Cavalleria rusticana, Pietro Mascagni’s 1890 competition-winner, is – according to long-established convention – paired with Ruggero Leoncavalo’s Pagliacci, which was composed in 1892. It has been linked occasionally to Sergei Rachmaninov’s Aleko, which also dates from 1892, but surely not as in this Opera North double bill, in which the verismo background is more thoroughly explored.
When I last saw this Cav in the Leeds Grand Theatre in 2017, it was presented in contrast with a frothy production of Gilbert and Sullivan's Trial by Jury. It was laughter after tragedy. On this occasion, director Karolina Sofulak delves into the similarities and differences of the two plots, with their love triangles and themes of passionate love, betrayal and murder, and transposes them into a more modern world. This revived Cav is set not in poverty-stricken 19th-century Sicily, but in austere 1970s communist Poland in which most citizens mistrust the Soviet-installed government and where the Catholic Church holds sway over religious life. Aleko, based on Alexander Pushkin’s The Gypsies, is now set in a self-regulating pseudo-anarchist commune based on Christiania, part of Copenhagen.
Charles Edwards’ striking, harshly-lit set for Cav lacks all hint of Mediterranean colour, and just one orange, if ever displayed on the near-empty shelves of Sklep Lucyna, the utilitarian shop-counter behind which Turiddu’s mother Lucia (Anne-Marie Owens) serves, would completely transform everything. But the starkness is always there. I was just a little worried about the religious imagery in the production, which is minimal: the huge, dominating cross at the centre seems too general-purpose and the self-crossing by many of the characters seemed half-hearted. It matters little because there were effective tableaux, as when the reckless, arrogant Turiddu (his name means “saviour”) opened his white shirt, climbed up some metal steps and posed against the cross, like the crucified Christ, with the dishonoured Santuzza grieving at his feet, bringing to mind a religious painting.
Andrés Presno (Turiddu) was superb, his clear, incisive tenor conveying passionate love perfectly, especially in the duet with Giselle Allen's Santuzza, whose acting skills were much in evidence, her voice imbued with warmth. Mezzo Helen Évora played Lola, Turiddu's ex, now married to Alfio, with plenty of emotion in her voice as her passion was reignited. Bass-baritone Robert Hayward was terrific both as Alfio and Aleko, because Sofulak treats him as a major link, and not just as the one who pulls the trigger towards the end of both operas. His powerful voice with its slight vibrato and his flexible acting fitted both characters well, but in Cavallaria he was at his most moving when he was acting as an extremely aggrieved husband, first when smashing furniture, then voicelessly during the exquisite Intermezzo, beautifully rendered by the orchestra of Opera North conducted by Antony Hermus.
The Chorus of Opera North was another strong link, with a terrific Easter Hymn and a frequent stage presence in the shorter Aleko, in which the contrasting set emanated a sort of flower power, full of colour, the massed characters giving the impression that they had just strolled in from a barbecue, or a beach. The atmosphere was not conservative and religious but unromantically laid back, with Rachmaninov’s harmonies seemingly ominous. Welsh soprano Elin Pritchard was a charmingly amiable Zemfira, lover of the older Aleko, her voice agile, her acting superb.
Presno was her unnamed lover, Anne-Marie Owens an unnamed woman, and bass Matthew Stiff was almost amusing as Zemfira’s father, who displayed the kind of moral authority which would not be particularly common in Sicily or Poland. He hit the bottle shortly before Aleko lets loose with his pistol to murder Zemfira and her lover, with the result that he sleeps through it, simply instructing the murderer to clear off and never return when Aleko's crime becomes known. Robert Hayward followed both score and libretto most convincingly in turning his character into a man not only agonised by betrayal but one who ponders deeply on the twists and turns of fate, his cavatina resoundingly effective. Aleko the opera, however, still comes across as a conservatoire piece, having little dramatic development. Here, however, Sofulak turns it into an excellent vehicle not only for Hayward, but for the chorus too.
