Opera
II Trittico (English National Opera, Coliseum)
Puccini: be patient
Michael Tanner
Hopes were high for this new produc- tion of what is routinely called Puccini's neglected Trittico, the first in a London opera house for more than 30 years. Rea- sons offered for its neglect are usually ones that reflect on the public: our dislike of having to reset our expectations twice in an evening; our unwillingness to admit that Puccini could write a brilliant comedy; our intolerance of what we unintelligently per- ceive as the sentimentality of Sister Angeli- ca; our insistence that Puccini provide us with luscious arias, while there are only two in the three operas, one of them a self-par- ody not always recognised as that.
More practical considerations are the need for three different casts, though the singer of Michele in The Cloak can double as Gianni Schicchi, and at a pinch one soprano could sing in all three operas. The ENO only double-cast in minor roles, which seems unnecessarily lavish, given that no one has a very taxing part to sing.
The evening got off to a grey start, though obviously The Cloak can only come first, which is a pity, since its weakness, unless it is unembarrassedly handled in the crudest verismo manner, is a downer whose effects can pervade the rest of the triptych. The heavily Debussyish opening prepares us for something rather more romantic than Puccini and the director, Patrick Mason, actually gave us. The set, a moder- ately impressionistic affair, with a plausible barge and lots of fog — appearing to be created not by dry ice, but by smoke, which became alarmingly pungent as the opera progressed — was as serviceable as all other features of the production and musi- cal performance, without ever evoking any- thing more than mild interest.
As Mike Ashman says in his admirable article in this month's Opera magazine, much more helpful than anything in the programme book, Puccini takes to extremes in each of the constituent parts his penchant for creating atmosphere at great length, comparatively speaking, and then giving us the dramatic punch in a few moments. In The Cloak, at least, this comes across as the musical equivalent of waffle. The mood of the piece, its ambience, are established all too concisely in about five minutes. About 40 minutes of predictable build-up follow, and then the denouement takes five. Odd that Puccini, whose sense of timing in his full-length operas is so impeccable, should be so flabby here. There simply isn't enough plot.
The jealous bargeman Michele, under- characterised like everyone else, was well acted and more surprisingly well sung by Philip Joll, whose voice improves each time he lowers his sights, from Wagner to Verdi and now this. Rosalind Plowright made a Giorgetta dowdy of appearance and in equivocal vocal state. I have got so used to expecting each role she sings to be her last that it came as a surprise that she could be so incisive, if not beautiful of voice. But I still have the impression, always, that she could have been a great singer and that at some determinate point — I don't know which — something went wrong. The con- ducting, by Shao-Chia Lu, from the Komis- che Oper in Berlin, was locally very effective, but he failed to give the work an adequate trajectory. He conducted in five- minute periods, and the orchestra played mainly very well for him; but things kept on going slack.
After this muted opening, Sister Angelica, a work with still more padding, began admirably and with a strong and heartening sense of place and charming religiosity one could hardly expect more from Pucci- ni. The moderately realistic setting worked well, the nuns were a fairly strong team, apart from the dreadful Abbess of Nuala Willis, so voiceless now that she shouldn't be allowed any role at all, however tiny or that of a 'character' — she's in Schicchi too. Sister Angelica was warmly but not sweetly sung by Anne Williams-King, able to show strength as well as desperation and reluctant devotion.
Once more, though, Puccini's self-indul- gence with setting the scene was all too apparent. The arrival of the Princess is interminably delayed, and was in any case something of an anti-climax, to those spoilt by Marilyn Home or Christa Ludwig. Eliz- abeth Vaughan scaled the part down, and since one could hear no more of her words than of anyone else's — say 15 per cent she didn't seem monstrous enough once we finally got her. The ending, the Virgin Mary with a cute little boy who caressed Angelica with a professional touch, was the only effective part, and not nearly as sac- charine as I had feared.
Fortunately the evening was decisively saved by Gianni Schicchi, by no means a performance beyond criticism, but overall a triumph of Puccinian wit and pace. The production, unobtrusive — I'm being tact- ful — throughout the three operas, revert- ed here to all-purpose ENO comic bustle. The comedy of the music is no less subtle than that of Falstaff, though it is more incessantly inventive. The comedy of the action is considerably more droll than in the Verdian model, but it can stand the kind of coarse treatment that it received, because the basic situation is so strong.
Schicchi himself, played with many a nod and wink by Andrew Shore, is a marvellous creation, the only truly characterised figure in all three operas. If only Puccini had spent more time doing that, instead of inserting those tiresome semi-comic cameos into his major 'serious' operas. The conducting here was considerably better, Puccini's marvellously original textures being realised with virtuosic nonchalance. Whatever the failings of the production, this was a performance of a comic opera with a real sense of joy, a sense very warm- ly shared by the audience by the time it ended. Patience had been sorely needed, but was graciously rewarded, and Puccini's overall concept was shown to be justified, even if its realisation has so many weak- nesses.
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