Metropolitan Opera 2018-19 Review: Otello

Gustavo Dudamel Reigns Supreme As Stuart Skelton Struggles & Overcomes Illness In Tale Of Two Halves

By David Salazar

There was a ton of drama in Verdi’s “Otello” on Monday, Dec. 17, 2018. But it wasn’t necessarily always the kind you might be expecting.

Tenor Stuart Skelton made his Metropolitan Opera role debut at the house after having to cancel the opening night performance due to illness. He remained ill, but that fact was not given to the audience until after the intermission, which unfairly maligned the tenor’s output during the first half.

Battling Illness

If you had no idea that Skelton was ill, you might have thought that the tenor was completely ill-suited for the role throughout the first two acts and wondered whether he might even make it to the interval. Which is unfortunate, because his performance, as a whole promised a rather fascinating musical rendition.

The tenor kicked things off extremely well with “Esultate,” his voice resonant and powerful as Otello proclaimed his victory. The tenor, who delivered a strong “Tristan und Isolde” to open the 2017-18 season, has a powerhouse sound and weight for this Mount Everest of roles and that challenging entrance was cause for excitement.

Things were just as good at the start of “Abbasso le spade,” the tenor’s potent instrument resonating forcefully into the house, emphasizing Otello’s authority.

But then things started to get tricky for the tenor during the duet, particularly with the higher tessitura. His ascension to the G flat on “l’ira immensa” at the start of the duet sounded pinched up top and from there it seemed like the tenor was struggling with rising above a high F natural. Fortunately, much of the vocal writing is marked piano or pianissimo and Skelton seized the opportunity to singing many of these passages with a fil di voce quality, particularly in the upper reaches during “E tu m’amavi per le mie sventure.” When he tried for higher notes in full voice, such as the high A flat on “Temo, temo che più non mi sarà,” his sound started to sound more and more brittle, so the final one on “Venere splende” was taken almost in full head voice. You could tell the tenor was struggling and his intermittent coughs suggested what was going on to the (to that point) unknowing audience, but the softer and gentler singing worked perfectly for the ethereal beauty of the duet.

But Act two was another matter altogether. This is arguably the most challenging bit of singing for any tenor, with Otello getting all the spotlight and having to navigate some arduous passages packed with high tessitura and beaming high notes. Skelton kicked off the Act in fine form vocally, his sound firm and strong. As he questioned Jago in the lead up to the imitation of “Che ascondo in cor, signore,” you could feel the voice transitioning from calm to more irritated, the build resolving in the forte “Pel cielo! Tu sei l’eco dei detti miei!” We felt Otello’s explosiveness and yet at the same time a sense of some control and elegance in his responses.

But then Skelton got to “amore e gelosia vadan disperse insieme,” with its climactic high B, and Skelton started to come undone. He attempted the note, but just couldn’t manage it. He did his best to turn it into an expressive shout, but from there on out, things got more and more challenging for him. He masked his vocal troubles with strong rapport onstage with soprano Sonya Yoncheva during the choral music and in one fine moment walked around a chorus on men showering his wife with praise, the jealousy clearly building.

Another aborted attempt at the high B flat at the close of “Ora ed per sempre addio” and subsequent struggles throughout “Si pel cielo” (he was visibly uncomfortable for large stretches of the final duet) made one feel that Skelton’s night might be over. At that point, it would have been the merciful thing to do for the tenor’s sake.

Rejuvenated

The message of Skelton’s illness was delivered right before the start of the third Act, but the audience was told that the tenor wished to continue.

Somehow, having the information out in the open seemed to liberate the tenor and he gave a truly potent performance through the final two acts of the opera. Suddenly, the high notes that were basically absent throughout the first half of the performance were back and in full force. Dramatically, the performance came to life, the audience now immersed in Skelton’s portrayal of the title character rather than what ailed him.

While empathy for the character overall proved challenging (more on that later), Skelton excelled at portraying Otello’s ruthless violence and bitterness. This was best exemplified in the Act three duet with Desdemona where he stared her down with anger, his voice nailing the explosive passages with bluntness and force, while the softer singing still had edge. His reprise of “Datemi anco l’eburnea mano” was sung with the gentlest tone he could muster, which made the build to the “quella vil cortigiana” all the more impactful.

“Dio mi potevi” was the moment where Skelton really shone, his coloring of words during the opening moments of the aria was arresting and emphasized the pain the character felt. “Vergogna” and “mensogna” were forcefully accentuated and you could feel the character seething with fury, almost ready to lash out. It was a great setup for the aria’s potent climax. The two high B flats on “quel raggio che mi fa vivo” and “O gioia” were delivered with confidence and power. Given how things transpired in the first half of the performance, it was impossible not to wonder how the tenor’s voice might hold up in these moments, but he pulled them off with little discernible difficulty, building more confidence in his portrayal.

His work in the concertato was quite strong, showing Otello come apart emotionally. In the final moments, Skelton decided not to simply faint but struggled through the epileptic attack, the curtain coming down on a man reaching out for help, powerless to regain control.

He was feral in the final act and his “Niun mi tema” was riveting in his ability to navigate the ever-shifting emotional dynamics of the scene from forceful singing at the start of the monologue to hushed fil di voce sound during “e tu! Come sei palida.” His calls of “Desdemona, Desdemona” came off as attempts to awaken her gently, adding to the tragic dimension of the moment and his ultimate inability to get that final “baccio” was a fine way to cap the entire opera and Skelton’s performance.

A Completer Package

Skelton was flanked by two solid performances from Sonya Yoncheva and Zeljko Lucic. The Bulgarian soprano delivered what was undeniably one of her finer performances on the Met Stage in recent years.

Her Desdemona never really rises above a victim (again, more on that later), but she does stand up to her husband at the apex of the third Act, leading to her public humiliation that launches the concertato. But what was most striking about Yoncheva’s portrayal was how in love she appeared with Skelton’s Otello, her glances full of admiration and tenderness. This intensity and passion that she showcased allow the audience to feel her fall as a lover that much more, particularly in the final Act where Yoncheva’s Desdemona seemed debilitated by the pain she was feeling, her movements slow and zapped of the energy she displayed in the opening two Acts.

Vocally, the soprano was in fine form throughout the evening, her sound resplendent. There were undeniably moments where ascensions into the upper range, particularly softer singing, were met with an opaque quality that resulted from a wide oscillation, but otherwise her singing displayed technical confidence and firmness. Her legato lines were perfectly suited to Verdi’s endless melodic writing for the character and the overall simplicity of her approach counteracted the more emphatic vocal options taken by the two male leads.

This emphasis on elegant line was noticeable throughout the opening duet and especially the Act two quartet, but the soprano rose to a different level with the concertato and the final Act’s double aria. In the former, she colored the opening phrases to express the pain of humiliation, but again, the emphasis was on a richer vocal quality that allowed her to build and soar as the music developed to its emotional climax.

Throughout Act four, Yoncheva’s singing expressed a subtle desperation of loss. Each reprise of “Salce” seemed to grow from the last one, the final enunciation longing for something that gets lost in the ensuing silence. Verdi’s score actually calls for the inverse phrasing with each subsequent “Salce” growing softer into nothingness, but Yoncheva’s choice here provided a strong dramatic counterpoint for the darker mood of the aria’s other vocal lines.

The “Ave Maria” was thus delivered with gentle sound and very little mannerisms or accents in the word coloring. It came off as a woman coming to terms with her situation and arriving at a peaceful acceptance of her fate on a deeper level.

That didn’t mean that she didn’t fight back when attacked brutality thereafter, and her attempts to survive made the moment more palpable. On the whole, this was Yoncheva at her best.

Too Fine A Villain

Lucic was also in solid form throughout the evening as the villainous Jago. He approached the vocal reading of the part with grace and elegance instead of attempting to darker or affect his voice in anyway that might make the character “uglier” for the listener. It’s a solid choice and Lucic was able to pull off a strong vocal portrayal throughout.

There was a refined vocal line throughout his conversations with Otello in Act two, emphasizing the diverging sense of control between the two. Lucic’s clarity of phrasing contrasted greatly with Skelton’s more frayed approach (which no doubt was aided by the difficulties already mentioned).

The second aria, “Era la notte,” was taken at a leisurely tempo, with Lucic taking his time with each phrase, especially those in which he intoned Cassio’s voice with fine head voice. It came off as him stretching every phrase for what it was worth, sticking the dagger ever slowly into Otello’s tormented soul. We clearly felt who was in charge. When he later intones “Il fazzoletto” at the start of the third Act, it is a fine callback to his approach in “Era la notte.” There was a similar approach in the Act three trio as well.

But it wasn’t a perfect rendition and what was truly missing at the core of Lucic’s performance was that moment where we can really empathize with Otello because we see Jago as a perverse force, especially in this production. Verdi and Boito’s choice was to make this happen in the famed Credo and the placement at the top of the second act only emphasizes this as the pivotal moment from a dramatic standpoint. This is the moment where Jago takes off his mask and reveals his hatred for humanity; the essence of his evil. This is the moment where we should feel his rotten core. Yet, Lucic’s emphasis on vocal elegance remained. There were undeniably some strong moments that captured your attention. For example, his fermata’s on “E poi?” were truly effective, the latter one’s greater length adding to the tension of the moment and pulling the listener deeper into his net. But in the context of his overall performance, there was a “sameness” to the vocal approach. It was perfect with regards to vocal consistency, but it didn’t allow the audience to feel Jago as a threat or emphasize his role as antagonist. Without Jago being a character that we fully hate, our empathy with Otello (and especially in this production) becomes more difficult.

The Master Of the Evening

But the truth be told, the star of the night from a musical-dramatic standpoint was maestro Gustavo Dudamel.

From the opening chord, it was clear that this would be a rendition full of energy and drive and the Venezuelan maestro never disappointed. The opening storm was taken at a rapid tempo that gave a sense of imbalance, even if Dudamel kept everything nice and taut. There was a thrill and tension that this rapid tempo created because it didn’t feel like the safe option; it felt instinctual even if we know that it was intensively planned. Dudamel made an interesting ritentuto at “Dio, fulgo della buffera,” though it underlined the “Tutta Forza” marking in the score.

Within this context, dynamic shifts throughout the score felt like new when they came around, with subtle gestures in some of the instruments suddenly having a freshness. Dramatic pauses at crucial moments were felt as well, as exemplified in Otello’s “Abbasso le spade” or the Willow song in Act four, with lingering tension sustained. Speaking of “Abbasso le spade,” there was a noticeable crescendo at the climax of the fight that leads into Otello’s entrance that added excitement to battle and the release one feels when the tenor cuts through with his second entrance.

The solo cello at the start of the love duet caressed phrases with glorious portamenti often passed over lightly as to not be noticeable. The emphasis on the winds throughout the duet gave the entire duet a gentler quality. Contrast that with his emphatic “Credo,” which was preceded with an agitated crescendo in the strings that gave a sense of arrival for the opening chords. But when the maestro gave his downbeat for those orchestral blasts, he went one level further with regards to dynamics, creating a genuine sense of surprise and catharsis. Inversely, the arias ending grew softer and softer, each reprisal of the motif longer and longer to create greater tension so that the sudden orchestra uproar would create a strong release for the listener.

This sense of contrast was also amply displayed in the shift from the gentle violins at the close of “Ave Maria” and the more aggressive phrases of the basses when Otello enters. With each passing phrase, the lower strings grew more agitated, leading to the punctuating chord which also came as a jolting surprise in its intensity and power. Perhaps the contrast between the two orchestral colors would have been even more potent had Dudamel opted for performing straight through instead of stopping for applause.

And while Dudamel was firmly in control, you also felt he was actively breathing with singers, finely attuned to their needs in any particular moment. When his Allegro brillante for “Questa è una ragna doveil” seemed to get way ahead of Lucic, he adjusted quickly to accommodate the baritone.

Listening to Dudamel’s reading of the score was like listening to the opera for the first time and discovering the music anew.

Worth mentioning was Chad Shelton, whose strong and resonant tenor made him standout as Rodrigo; his fine sound made it seem that perhaps he might be effective in a bigger role with greater responsibility. Jennifer Johnson Cano also made Emilia appear as a resilient and caring woman, her cries of “Otello ucidi Desdemona” vibrant and powerful as opposed to screechier approaches often seen in other interpretations.

Then there was the production.

Some Strong Ideas, But Too Many Missteps

Bartlett Sher’s production, which opened the Met’s 2015-16 season, remains a frustrating experience. On one hand, the director has a number of interesting ideas littered throughout the production. One of Sher’s strongest ideas is having Jago slap Emilia during the quartet, providing a foreshadowing to what will happen with the relationship taking place later on in the opera. The audible impact on the audience undeniably emphasizes its effectiveness.

But many times, these strong ideas are followed with several other ones that detract from the experience. For example, his way of staging the Act one drinking song “Inaffia l’ugola” as a contest is a strong idea for a number of reasons. On an immediate level, this staging keeps the action alive and tells a credible story of how Cassio got drunk. But on a deeper level, it shows us Cassio as a cocky captain whose pride and self-confidence don’t allow him to see the bigger picture. He’s a far cry from the perceptive Jago, who, like Cassio is close to Otello, but seems to understand the protagonist’s nature far better. That’s why Jago can manipulate Cassio into talking to Desdemona while Cassio doesn’t ever conceive of the consequences or how Otello might perceive them.

Unfortunately, this great idea and its execution is framed in the context of noisy tables being moved in and out of the set, to the detriment of the music. The other major choral number “Fuoco di gioia” is essentially turned into “Background music” for the scene-setting of the noisy tables as the chorus does little to nothing in service of the story.

The Glass Cubes

Then there’s the “glass” cubes or blocks that dominate the set. Sher noted when the production released that he had been inspired by a quote of Boito’s regarding trapping Otello in a glass cage. He literalized the concept and created one of his most distracting conceits. The four panels move about, shifting the stage to create new areas. In theory, this might seem like a good idea and a means of creating unique vantage points. In practice, it becomes a toy that Sher and company indulged in far too often. This was most notorious during the Act three trio between Otello, Jago, and Cassio. It might work as a means of seeing the men walk throughout the castle and justify on some level why Otello doesn’t fully grasp the conversation; but the blocks become the central focus of the drama and not the character interactions and music.

It doesn’t help that at select moments the direction of the blocks was nonsensical. This was best exemplified in the Act three concertato where they went into their slots to let the chorus access the stage and then once the chorus was assembled, they came out a quarter of the way out. Why? Who knows. The moment they started to exit their slots, the viewer gets the impression that they are going to form a new shape of some sort. This is the context that has been provided throughout the first three acts, so the immediate response is of expectation. But they don’t move again until the close of the act, so their only impact is to distract from the emotion of the moment. This was a confusing feature of the blocks back when the production premiered, and it seems that no effort was made to either clarify the purpose of this unnecessary movement since. If they just came out at the close of the Act, then perhaps that moment would never register as out-of-place or distracting.

Then there’s the final Act where Otello’s entrance into the room is accompanied by the slots for the blocks opening, again creating the expectation that they will slide out and do something. When they don’t, not only is it a complete lack of payoff, but the audience starts to wonder what the point of the exercise was. And yes, it distracts from the stage action because the simple action of creating those openings starts to generate a sense of anticipation simply because for two hours, that is how Sher has directed the audience to react. His sleight of hand might have been an interesting bit of misdirection if only it served a substantial purpose in the context of his staging.

Stripping the Drama Of its Power

But perhaps Sher’s biggest shortcoming is how he stages major scenes with the actors. The concertato presents a potentially good idea of using the choral crescendo to the climax as being a part of Otello’s experience. The increasing sounds are the increasing torment he feels. Some choral members look right at him with resentment and even sing their potent lines right at him. The impact would perhaps be stronger if it was every choral member wrapping around him and trapping him; then his sudden explosion of “Fuggite” would be a means of breaking through the barrier. But when you look at one side of the chorus engaged with a clear intention, and the other half is in another world, it creates a general lack of focus visually for the audience.

Otello’s confrontation with Jago features clumsy blocking with the villain’s “Divina grazia difendi mi” coming off as lacking in motivation; Otello doesn’t really do anything violent to him to generate said response. The moments before “Niun mi tema” also came off as clumsy, with the immediate entrance from Montano and Cassio right after Emilia’s cries of “Otello ucidi Desdemona” making it seem as if those characters were outside waiting for their cue to come in and ambush Otello. The Act three duet between Desdemona and Otello features a lot of movement from the characters, but much of it is unmotivated and does little to generate much tension or enhance the dynamics. Sher seems intent on showing showing Desdemona as a poor victim who does nothing to defend herself, even in moments where she does. When Desdemona shouts out that she is not a prostitute, Sher’s direction has her run to a wall and cry. If she wants to run away from her husband, especially after such a grave insult, why wouldn’t she just leave the space outright? Obviously, the score demands that she remain in the room for Otello’s final lines, but as staged, the scene only serves to make Desdemona look weaker.

I could go on, especially about characters leaving the stage one moment only to return seconds later (repetitive staging choices with no clear motivation or payoff), but it probably makes more sense to talk about the central challenge with Sher’s concept.

In terms of the characterization, Sher did little to make Desdemona more than a victim but his take on the titular character wasn’t anymore profound. Blackface has no place on any stage and Sher did the right thing in making this decision, but if your choice is to move away from racial discrimination, then Otello’s emotional instability and insecurity needs to be addressed in another manner for the tragedy to work. Sher claimed at the time of his production that he wanted Otello to be an outsider, but that doesn’t register in any way, whether it be wardrobe, characterization, or any other visual elements. The result is that Otello, in this production, is a white man with power, a faithful wife, and lots of respect from those around him, who we are expected to have empathy for because he’s jealous and insecure for some reason that we as an audience can’t really understand. Similarly, Jago’s hatred becomes all the more simplified; the racial subtext of his disgust for Otello’s power becomes petty jealousy on his part; his evil then loses a great deal of its impact. Not only does that kind of thinking not resonate in today’s world (a powerful  man trusts another man more than his wife), but it’s hard to empathize with the drama as a whole. One might argue that this work always had deeply sexist themes (a man feeling that he possesses his wife’s sexuality is problematic), but in the context of racial politics, Otello’s behavior can be interpreted with more nuanced. Verdi, Boito, and Shakespeare’s character is so complex that Sher could have taken several directions (for example, Otello can also be viewed as an apostate and a mercenary, which might also make people mistrust him on some level), but unfortunately, he didn’t.

“Otello” is still one of the greatest operas ever created and Dudamel’s way with the score makes it a worthwhile experience at the Met. And as he recovers from his illness, Skelton will undeniably improve in his vocal rendition, making him one of the stronger interpreters of the role in recent years.

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