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I Gioielli della Madonna – review

This article is more than 10 years old
Holland Park, London

Over the years, Opera Holland Park has proudly staked its specialist claim to the territory of the verismo, or "realist", movement in Italian opera, which began with Mascagni's Cavalleria Rusticana in 1890 and continued until the first world war. Apart from the works of Puccini and a handful of others, most of the movement's products have vanished from the stage, and this rare revival is surely the most obscure so far.

Written in the middle of a career otherwise devoted to lightweight comedies, Ermanno Wolf-Ferrari's 1911 Jewels of the Madonna marked a sudden and violent detour towards verismo's farthest extremes. Set in contemporary Naples, the plot centres on blacksmith Gennaro's sexual obsession with his wild-child foster sister Maliella, and his theft of the glittering adornments from a local statue of the Madonna in order to gain her love. With the opera's two principal characters clearly unhinged from the start, it is scarcely surprising that after three acts of inappropriate behaviour, organised crime, blasphemy, madness and rape, suicide seems to be the only option left to them.

At times, the result feels as if Wolf-Ferrari was bent upon a go-for-broke career-changing gesture that only partially succeeded: the opera was widely performed for a couple of decades – except, significantly, in Italy, where Gennaro's assault on Maliella dressed as the Madonna may have been a blasphemy too far. Yet despite moments of outrageous excess, and even kitsch, enough of the piece comes over in Martin Lloyd-Evans's production to make it worthwhile, however many barriers of taste are crossed along the way.

Jamie Vartan's sets and costumes conjure up a credibly louche vision of period Neapolitan low life. Mexican tenor Joel Montero makes a powerful Gennaro – his dark, shaded tone creating a memorable portrait of an individual unable to see beyond his own desires. Diana Montague offers him unstinting maternal support as Carmela, but Olafur Sigurdarson registers as too lightweight and likable for his rival, the local Camorra chief Rafaele. If the role of Maliella ideally needs a soprano Rita Hayworth, Natalya Romaniw's forthright vocalism and astutely managed, siren-like tempting more than see her through.

Both the City of London Sinfonia and the company's chorus are on top form, while Peter Robinson's perceptive conducting reveals the genuine quality of the best parts of an uneven score.

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