At the behest of René Jacobs, the Berlin Staatsoper Unter den Linden mounted a fully staged production of Handel’s oratorio Belshazzar (seen June 1). Jacobs, a frequent guest at the Staatsoper, was most recently here to conduct the Telemann rarity, Der Geduldige Socrates, a finely nuanced production. As in that Socrates, Jacobs conducted the Akademie für Alte Musik Berlin, the early-music ensemble that plays on period instruments, as well as the RIAS Kammerchor, a superlative vocal ensemble whose repertoire includes both ancient and contemporary works.

Belshazzar, which dates from 1745, represents the composer’s turn away from opera and his dissatisfaction with the rigidity of Italian practices. The musical heart and soul of Belshazzar is its expansive choral writing, which provides the work with fierce dramatic momentum. Handel’s favoring of the chorus over the soloists is a deliberate reaction against the star system of his day, further seen in the comparative modesty of his solo writing: Belshazzar contains only two da capo arias and few opportunities for singers to dazzle the audience with their virtuosity. The work’s subtlety is furthered by many accompanied recitatives, which often give the oratorio a more modern, through-composed feel. All these elements suggest that Handel strove to achieve balance between the drama and music. Jacobs ha an excellent command of the theatricality inherent in the music. Too bad this intuitive grasp was not shared by director Christof Nel, whose static and minimal staging was distracting and unfocused.

The single set consisted of large blocks stacked together like a staircase, with pegs jutting out from the walls for the singers and dancers to climb, but for the most part they remained under-utilized. Very little of the actual action — which concerns itself with the sacrilegious Babylonian king Belshazzar and his violent overthrow by Cyrus the Great — was suggested: blocking was unimaginative, and sets and costumes were sparse. Most of the drama was confined to the orchestra pit. Nel’s staging, inert, self-conscious and stifling — the Staatsoper is pretty airless during the summer — proved an inhospitable showcase for the production’s impressive roster of talent.

The RIAS Kammerchor was justly applauded for its collective work, although Nel seemed at a loss as to how they should best be deployed. At various points in the opera, the chorus is meant to represent a group of Persians, Babylonians, Jews and even a prototype of a Greek chorus. This issue was only half addressed. The chorus wore skullcaps when they sang as Jews; a profusion of vines signaled their switch to becoming Babylonians.

The biggest applause of the evening went deservedly to Bejun Mehta, the American countertenor who sang the role of Cyrus the Great, Belshazzar’s assassin and liberator of the Jewish captives. It is a role that demands stamina and control, rather than brief bravura displays of vocal ability. Mehta sounded fresh as spring and projected his agile voice with confidence and ease. Other standouts from the mostly Anglo-American cast included the Nitocris of soprano Rosemary Joshua and mezzo Kristina Hammarström as the prophet Daniel. Nitocris — mother of Belshazzar — is by far the work’s most sympathetic character. Joshua’s controlled vibrato and careful enunciation lent her performance healthy doses of nobility and piety. Hammarström’s darker shadings and sharply hewn phrasings were effective, even if her Daniel registered as a bit too severe.

In the title role, tenor Kenneth Tarver was something of a disappointment. He looked the part in a tall golden crown, wielding an ax and staring about him all wild-eyed, but for much of the evening he sounded underpowered, especially in comparison to the other soloists and the chamber choir.

Jacobs, a long-time advocate of underrepresented works in need of rediscovery, has worked closely with the Staatsoper for more than a decade in planning their series Barocktage (Baroque Days). There were reports that he spent all six weeks of rehearsal time with the ensemble. The musicians, playing on period instruments, were exceptionally disciplined and attentive to the nuances of the score.

A. J. GOLDMANN

Big changes are underway at the Berlin Staatsoper Unter den Linden. In May, the house’s general manager Peter Mussbach was abruptly dismissed. More dramatically, the Staatsoper announced that it would take up residence in the Schillertheater — western Berlin’s historic repertory theater — during a three-and-a-half-year-long renovation, slated to start in 2012.

The Staatsoper ended a dramatic season on a high note on June 30, with the fourth and final performance of David Alden’s elegant new production of Rossini’s Il Turco in Italia, conducted by Constantinos Carydis.

Christine Schäfer was the evening’s star attraction. Her Fiorilla — the German soprano’s first Rossini role — was proud, rash and also vulnerable, much like Berg’s Lulu, a role for which she is prized. Schäfer lent the role an unexpected hefty Germanic flavor, though one that did not clash with Rossini’s trademarks, including some brilliant coloratura runs which she ornamented with bold flourishes.

She appeared onstage in a tight-fitting pink dress, sporting a Gucci bag, and sang her first aria with lush, luxuriant tones. For the rest of the evening, she provided sharp, incisive singing, sounding bouncy, angular and smooth as needed, with an unexpected but appropriately vulnerable air during her love duet with her faithful husband, as the orchestra responded with hushed strings and compassionate horns. In Fiorilla’s touching final aria, biding farewell to Selim, Schäfer’s voice seemed too tightly coiled as she strained for her high note, but here, as elsewhere, she showed great sensitivity to text.

This production bartered in types. The poet Prosdocimo — the primum mobile of the meta-libretto — was played by Alfredo Daza as a hard-drinking writer in the Hemingway mold. By turns gruff and charming, his warm baritone sustained him beautifully for most of the evening.

Franscesco Facini filled in for an ailing Alexander Vinogradov as Selim, the Turk of the opera’s title. In his red snakeskin pants, patchwork shirt and diamond-studded belt buckle, Facini looked like a Wild and Crazy Guy. He sang an exquisite opening duet with Schäfer, matching her energy and flexibility. He sounded slightly underweight in the ensembles, during which he took a back seat and let his better-rehearsed cast members take over.

Renato Girolami made the pathetic, buffoonish Don Geronio both cantankerous and lovable: dressed in a natty pinstripe suit, he looked very much like a character out of an early Fellini film. The muscular, quick-witted jealousy duet between Geronio and Selim — here performed while martinis flew across a bar — was one of the evening’s high points. Another was Geronio’s subsequent mouthful of an aria, delivered with breathtaking speed, accuracy and stamina.

American tenor Lawrence Brownlee brought some swaggeringly assured high Cs to his riveting performance as Narciso, Fiorilla’s spurned lover. Although Brownlee was the cast’s sole non-European, he brought an intensely Italianate quality to the show-stopping role, which he sang sporting a bathrobe and cowboy boots.

The arresting mezzo Katharina Kammerloher gave a vibrato-heavy, forceful performance as the Gypsy Zaida. Her henchman Albazar was played by a stuttering and nervous Florian Hoffmann, who spent much of the evening silently clutching a typewriter.

Alden’s staging struck a fine balance between elegance and irony. The Möbius strip patterns on the golden wallpaper (which hid a full bar in one corner) looked something like a club in Soho, while the humorous video projections (of hard-drinking writer, dancing lipsticks, a helicopter decorated like a Turkish flag, and swaying palm trees) enhanced the opera’s irreverence and levity. In the opening scene, giant window shutters opened and closed, casting the sort of shadows associated with film noir. The Broadway-esque décor was a welcome compliment to the boulevard comedy of the recitatives, although the production suffered from some unwelcome excesses, including sombrero-sporting musicians, Playboy bunnies and a couple of fawning gigolos.

Meastro Constantinos Carydis led a scaled-down Staatskapelle in a finely balanced reading that could have used a bit more panache in spots. In the overture, strings and percussion responded coyly to plaintive horns. In Act II, a piano replaced the harpsichord in the recitatives, perhaps in a nod to the nightclub setting. After the eponymous Turk set sail on a ship that seemed borrowed from a production of Anything Goes, Carydis hushed the orchestra and ended the boisterous finale with a whisper.

A. J. GOLDMANN

Il Barbiere di Siviglia
The Metropolitan Opera

The main reason to catch the Metropolitan Opera’s new production of Rossini’s beloved “Il Barbiere di Siviglia” can be boiled down to three words: Figaro, Figaro, Figaro. The electrifying Peter Mattei sings the titular barber in Barlett Sher’s (“The Light in the Piazza”) elegant if evanescent staging. The Swedish baritone brought heft, brilliant colorings and gravity to a light, breezy atmosphere of farce and folly. From the show-stopping entrance aria “Largo al factorum” to his more removed position in the final scene, Mattei was pitch-perfect and dramatically exciting. He cut a dashing figure as the clever barber and his charisma seemed to hold both his audience and costars spellbound. As he presided over the orchestrated chaos that his character sets into motion, Mattei’s presence was so magnetic that he seemed to dominate the show even while silently observing from upstage.

There are many other first raters surrounding Mattei, including the much-lauded Peruvian tenor Juan Diego Flórez as the amorous Count Almaviva. Diego Flórez’s crisp, flexible voice and good looks have made him a recent favorite at the Met and around the world.  The Met’s website has him billed as “the greatest Rossini tenor of out time.” To be sure, his supple, agile voice makes him an ideal choice for Rossini’s dizzying coloratura fireworks. However, his voice often lacks the requisite power for filling up a house like the Met. And while he can command emotional force at key moments, too often his technically flawless singing sounds breezy and bubbly. He made a strong first impression with his opening love serenade “Ecco ridente” but was upstaged by Mattei’s Figaro. His performance also often fell victim to exaggeration and overacting. Throughout the second act, Diego Flórez seemed to be holding back, saving it all for the final scene, where his ludicrously ornate “Cessa di piu resistere” was rewarded with a well-deserved (if over-long) ovation. I would just warn Diego Flórez against thinking he’s reached the top of his game. The tenor still has a lot to learn, if he ever wants to sing beyond light Rossini and Donizetti roles.  

As the love interest Rosina, Diana Damrau was a constant delight. She was very in control of her big and boisterous voice and sang with dynamic consistency and dramatic prowess. Her quicksilver “Una voce poco fa” was one of the evening’s high points, and she coupled magnificently (and suggestively) with Mattei in “Dunque io son.”

John Del Carlo was her guardian/captor, the ridiculous Dr. Bartolo. A booming bass, he turned out a sympathetic performance of this particularly challenging role. While he had the vocal strength to last the entire evening, he was wanting in flexibility and often had difficulty in his tongue-twisting rapid runs. Rounding out the impressive cast were the estimable Samuel Ramey and Wendy White as Don Basilio and Berta respectively. Ramey resembled Fu Manchu in his flowing robe and preposterously broad hat (imagine a wearable writing desk), while his gripping voice helped make his character less preposterous. White took a break from sneezing and blowing her nose for her poignant “Il vechiotto certa moglie,” which sounded suitable melancholy.      

The singers were hardly aided by the minimal yet chaotic production, which featured plenty of orange trees, a donkey to pull Figaro’s factotum, backless sets, and an anvil crushing a cart of Styrofoam pumpkins that contributed to the totally incoherent act one finale. More successful was the springy account of the tuneful bel canto score led by Maurizio Benini. Maestro Benini’s enthusiasm helps ensure that the catchy yet irritating songs will stay with you for days on end.