped on his shoulders, to which he graciously acknowledged via his graceful idiosyncrasies, swathed in full frac and shiny patent leather shoes. Let's pop in that mix tape and put it on megabass.

He warmed up the house with Mozart's "Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd schön" from Die Zauberflöte, which was lovely enough, but OC rather prefers his tenore lirico of the bel canto Italian composers. The audience was tolerant of his delve into German-language repertoire, but we all knew why we really had come here tonight, and waited patiently. Next in line for the Mozart flow was "Si spande al sole in faccia" from Il Re Pastore, which exited to the first magnificent encore of the evening, well deserving as he ate those poor scales and arpeggi like Godzilla devouring Tokyo…the loggione and palchi exploding in applause and bravi. Then Bellini’s "La ricordanza", which was flawless in phrasing and suffused with emotion, to which Flórez reminded us all of his thorough control and effortless negotiations through any operatic score.

Then we had Rossini’s Les soirees musicales. During L’orgia lol, the audience exploded into (an orgy of) applause during a brief piano interlude before the work had completed, which was met with scolding hushes. Then JDF left the stage while excellent pianist, Vincenzo Scalera, played alone a waltzy Musique Anodine Prélude.

The last work before the break was “Deh! Truncate” from Elisabetta Regina d’Inghilterra. Flórez’s voice was a bit taxed at this point, and he had been expressing a dry tone for the first half of the recital. As Scalera played the intro measures, Flórez loudly cleared phlegm from his throat a few times, tugged at his white bowtie, and seemed perturbed. Scala was scalding tonight, arid as a desert and Flórez seemed to be suffering from that ailment, which he nevertheless plowed through professionally. Flawless Flórez always brings the charisma, and although none of that was lacking tonight, he was clearly suffering from the dry, hot heat in the theater, and it was the worst shape OC had ever seen him. Granted, the worst shape for Flórez is like 20x better than any old tenor, and still, he held to his game. After 50 minutes of singing, Flórez was treated to another rousing applause, filled with almost as many bravi as heard when he sang here last in February 2007 for La Fille du Régiment.

Flórez stepped back up to the stage less than a half hour later, and sang five consecutive songs by Rosa Mercedes Ayarza de Morales in clear diction and refreshed energy, animated acting, and feisty blocking. The first, “Cuando la tortora llora” was short and sweet, with an “Ay yi yi” thrown in for good measure. “Si mi voz muriera en tierra” showed-off the patented, impressive range of his voice, although filled with lament. At the end of the five songs, someone shouted, “Bravo Peru” and we all followed JDF’s outstretched hand, which pointed to the first galleria: A group of loggionisti had brazenly thrown over the side railing a Peruvian flag, and somehow didn’t get thrown out of the theater by the surly Scala pages.

French repertory was next, and Flórez sang “J’ai perdu mon Euridice” from Gluck’s Orphée et Eurydice, which was hauntingly gorgeous. His perfect control and concentrated movement brought this one over the top, and again, the audience went wild at the end. Next, his “L’espoir renaît dans mon âme” wasn’t quite as strong, but it was all forgotten during his “Linda!” from Donizetti’s Linda di Chamounix, full on tenore di grazia, and full on fierce.

Bis time, and after thousands of screams from both male and female fans, he gifted us with "Una furtiva lagrima" from L'elisir d'amore, which he sung with such great passion, his acting off tha charts, his heart aching and his hands clenched in fists…then Ah Leve Toi Soleil from Romeo Et Juliette, then that one from his Great Tenor Arias disc of Lucrezia Borgia, and then "La donna è mobile" from Rigoletto (to which he began the opening measures by placing a rose playfully between his teeth, Duke styleee). Between each bis, requests came flooding in from the audience as if he were Frank Sinatra on world tour.

His final and fifth encore was "L'Alba Separa dalla Luce l'Ombra" by Francesco Paolo Tosti, which again, brought down the house. For all the flowers that rained down on the stage from the palchi, he gathered them all up in his hands, and acknowledged the audience as personally as his own family. Which is one of the reasons (aside from his skill) that his fans love him so: Every sea of an audience he manages to separate into an individual devotee, with his open glances and waves, humbly accepting without a touch of phoniness or annoyance that his voice indeed carries a true glimpse of the sublime within each note he emits…and it is via these moments, that we classical music followers find an addicting solace. Some have been known to even pee their pants in sheer extasy.

Peruvian Flags, Screaming Fans, A Carpet Of Roses For Juan Diego: Il Signor Florez Takes La Scala, Again

Whenever Renata Tebaldi sang in Napoli's Teatro San Carlo, fans would wait for her at the stage door and, as she was about to come out into the street, they would throw flowers on the ground (insert joke re: historically bad trash-collecting Neapolitan habits here) because she was so sublime that they wanted La Signorina to step on a carpet of flowers instead that on the ground and dog pewp.

A few minutes ago, about 45 actually, Juan Diego Florez has finished -- after 5 very generous encores -- his recital at la Scala in Milan under a shower of roses raining down from the palchi and gallerie (a small bouquet thrown from the gallerie has actually accidentally beaned him -- as he was bending down to pick up some roses -- on the back of his head), while screams of "Sublime!", "Fenomeno!", "Bra-vis-si-mo!" "Sei un mito!" kept booming down from the rows of palchi, from the loggione, and from the usually very blasè platea seats, in a prolonged happy standing ovation the kind this "Roman arena" (Roberto Alagna's words) of a theater is usually very, very stingy of.

A Peruvian flag was even exposed from the central loggione the way soccer fans wave flags at the San Siro soccer arena, as someone yelled "Viva Perù".

Our personal favorites, among the many arias, "Troncate i ceppi suoi" from Rossini's Elisabetta, Si spande al sole in faccia from Mozart's "Re Pastore", and obviously "J'ai perdu mon Eurydice" from Gluck's Orphée and Bellini's La Ricordanza.

Big props to Maestro Vincenzo Scalera, whose sensitive, beautiful playing made a huge impression on everybody -- and when you're the accompanist for the greatest  tenor in the world, one of the alltime greats, and you still make an impression, well, that's a very big accomplishment indeed.

More later, because Opera Chic needs to recover from the sheer beauty of it all.

La Stampa Follows La Chic: No Gilliam, No Alvarez, No Oren, Farewell Chenier, Welcome Ole Butterfly

Opera Chic told her readers ages ago; the Italian press reports today (in La Stampa). No Gilliam, no Alvarez, no Chenier, no Oren. La Scala's old Butterfly sets will be dug out of the Ansaldo warehaus, and Fiorenza Cedolins will be Cio Cio San. The conductor? La Stampa guesses it'll be maestro Chung.

We'll see. But how sad that an allegedly first-tier house such as la Scala has to lower themselves to recycle singers and sets after they prove themselves unable to keep a production together.

Maria Stuarda La Prima @ La Scala: DOWNGRADE!

First off, tonight's la prima of Gaetano Donizetti's Maria Stuarda (in a new production by Pier Luigi Pizzi) at La Scala boasted a substitution of Talbot. Ailing bass (or, bailing a$$ loalz) Carlo Cigni was replaced tonight by Simone Alberghini, who formerly starred on the Opera Chic blog as Anna Netrebko's ex-fiancé, after they called it quits in May 2007, victims of the seven-year itch. Alberghini was there IN SHOCKING GREEN!!!

OC ran down to La Scala earlier tonight in the Milan rain (that hasn't let-up since last Thursday) super casual and cozy in a pair of knee-high black Costume National heeled boots, black leggings bought @ Boule de Neige, a vintage YSL black silk blouse, a Miu-Miu dark gray cashmere cardigan (super huge and long...from the men's line), and an Isabella Tonchi black wool overcoat (black Chloé Paddington bag, Loro Piana dark grey cashmere scarf, and a Paul Smith umbrella). Too bad the new Louboutins bought in saldi last week will have to wait until nicer weather... :(

On with the show: The curtain rose on the scene of the Westminster court, which was materialized by Pier Luigi Pizzi as a large black platform in the middle of the stage, elevated by stairs on all four sides. Kinda like the Kaaba in Mecca. Mecha lecca hi. All around the stage walls had been erected scaffolding (as the scenery), which comprised of a ground level and a second level above the stage, where ramps ran, which singers were able to use as egress. They were backlit by screens that projected either white or orange light. YOUR CHOICE! 1 OR 2! The minimal staging was frankly, quite boring and unimaginative.

A dozen male guards (Cavalieri) circled about holding flaming torches. Pier Luigi Pizzi, who was responsible for direction, scenery, and costumes, managed to blow the entire trifecta all over the stage. OC's biggest beef with the production was encountering Pizzi's incongruity between the costuming of women and men. On stage, if you had balls, you were put into a tight pair of black leather pants. If you had breasts, you were swaddled-up in reams of cloth, not unlike Amish school marms. Women were totally desexualized in this production, de-divaized, de-fierceized, and totally fe-masculated…while the men were all totally empowered. wtf? So yeah, we had a dozen alternate males in the background in thigh-high black leather boots, which were tucked into tight, black leather pants, with tight, black leather jackets -- all topped with jaunty black leather berets. ugh. Their costumes were totally non sequitur within the whole production, but if that's what gets Pier Luigi Pizzi hot, so be it.

Act I gave us a view of the chorus and Dame d'onore, who were dressed sumptuously in gorgeous magentas, browns, and subdued gold period dresses, full length skirts and matching bodices, without a hint of cleavage, neck, or any flesh-colored things showing. Out came Elisabetta, Anna Caterina Antonacci, wrapped in layers and layers of white cloth.

Pizzi didn't even give the women's costumes any Elizabethan flair, and instead of exaggerating the hips, waists, or shoulders, the fabric was boringly draped over the hips in a, well, non-form form. These divas on stage were costumed to be shockingly less fierce than their larger-than-life references, which is what pissed me off. Pizzi stole their thunder. thare were no divas were n e whare 2 be found. Totally lame. No Sills-like awesomeness. The two queens were given careless wraps of fabric. I know this was the 16th century, and modesty was kinda what the kewl kids did, but we want diva power! Not some mousy queens dragging lead around the stage. Elisabetta was at least donning a Seamonkey white crown and collar, although she was slapped with a wash of white Kabuki foundation. In Engerland.

Act I, and the problems began immediately with Antonino Fogliani and Scala orchestra in an uncooperative brawl. Fogliani and the orchestra tampered Anna Caterina Antonacci with her Scene II appearance, and rudely barged over her voice, both in tempi and volume. There were loads of unsynchronized measures between the singers and the orchestra, and the orchestra was just overall too loud. It wasn't a matter of crescendi, but the volume was just too strong-armed and inelegant for this bel canto masterpiece. To be fair, I saw numerous times Fogliani shushing the orchestra, hand raised to his lips, but they weren't having it, so at the end of the night, both parties are guilty.

Scene III introduced Roberto, Earl of Leicester in thine tightie leathery, blacke pantaloonies, sung by tenor Francesco Meli who was off to a pretty rough start. His upper notes were fraught with straining. Scene IV, during "Se fida tanto colei mi amò", he pushed it way out, and the results were not pleasant. Thankfully, he did like a 180 degree switch for Act II, and gave much more. Yay for intermissions. Contrasting with the petite frame of Meli was Simone Alberghini, singing Talbot. Did I mention he was outfitted in tight black leather pants? He sang well and rounded-out the entire lineup, and his "Questa imago, questo foglio" with Meli was worth mentioning.

Enter Mariella Devia and Fotheringay Park, where the new scenery appeared from under stage, raised on a mechanical level. This act brought the one memorable effect of the entire performance: a thick, leafy grove of trees slowly materialized…the foliage a nice break from the stagnant steel cages in the prior acts. Devia appeared as frumpy as the other women on stage, in dark grey swaths of cloth. However, her dress and outer dress were so large and convoluted -- with a large white collar obscuring her breasts and neck -- that her head just looked like a little peanut. Pizzi wanted to put these queens out to pasture and rule the stage himself. Neigh, I say. Neigh, neigh, neigh. 

But nothing mattered to the loggioni, who were out in huge numbers filling the loggione, and lauded Devia with countless brava at every single aria she caressed. Not that she didn’t deserve any of it…we had fallen in love with la Devia ages ago, and caught her live last year at her La Scala recital (which we reviewed here). Devia had perfect control over her sweet, flawless coloratura, and left the audience breathless. Her first aria, "O nube!" made the loggione go insane. Let's face it...the last two gallerie were there just for Devia, and they made it clear they were there to support her.

BREAK TIME! As Fogliani made his way back to the podium after the first and only intermission, he was booed by the loggioni, which echoed throughout the auditorium over the applause. They shot hate lazers from their glowing, cat-like eyes all over his back! The booing seemed to have shaken the orchestra into suitable shape, and Act II was a bit more put together than Act I, with gentler control over the orchestra. Act II also showed a modicum of OMG IS THAT A WOMAN'S FLESH I SEE?!! Elisabetta came out with a stellar "Alla tua voce", although dressed in a tapestry. I’m not kidding. She had a giant orange tapestry wrapped around her body in the form of a dress, with a toned-down the white face. Also, the tapestry dress showed omg her NECK!! I think I have the vapors. Again we had the scaffolding and cavalieri holding torches. oh noes. Roberto had left his cape backstage, and was dressed in tight black leather. This time, Meli’s "Deh! per pietà sospendi" was gorgeous, and he had gotten his groove back. He was probably scared str8 after the loggioni booing, and didn't want to get tomatoes thrown at him.

Devia then appeared again in her boring giant dark grey frock, and fondled her egregious ruby-encrusted cross that hung around her neck… à la Madonna '80s. It's official. Pizzi is so senile that his popular culture references ended in the '80s. The costumes betrayed him! Even during the Confrontation scene, one of the queens was in a boxy white jacket, rawking a total '80s silhouette. Ewwww. Live in the now! Unfortunately, the orchestra fell out a few times, especially during the Confession scene between Maria and Talbot, and during "Tolta alla Scozia", the orchestra got way too loud again.

Devia’s “Quando di luce rosea" was outstanding, and was met with tons of brava from the audience. After her duet with Talbot, the stage was flooded with light, and out came the family of Maria for one of the most chilling and wrenching "Vedeste? Vedemmo," I’ve ever heard. The women were in black gowns, covered to the gills with black transparent veils over their heads, and the men were dressed like Puritans (finally...men sans leather). The executioner, however, was in the de rigeur tight leather outfit, this time topped with a shaved head. Aside from the executioner, the scene was too beautiful. Devia came out for "Io vi rivedo alfin" in a Heinz ketchup-colored red dress, a nice change from her gray capes. When she comforted her family, I was almost in tears. "Tolta al dolore, tolta agli affanni" made me sob like a little girl who just got trampled in the annual Barney's Madison Avenue summer sale.

Then we had "Roberto! Ascolta!", addio&addio&addio, Devia layed her head down, and it was all ovah.

The audience went wild for the curtain call, and Devia and Antonacci came out alone, with Devia giving her competing queen a huge hug, and then brave poured down. The curtain then rose on the chorus, who took their well-deserved bows, with the sweet Bruno Casoni as their chorus master.

As Pier Luigi Pizzi -- who gave us such craptacular sets, derivative lighting, and a touch-of-misogyny costumes for the ladies -- received loads of booing from not only the loggione, but from lots of $$money (and normally well-behaved) orchestra patrons. Booing all around! More boos than cheers! Then as conductor Fogliani stepped-out in his ill-fitting frac, more boos erupted! Just when it was getting out of hand, the curtain thankfully fell, and OC witnessed one of the shortest opening night curtain calls yet.

I want my $$$ back, tia. You can mail my check to Opera Chic, 420 Fartcrack Ave. Apt #69, Balls Falls, F.U. 50505 Republic of Poopistan. Unless you're a Devia/Antonacci fan, have a thing for scaffolding, or a black leather fetish, I'd wait this one out.

 

(Scala last night before the show. Click for bigger.)

Maria Stuarda, La Prima: At La Scala, New Production By Pier Luigi Pizzi Gets Booed, Almost As Much As Rookie Conductor; Devia Saves The Night

Much more to come later, OC is just back home from a long day of Milano Moda Uomo fashion shows + Maria Stuarda at la Scala. In short, except for Devia, it pretty much suXed.

A few impressions:

Mariella Devia, always in top form, always flawless, saved the night; a lukewarm minimalist production by Pier Luigi Pizzi got booed, rookie 30-year-old Antonino Fogliani mostly drowned the singers and couldn't really seem to tame the unruly orchestra (the orchestra, we hear, generally can't stand him, so maybe they didn't help him out much anyway). Anna Caterina Antonacci, usually stunning but very badly dressed and painted in inexplicable whiteface, unfortunately didn't impress much, esp. having to try and fight back the orchestra that constantly overpowered her.

The chorus, as always, ruled. Maestro Bruno Casoni's crew is like that, you just can't mess with them.

ABC ya.

La Dame aux Camélias @ La Scala Revisited

While Opera Chic was laying low last month, she took in a documentary on the making of the La Scala ballet production of John Neumeier’s La Dame aux Camélias from April, 2007. OC was lucky to be in the audience last Spring for one of the performances, documented here and here.

The documentary interviewed both stars Roberto Bolle and Alessandra Ferri, spoke with choreographyer John Neumeier, and showed clips from rehearsals. Below you can catch some plasmariffic screenshots of Alessandra Ferri’s Marguerite and Roberto Bolle’s Armand Duval.

 

Opera Chic EXCLUSIVE Please Credit operachic.typepad.com Terry Gilliam Withdrew From Scala Engagement Due To Schedule Conflict. Andrea Chenier Still Directorless, May Be Scrapped From Scala Program

Take the drama llama back to the stalls, says writer/director/genius Terry Gilliam's London-based agent, Mel Kenyon, one of the directors at Casarotto Ramsay and Associates, Ltd.

Opera Chic still gets queries regarding the unfortunate cancellation of Mr. Gilliam's La Scala collaboration to direct a new staging of Andrea Chenier at La Scala in June 2008. OC broke the news of the contractual dissolve here, and we've been crying over our cups of Fortnum & Mason finest Japanese sencha ever since.

According to la splendida Signora Mel Kenyon, who represents geniuses for a living, since she's also Mark Ravenhill's agent, and she was the agent of the late great Sarah Kane,

"Mr Gilliam had to withdraw due to the fact his film started shooting much later than anticipated and therefore he simply was not going to be available for the Milan dates."

He's currently directing The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, a fantasy-adventure film staring Tom Waits & Heath Ledger, with a release date in 2009 (krazy Gilliamesque photo above...and a photo of the man/myth/legend below). The La Scala slot for Andrea Chenier this 2007-08 season has been riddled with problems, with new rumors surfacing recently that the entire production will be shelved in favor of Madama Butterfly. 

Whateve.r ... as long as i have my F&M Japanese sencha we can wait to see what happens next.