For years, Diana Damrau has dazzled Met audiences in virtually everything she has performed. She had a historic run performing Pamina and the Queen of the Night in Mozart's "Die Zauberflöte" and wowed audiences at her debut as Zerbinetta in Richard Strauss' "Ariadne auf Naxos." In recent years, the German soprano has debuted resonant interpretations of "Lucia Di Lammermoor" and "Le Comte Ory" that have solidified her status as one of the top sopranos on the Met roster. This season she has risen to a newer challenge and what seems to be a major turning point in her career. On Monday March 18, Damrau showcased a tremendously successful portrayal of the iconic courtesan Violetta Valery in Verdi's "La Traviata."
Violetta has been a major role of numerous historic sopranos and has been defined by many as "The Soprano Role" that every singer aspires to. It isn't difficult to see why. The heroine struggles through a life of depravity to find true love. However, a combination of health and societal restrictions and morals ultimately return her to an empty and lonely life for her remaining days. All the while, Verdi imbues the role with glorious melodies and heart wrenching drama that many have claimed to be his most personal work. Given this context, any major soprano taking on this touchstone character not only enjoys the glory of performing the fulfilling role, but also gets a massive spotlight cast on her by the opera-going public and media.
As Damrau entered the stage during the opening prelude, she was weary and exhausted; she could barely stand straight. She walked across the stage toward Dr. Grenville (who also represents death and fate in this production) as if pleading for him to take her away from this madness. She even attempted to rest her head on his shoulder and fall asleep but he got up and walked away from her. The crowd of men entered and forced her to put her shoes back on and give them a show. She acquiesced and struck a number of poses while being moved about on a couch in mid-air, but there was scornfulness in her expression. As she sang the "Libiamo" with Alfredo (tenor Salvatore Cordella), her voice had a sarcastic bite to it, almost as if she was ridiculing Alfredo's celebration of love. As the men ran out, she grabbed a bottle of wine and poured a glass. She angrily showed it to Grenville as if to protest his decision to continue imposing this awful life on her; it was almost as if she was ready to destroy herself despite his wishes. During the ensuing love duet, she was equally aggressive in the usually mocking retort to Alfredo's declaration of love; the high A's and 64th note figures were accented with power and potency and the gesture seemed like an attempt to overpower and even scare away the calm Alfredo. However, as the duet progressed her voice grew quieter and the dynamic matched that of Cordella as if Violetta had given in. As she gave him the flower, she toyed with him and eventually forced him out the door. Once the crowd of men deserted her, Damrau sat beside the massive clock on stage left and meditated for a few seconds before launching into the famous "È strano" scene. She started the scene softly and eventually built to what amounted to a desperate plea on the words "Per l'aride follie del viver mio." She lay on the red coach as she sang the "Ah, fors'è lui" and sang the opening phrases very quietly, forcing the viewer into an extremely intimate moment for Violetta. When she arrived at the phrase "Destandomi all'amor," she gave the E natural a breathtaking crescendo that followed into a passionate account of the "Di quel'amor ch'è palpito" that followed. After the introspective aria, Damrau jumped up for the ensuing "Follie!" She grabbed the bottle once again, drank, and then chucked the glass at the wall as she stared down Grenville (now in the rafters looking down on the stage). She sang the first reprise of the "Sempre Libera" confidently with tremendous sound as she jumped around the red couch. However, when Alfredo entered the room for the second reprise of the theme, she sang it softly, her will diminishing in the presence of her beloved. She would occasionally reassert the strength of sound during the runs like last ditch efforts to avoid him, but it was clear from Damrau's body language that she was ready to give in to Alfredo. The final high E flat was delivered as a cathartic release and acceptance of his love.
The frustration that dominated Violetta throughout Act 1 was absent during the opening moments of Act 2. She ran about with adolescent abandon during Alfredo's "Lunge de lei" as they engaged in a game of hide and seek. The happiness subsided quickly the moment Germont (Placido Domingo) entered the stage. Their extended duet together was easily the highlight of the evening and during the course of the scene Damrau's Violetta would slowly wilt. She fired back at him in their initial exchange and held nothing back during the pleading "Non sapete quale affetto," but her voice took on a softer, smoother complexion as the duet wore on. As she sang the gorgeous "Dite alla giovine" she took off the flowery drape covering the clock and sang the mournful melody softly, resignation emanating from every phrase. Near the end of the duet, the production asks Violetta to run about and rip the cloths off the couches littered throughout the stage. While Damrau grabbed the cloth on stage right, she slipped and fell, but she didn't miss a beat. Moments later she was running about the stage and pulling the covers over the remainder of the couches. She wound up at the clock and seemed to fall over and hit herself against it; an audible clang rang out. But again, she did not lose her focus and continued right into the ensuing "Morrò! La mia memoria." At this point, Violetta's early frustration returned and she added a visceral accent to the word "Morrò" (I will die); she added an equally emphatic accent during the opening phrase of "Morir sì giovine" that emphasized Violetta's newfound desire to live. As she wrote the letter to Alfredo, she wept painfully and as she sang the climactic "Amami, Alfredo" to her lover, her voice flourished through the orchestra with passionate abandon on the high B flat.
In the ensuing scene, Damrau brought a sense of helplessness to the character for the first time in the evening. Her expressions seemed to indicate that she did not know how to deal with her private emotions in public, creating a tremendous tension throughout the scene. After being humiliated, she lay dormant during the opening phrases of the great pezzo concertato. When it came time for her to sing "Alfredo, Alfredo di questo core" she was calm and produced a delicate legato that hinted at Violetta's acceptance and forgiveness all the same; it was a transcendent moment that represented a great deal of maturity and understanding to her lover's pain.
Despite the depth and power of his first two acts, Damrau's third act seemed to be on a completely different level altogether and elevated the already sensational performance. As she read the letter, desperation crept into her delivery and she almost broke down as she delivered the fateful "È Tardi." During the ensuing lines "Attendo, attendo, nè giungon mai!" (I wait and wait but they never come!) she almost sounded as if she was about to break down and cry. Frailty permeated the famous aria "Addio del passato." Damrau started the aria quietly, but slowly built up her voice throughout until it climaxed into a passionate cry on the A natural on the words "O Dio!" As she walked about the stage during this first part of the aria, she looked as if she could barely hold herself up to walk. During the reprise, she stood on the clock and sang softer than before, especially during the "Non Lagrima o fiore avrá" section. While she projected a passionate crescendo during the first B sharp fermata leading into the "Della Traviata," she let her voice fade out on the repeat of the phrase. Her second "O Dio!" was even more emphatic and the final A natural of the aria on the word "Fini" was given a heart wrenching crescendo. Damrau's performance was mesmerizing from start to finish with all the aforementioned nuances creating a fully fleshed arc of a frustrated woman learning to appreciate life and then coming to terms with losing it.
Legendary tenor-turned-baritone Placido Domingo gave a fabulous account as Germont. As he walked on stage, he was greeted with thundering applause from the audience. He immediately ran at Damrau and violently accused her of leading his son astray. As the scene wore on, his Germont seemed compassionate toward her, but still maintained his distance. When she asked him to hug her like a daughter, he looked uncomfortable and was unable to respond to her sign of affection. This small gesture would get its payoff in the third act when he wholeheartedly embraced Damrau's Violetta in her final moments. He sang the famous "Di Provenza il mar, il suol" with brilliant tone. During the first reprise of the melody, his voice remained reserved and gentle. However during the repeat of the theme, there was greater intensity in the singing, almost as if he were imploring his son to not reject him. It seemed as if Germont were suffering from the realization that he may have lost his son forever and that he no longer has any influence over him. Moments later, this frustration mounted to the point where Domingo slapped Cordella, eliciting an audible gasp from numerous audience members. Domingo got off to a running start in the ensuing cabaletta, but imbued it with yearning. His rendition of the "Disprezzo degno" that initiates the concertato was greatly articulated and authoritative. Vocally, Domingo seemed well suited for the role and tossed off the upper notes with no difficulty or strain.
Tenor Salvatore Cordella was a last minute replacement for the ailing Saimir Pirgu. He looked uncomfortable throughout the performance and his voice had a nervous tremble in the upper range, especially during the opening act's "Libiamo" and "Un Dì felice." His best singing came when he sang the opening lines of "Parigi, o cara, noi lasceremo" pianissimo.
Taking Verdi at faster tempi seems like a trend for more conductors of this generation and Maestro Yannick Nezet-Seguin was no exception. He raced through the card scene in the second act, emphasizing the precarious dramatic situation. His tempo for the Act 3 prelude also seemed quicker than most other interpretations, but he still managed to create a surreal and even glacial ambiance with fragile colors from the violins. During Germont's final entrance moments before Violetta's tragedy, he emphasized the rhythmic figure featuring two 32nds slurred with a dotted eighth note in the strings; it added violence and foreboding to the scene.
Willy Decker's production has been hailed by critics since its premiere at The Salzburg Festival in 2005. The production presents a tremendous analysis of Laura Mulvey's "Male Gaze" theory of cinema. Her thesis purports that cinematic portrayals of women are made exclusively for the satisfaction and pleasure of a predominantly male audience. Decker extends this concept into the realm of theater and the world of "Traviata." With the exception of the elderly maid Annina, Violetta is the only female on stage throughout the work. As aforementioned, she seems to desire death at the start of the performance, but fate (personified by a man) wants her to go on living. The crowd of men runs on stage (even the females are dressed up as men) and they point at her shoes as an indication that she has to put them on. They carry her about on the sofa as if she was queen of their world, but the reality is that she exists for their pleasure. She might think that she is the superstar since she is the one being carried about, but the reality is that she is in their control and they could choose to literally and figuratively drop her at any moment (they eventually will). During the second act, she is no longer the captive of the male dominated society, but Decker's production presents another interesting quandary. Littered throughout the stage are five sofas, each covered in cloths depicting flowers. The red dress that Violetta wore throughout the first act is hanging on the wall and the clock that emphasizes her withering life is also covered by the flower cloths. Violetta and Alfredo's robes depict the same imagery, emphasizing the façade. Later on in the act, Violetta will tear off the cloths from the couches and the clock and throw away her robe. She can attempt to dress up and beautify her reality, but she can never escape from it.
At the beginning of the Act 2 party scene, Decker subverts Mulvey's theory in interesting fashion. The party is a bit ambiguous and seems to take place in Alfredo's mind; almost as if he were imaging the murmurings of society about his shameful circumstance. It plays out like a nightmare with a man donning the red dress and a pack of chorus members trampling Alfredo with the image of a bull. Instead of a woman, Alfredo becomes the object of the society's entertainment and the cross dressing of the women in the chorus and the man in the red dress seems to hint at the changing gender and sexual roles in the modern world. At one point the crowd even forces the mask over Alfredo to emphasize his being a cuckold (the idea of "having horns" is equivalent to cuckold in many cultures). When Violetta runs into her doppelganger during that scene, he laughs at her violently hinting at the end of her reign. That end comes in the final act when Decker completes the cycle by having a new girl captured by crowd of men, forced into the red dress and then pinned onto the clock. Violetta looks on as a new girl takes her place and she becomes abandoned by the society she had attempted to leave at the start of the work.
The character of Fate/Dr. Grenvil presents an interesting paradox. He is a representative of her eventual demise, but he is also supposed to heal her. Most interesting of all is the fact that he forces her to continue her sorrowful existence early in the work despite her supplication to die, but when she is thrown out by society, he decides that it is time to take her; he turns his back on her as she pleads to let her live a new life with her beloved Alfredo. As aforementioned, this character is represented by a male and it seems that as the "stage manager" of the proceedings he exists to serve the desires of male-dominated society and shows little support for the needs of the female protagonist in the work. This further emphasizes Mulvey's idea that women are perpetually subjected to a violent and endless cycle of being objects for male entertainment.
A few days ago, this writer stated that "Otello" was the ideal birthday present for Verdi's 200th anniversary celebration. The addition of "Traviata" to that moniker makes for an unstoppable one-two punch at the Metropolitan Opera that makes March a wondrous commemoration of one of the greatest composers of the opera world. Damrau's "Traviata" is mesmerizing to experience, but it will only improve as she garners more experience in the role; this fact alone makes this theatrical experience a winning ticket.