Opera Reviews
2 May 2024
Untitled Document

With Gruberova, La straniera is something of a damp squib



by Moore Parker
Bellini: La straniera
Theater an der Wien
18 January 2015

Vienna first saw Bellini’s La straniera in 1831 - some two years after its triumphant Milan premiere and a series of successes across Italy. The most recent showings in Central Europe have often featured Edita Gruberova, firstly in a 2012 concert version in Baden-Baden, followed by a Vienna repeat the following year, and subsequently in the Christoph Loy stage production in Zürich which is currently guesting at the Theater an der Wien.

The management here wisely decided to double cast the soprano and tenor leads, offering audiences the opportunity to see this rare Bellini work with a choice of contrasting options.

As it transpired, this particular evening turned out to be a rather damp squib, to some degree musically, but more so dramatically with the leading figures seemingly cut as “classic” operatic cartoons, and with the thematic material transported from the late 12th century of Philip II of France to around the time of the opera’s composition.

A one-room set is manipulated on a do-it-yourself basis by the protagonists (who are evidently given responsibility for the changing world they create) by using drops activated via a visible series of ropes. Indeed, ropes - in some depiction or other - serve as a kind of nexus binding themes which range from mockery (in which a life-size puppet of “La straniera” is hanged by the mob) to the threat of injustice, and potential death in Act 2’s tribunal. The lighting (Franck Evin) is atmospheric, the essentially black and white period costumes (Ursula Renzenbrink) opulent, and the straightforward set (Annette Kurz) expedient for guest appearances.

The Alaide on this occasion was Edita Gruberova (the alternative cast features Marlis Petersen, who was Loy’s lead in the Essen series).  In her glory days, Gruberova could boast a limpid elastic tone suspended on a seemingly endless breath, with thrilling extentions to stratospheric heights - apparently obeying its mistress’ every command. And until quite recently, many elements of the veteran soprano’s vocal prowess had remained to be marvelled at. Sadly, on this particular occasion Bellini’s fine cantilene presented an insurmountable challenge to an instrument now unsteady and unreliable, porous and brittle in timbre, and capable only of impressing (if one should so wish) in its upper octave which - while still powerful - is piercingly shrill in quality. Under such obvious duress, it is hardly surprising that limited scope remained for an all-encompassing portrayal of the stage character. For whatever reason, generous applause filled the house at the final curtain - perhaps as much in gratitude for performances past as for this particular evening.

As Arturo, Dario Schmunck began with a rough-hewn tone, mellowing as the evening progressed to give a solid and ardent reading.

With his warmly-rounded baritone, Franco Vassallo certainly has the vocal material for Valdeburgo, but appeared rather intent on impressing through a combination of interpolated high notes and decibels, rather than style and characterisation.

Theresa Kronthaler made a pretty and effectively neurotic Isoletta (possibly the best all-round creation of the evening) but again, lacked the ideal musical and vocal finesse to lift the performance beyond routine.

Of the more minor roles, Vladimir Dmitruk stood out with his meaty lyric tenor and winning stage presence as Osburgo. Showing unquestionable potential, he is a welcome new addition to Theater an der Wien’s ensemble at the Kammeroper. 

Martin Snell brought a warm and cultivated timbre to Montolino, and Stefan Cerny gave a youthfully feisty showing as Prior Spedalieri, while the Arnold Schoenberg Chor delivered some of the most cultivated singing and credible stage work of the evening.

Paolo Arrivabeni maintained a taught and accurate reading throughout, with the ORF Radio Symphony Orchestra in the pit. 

Text © Moore Parker
Photo © Monika Rittershaus
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