Opera Reviews
29 March 2024
Untitled Document

A captivating revival of a Leoncavallo rarity



by Moore Parker
Leoncavallo: Zazà
Wiener Kammeroper

Theater an der Wien
25 September 2020
Svetlana Aksenova (Zazà), Christopher Maltman (Cascart)

Leoncavallo’s little-known Zazà enjoys revivals every so often without managing to scale its initial importance in the early decades of the 20th century when the title role enjoyed a certain fashion among leading divas of the day. The opera premiered in the same year as Puccini’s Tosca - 1900, with Rosina Storchio (who would later create Puccini’s Madama Butterfly) taking the lead at La Scala in Milan. Leoncavallo’s 1919 revised - and shortened - version was chosen here, with all 4 Acts united in a show totalling just under two hours in duration.

The plot opens with Zazà - a celebrated variété artist betting with Bunny (a journalist) that she can win the heart of Milio, a regular visitor to the Alcazar établissement in Saint-Étienne where she stars. She succeeds, but Cascart (Zazà’s colleague and unrequited admirer) announces to the diva that Milio is in fact having another affair. Zazà decides to travel to Paris to investigate. 

It transpires that Milio is, in fact, married and has a young daughter. Zazà, fettered by her own unhappy childhood, is unprepared to threaten the family entity.  She nevertheless decides to test Milio’s love by pretending that she has revealed their affair to his wife and daughter. She discovers his true allegiance, and they separate in rancor.

The plot’s fin de siècle setting is here updated by Christoph Loy and his team (staging; Raimund Orfeo Voigt, costumes; Herbert Barz-Murauer) by half a century or so, with a splendid spread of subtle detail in the props department, including a touch of Italianità in signs marked “Silenzio” and ”Vietato Fumare”. One large set in neutral dove-grey walls and illuminated ceilings asymmetrically formed, revolves to serve as required - making for seamless progress as the drama unfolds.

Embodying all the ingredients of the period - except the big tunes that nourish the many hits of that era - Zazà is nevertheless an effective piece of music drama - and here, one elevated by a production in which both the concept and the cast have enjoyed the finest engineering imaginable.

Loy’s figures are quirky (such as a clown on stilts, an Oliver Hardy, a trans-dancer, etc.) and credible, with the main characters multi-facetted and intimately blended to become true flesh-and-blood individuals. All the leads brought vital ease as singing-actors, with the ultimate theatrical experience generally overriding any vocal deficiencies.

The title role is a considerable challenge - especially when there’s no respite offered by an interval or major set changes. The Russian soprano Svetlana Aksenova (giving her house debut) mastered the part admirably, progressing from the flighty provincial to the seductive and passionate, through to the self-sacrificing restrain of Act 3, and the ultimate jealous rage of the finale. Aksenova’s warm-timbred instrument stayed the course well, malleable in dynamics and phrasing, and with only occasional pressure at the extreme top.

Milio, is cut from the same block as Mascagni’s Turiddu - ideally requiring an Italianate timbre with romantic lyricism and the punch to survive hefty orchestration in many of his outbursts. Nikolai Schukoff delivered some effective - but erratic - vocal moments, winning mainly through his portrayal of the chicane businessman captivated by showbiz glamour who succumbs to forbidden fruit with guilty passion.  

Christopher Maltman’s Cascart was boldly rich in resonance (albeit with a slight beat intruding at times), while remaining the somewhat unsympathetic outsider in his forced manoeuvres to win over the object of his desire. 

Natalia, Zazà’s companion  - a doting “grey mouse” who lifts and carries and attends hand and foot - was delightfully outlined and performed by Juliette Mars.

In colourful contrast, Zazà’s alcoholic mother, Anaide, (Enkelejda Shkosa) claimed her moments with sonorous hoot, and flamboyant 
gesture.

The considerable cast is to too long to list, but special mention must go to Milio’s daughter Totò, played touchingly in this performance by Livia Gallenga with great confidence and restraint.

Stefan Soltész conducted a taut and animated Radio Symphony Orchestra, boasting ideal co-ordination between stage and pit (with the Arnold Schoenberg Chor performing off-stage) in a captivating evening.

Text © Moore Parker
Photo © Monika Rittershaus
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